SEXT

“You were going to return my favor.”

I cast a sideways glance at him and find him grinning at me, a spark of mischief in his bright blue eyes. “What, here?”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Well, we aren’t at the café anymore. And you know, they do have a bathroom…” His eyes dart to the far wall, to a little corridor that leads to the single stall at the back of the bar. It’s only just visible from here, and not viewable from the rest of the bar since it’s around a corner.

When I look back at him, I’m pretty sure my eyes are alight with the same kind of mischief. “Good point. So, you want me to go in there and…” I trace a fingertip down his chest, pause to tug gently at the collar of his shirt. “Strip?”

“Just your top, if you prefer.” He lets his gaze drop to my chest. “Though, I won’t complain if you want to take off more…”

“That’s going to cost you a lot more than just a dick pic,” I reply, leaning in to let my forehead rest against his, our eyes locked as I grin.

“Hmm… Well if it involves getting to see what’s under your uniform, I am definitely willing to pay.” His hands wander down my sides, wrap around my hips. Our breath mingles between us, barely an inch of air separating us. I want to close the gap so damn badly. I want to press my lips to his, taste him.

Instead, I decide it’s time to give him a taste of his own teasing medicine. I push out of my seat and stand, snatching my phone on the way up.

“See you soon,” I tell him with a wink, and then I wind my way down the hall toward the restroom.

It’s free, so I step inside and maneuver in front of the mirror. For a pub bathroom, it’s really not too shabby. It’s clean, well-kept. I cast a glance at the door and decide to get this over with quickly. Luckily, I wore my favorite bra today, mostly as a private mood-booster this morning when I was exhausted and trying to force myself out of bed. It’s red and lacy and lifts my girls to just the right height, giving me a hint of cleavage without going overboard. I pull my dress off, so I’m just in my panties and bra. I snap a photo in the bra first. I hit send on that, then hesitate, glancing at myself in the mirror.

I’ve sent nude pics to guys before, of course. But only guys who I’ve been dating for a few months. Guys I trust. And not even many of those. It’s a lot to ask for a guy I only just met. I’m all too aware of what can happen to girls who aren’t careful, who send nudes to guys who suddenly decide they want to take revenge on those same girls later.

But I’ve known Zayne for years, even if not intimately. And besides, he works in the same place where I live. He’s not going to risk his position to mess with one of his customers, is he?

That makes me pause.

Customer. I am basically his customer. Or his boss, depending on how you look at it. He works for the building, which means he works for the residents, which means he works for me. Is this weird? Is this too much of a business relationship for me to turn it into anything more?

And what if the flirtation goes south? What if this leads nowhere, or worse, leads to a few hookups and a bad split? I’ll have to pass him every single day on my way in and out of the building. Constantly being reminded.

Then again, we’ve come this far. I have photos of his cock on my phone. I’ll be constantly reminded no matter what happens now. I might as well take the leap into the deep end since I’ve already gone and gotten myself wet.

I grin at myself in the mirror, amused by the analogy. My phone buzzes.

That’s not what I asked for, Zayne says, and don’t I know it.

I unclasp my bra and let it slide down my arms. Take a deep breath, face myself in the mirror, and snap another photo. In this one, I’m grinning, just a little, sultry and sexy all at once. And my tits are on full display, nipples hard from the cool air in here—and from the thought of who is about to see this picture.

I hit send. Then I start to lift my bra back on.

That’s when the door opens.

I gasp and drop my phone into the sink, startled. Shit, I forgot to lock it.

But when I see who it is, I freeze in place.

Zayne turns the lock behind him, a wide grin on his face. “I have a policy about open doors,” he says.