pleasant evening…money. I could strike a bargain! Sell myself! Oh good, as if a one-night stand isn’t bad enough, now I’m contemplating stepping into the oldest profession in the book. It’s totally ridiculous, and besides, how does someone even initiate that bargain?
Oh, yes, hi, if you’d stop kissing me for a second, I’d like to discuss my terms of service for this transaction.
What do small-town prostitutes with hardly any experience go for these days? A hundred bucks and a coupon for a free milkshake?
The questions filling my head make it easier to separate myself from our kiss. His mouth is deliciously tempting, but it’s no use against my impending panic attack. This impromptu bathroom make-out session was spontaneous and poorly thought-out. I’m only going to succeed in making a fool of myself.
If I wanted a one-night stand, I should have picked a lesser man, not this suit with his rock-hard body and come-hither kisses. He’s going to tear through my sanity, show me pleasure like I’ve never experienced, and leave me lonely and bereft while he slides into a fancy sports car and kicks up dust as he peels out of town.
Even with my brain working a mile a minute, his sensual, teasing kisses are provoking every emotion I should be hiding. I know if he broke away and stepped back, he’d find my lips swollen and red, my eyes coated with a glossy love-me sheen, my chest heaving, my panties wet. If he brushed his hand down there, I’d come just from the sheer wrongness of this entire situation.
Even now, his hands brush up under the hem of my t-shirt, and when his warm palms glide over my skin, I momentarily lose track of my thoughts.
He squeezes my waist and I reach out for him too, scared I’m going to topple forward off the sink. My hands land squarely on his butt.
No, not just that…
His wallet.
Sitting snug in the back pocket of his suit pants.
My eyes spring open with the revelation as he bends to string kisses down my neck.
Take it, my survival instincts shout. Take it now!
NO.
My stomach twists with guilt and disgust that I’d even think of doing such a thing. I’m not a thief. Never.
This whole situation feels wrong and gritty and this bathroom smells and he’s so tempting with his veined hands, warm and big, gripping my waist to bring us closer so that our hips rock together. I wish so badly we were kissing in his fairytale instead of a filthy bar bathroom. I wish so badly this was the grown-up version of that summertime teenage kiss, wish we were two lovers completely enraptured by each other instead of two strangers using each other in ways the other can’t even begin to imagine.
And then a highlight reel of my future plays through my mind: overdue medical bills, broken-down cars, dead-end jobs. The money in this stranger’s wallet wouldn’t fix all my problems, but it would give us a much-needed boost, and it’s with that thought that I realize my body has taken over the decision for me.
My fingers dig into his butt as a distraction and he doesn’t protest. He must just assume I’m into butts, and I never really have been before this moment, but oh yes, I would be very into his. It’s muscular and firm, not some kind of flat wussy cheeks that don’t know how to fill out a pair of pants. His is ripe and OH MY GOD FOCUS!
Suddenly, I’m taking his wallet, working it out of his back pocket so slowly—millimeter by millimeter—that he doesn’t notice and then I have no idea what to do with it. I have his wallet in my hand behind his back and my heart is pumping so hard, I’m going to be sick. It’s convenient that we’re making out so close to a toilet because I’m about to need one.
What have I done?!
At this point, I’ve stopped reacting to his kisses—I’m not that good at multitasking. He realizes something is wrong and pulls back to stare down at me, those warm brown eyes assessing me with worry. Then he sweeps his gaze around the bathroom, and he lets out a heavy sigh. Guilt replaces worry, but I can’t let it fester. I can’t let him turn into a nice guy, a gentleman who escorts me out of here and calls me a cab.
I’m still holding his wallet and there’s no good explanation for that if he finds me with it. Uhhh, I