Ortega was wrong. He slept like a log that night, just had some very specific dreams featuring his boss. He woke up hard. After what happened yesterday, he saw her in a new light.
At the store, she looked more gorgeous than ever. Her golden hair was no longer tied in a ponytail; it cascaded down her shoulders in waves. Her lips looked juicier. Her walk, sultrier. She was more present too, smiling more, not just staying in the back room but assisting him upfront.
There was an air between them, very electric. Subconsciously, they avoided direct interactions. Still, there were the occasional brushes along the way. With her helping upfront, Ortega's workload reduced, but he still felt like he was burdening her. This was what she paid him for, after all. Yet, he didn't tell her to rest, though he wanted to, because for some reason he felt this was what she wanted. And frankly, he could use the extra help.
But she was too distracting. Not that he was complaining. Her proximity was delicious. Her scent made numbers blur in his head whenever he processed payments. Their "accidental" brushes were becoming too frequent to be accidental.
Customers trickled in and kept them busy. Ortega had questions to ask, but he kept them to himself. Miss Mae wasn't in the mood to talk. The only words exchanged between them were their greetings when he came in, picked up his apron, and tied it. He'd come early, but she was already there. He'd noticed the bags under her eyes. She couldn't sleep either. Ortega felt bad for hoping it was because she'd been up all night thinking about him, then berated himself for being too forward.
Now they were the only ones in the store. Suddenly, the place didn't seem so spacious.
He watched her from behind the counter, how naturally her hips swayed as she walked, dusting the shelves on her tiptoes. Slowly, Ortega found himself drifting into her orbit just as she called for a stool to reach the top shelf. He brought it, and as she climbed, the stool wobbled under her weight and she lost balance.
Thankfully, Ortega was there to catch her.
Because of the angle of her fall, he had to rush, and they both went down together. He managed to control her weight so they crashed gently, her on top of him, his arm wrapped tightly around her.
Their breaths punctuated the silence.
Ortega became aware of how tangled they were. How soft and right her curves felt against him. He was sure she felt it too, because she didn't move, her mild shock dissolving into something lustful.
It was only a flash.
She blinked, blushed, and patted his shoulder. Ortega released her, though she lingered a moment before standing. As she did, her knee brushed his crotch. He got up right after her, thankful she didn't see the tent in his trousers and, at the same time, a little unhappy her warmth didn't linger longer.
Minutes later, the last customer left. Silence filled the air. Everything that needed doing was done, forcing them to sit in it, pretending not to feel the tension. Ortega busied himself wiping the polished counter when she asked,
"So… you live around here?"
"Yeah. About three blocks away."
"Alone?"
That gave him pause. He looked up at Miss Mae. Her eyes darted around, anywhere but at him.
He smirked. "Yeah… alone."
There was electricity in the way he said it.
---
Ortega was hot and sweaty, breathing hard and hard as he pushed in, deeper, longer. He felt like he was about to explode. Then the timer rang, and he released, catching his breath, spent, lying on his back, chest heaving and pumped. Shoulders and triceps burning. Longest time yet. He smiled in ecstasy. It was hard, but he conquered.
Miss Mae watched him, amused. "Is that all?"
Ortega's head snapped toward the sound. She stood by the beaded curtain, not even bothering to hide her voyeuristic grin.
"You… were watching?"
"Had to. The grunts were alarming."
A different kind of heat climbed Ortega's face. He clutched his shirt from atop the counter, wrestling with whether to put it on. Then he exhaled. Too late. He liked the way her eyes roamed over him. He tucked in his gut just enough to make his abs pop more, not that he needed to. His physique already looked carved, his body fat low enough that even without a pump he looked strong and lean.
Just then, the doorbell chimed. Miss Mae laughed as Ortega hurriedly pulled his shirt over his head. The sound made him feel spicy.
He attended to the boy who came to buy candles.
The swish of beads made him glance back at the curtain. He imagined Miss Mae inside, touching herself to him.
Fuck. He was hard again.
He spent the next few minutes staring at the beaded curtain, wondering what lay beyond, thinking of a perfect excuse to go in. It was past denial now. He wanted her.
The curtain loomed before him, daring him to cross. Ortega stopped himself. All this might just be a game for her. Though he doubted it by now, the possibility still gnawed at him. Maybe she didn't want him the way he wanted her.
It would suck to come off as desperate.
But three days from now, he'd quit. Before that, he needed clarity, for himself.
He leaned on the wall, exhaled, and called softly,
"Miss Mae? We need to talk."
Silence. Long and thick.
Then,
"Just Mae is fine." Her voice was soft.
"Come inside."
Ortega's breath caught.