A day in the life - scomiche

Cute Counter Boy

Shopping is a process for me, and one I have down to a science. It's fun, it's flirty: I take a day for myself, eat out, and spend way too much money. It's how I deal with stress. Retail therapy got me through the education system, girl, let me tell you.

Today is no different - there's nothing specific I need other than a break from work and all the crazy busy stress of life. I puff out my cheeks and refocus on me.

I stare at my reflection, turning my body this way and that. My reflection grimaces back at me. The thing I hate about this dressing room is the the mirrors are on the outside of the cubicle doors, which means I have to come out into the waiting area to see myself properly. It's a perfectly fine system if the clothes I pick out look amazing first try, but not this time.

The jeans are a shade too short for my liking but damn they make my ass look good. I run one hand over my short hair and let my eyes trace over them, thinking. Maybe I could just buy ankle boots to cover the short legs. That would work, right?

Regretfully, I reach for the handle of the door to let myself back into my change room when I notice the handsome boy working the entrance to the changing area. He's folding and sorting discarded clothes, and watching me out of the corner of his eyes. Looking at him in my mirror I can see his bright blue eyes moving over me. I can tell he likes what he sees, and tbh, so do I. Hmm.

I twirl in front of the mirror once more and disappear back into my stall. I have one last pair of jeans to try on, and these are my favourite of the ones I've seen today. They are tight and black and low rise; the second I pull them on, I know they are perfect.

I step out, and am immediately aware of his eyes on me even though I don't look. So far, so good. I judge my reflection harshly, but can't see any flaws yet. So far, so great.

I look around. The sales boy has turned away to hang a shirt on the discarded rack but as he turns back around, I tug my long, baggy sweater off so I can see the tops of the jeans and call him over.

"Excuse me?" He blushes all the way to the tips of his blond hair and comes toward me. He's even taller than I thought.

"What can I help you with today?" He's distracted by my lack of shirt, which of course is why I took it off. He glances at my smile and gains confidence. "I'd say those look pretty good on you. They match your nails." I glance down and he's right. Black on black on black.

"And my soul," I say, and flutter my lashes just a bit. His eyes darken perceptibly.

"Is that so," he says, taking a step forward. "I would have pegged you for an angel, but I've been known to make mistakes."

I can't take this anymore. I grab his wrist and yank him backwards into the cubicle and shut the door. I'm standing with my back against the door, facing him. He reaches for me just as I reach for him and he kisses me hard, pressing my hips into the door. I try not to moan.

"Angels dress nicer than me," I say against his lips.

"That's a matter of opinion," he argues and drags one hand down my bare chest. That little smirk of his drives me crazy. His head bends to drop kisses down the side of my jaw until I can feel that he's got my choker between his teeth. He tugs it forward a little bit and I have to follow. "Then again angels don't taste as good as you do."

I can't breathe with his lips on me like that and I wonder how it's possible to be so dorky and so sexy at the same time. He grabs my wrists and we slam back against the wall, my hands now trapped in his above my head.

I scramble to pull my thoughts together to come up with a flirty comeback but I'm having difficulty. His broad shoulders seem to take up my entire line of sight. His mouth moves back to mine and I can't help the half moan, half sigh that comes from the back of my throat. He smirks, knowing exactly what he's doing to me.

Popping the button on my borrowed jeans, he props me against the wall. My hands are on his shoulders, my head is back against the wall and my mouth can't stay quiet.

"Sh-h," he breaths, blond head fallen on my shoulder. I lean forward and bury my lips in his neck.

* * *

When we are done, he runs one hand through his hair and tilts my chin up to kiss my lips again. He slips out my door before I am ready and I sit down to catch my breath.

Slowly, I change back into my own clothes, folding the black jeans over one arm and gather up the other ones to put back. A smart comment ready for my new favourite sales boy on the tip of my tongue, I push out of my change room. He is nowhere to be seen.

I do not see him on the way to the cash, and I don't look for him on my way out of the store. Not what I expected from him but I have no regrets. Maybe it's better this way. I toss the bags in the back of my car and drive home.

Shopping is a process for me, one I have down to a science. As I always do, when I get home, I try on my jeans again to make sure I still like them. I can feel his touch in them and something else too. There's a slip of paper in the back pocket; I pull it out and laugh. He's such a dork.

There are seven digits and a few words:

I think I'd look good in your new jeans.. Call me ;)