Stockroom

For someone who hates big corporations as much as I do, closing for one of them on a Friday night seems really ironic to me. I mean, I’m a teenager! I should be sneaking into movies at the theatre across the street, or getting drunk at whatever party is raging this week. Not stocking shelves and making sure all the lanes have enough bags for the next day.

Add to that my boyfriend of six months broke up with me this morning — during a rendezvous in the bathroom at school — and I am one extremely pissed off and horny girl. He didn’t even let me finish.

I work with my ex-boyfriend’s best friend, and up until closing time, I had been doing a pretty good job of avoiding him, mostly by letting my eyes linger on the manager of the front lanes, the thirty-six-year-old Michael. Eric, the Best Friend, works up at the service desk, and when all the customers are finally out of the store, I go up there to return anything left in my checkout lane. And I finally cannot avoid him. He hovers over my shoulder as I sort my abnormally large stash. “I’m really sorry about Charlie,” He buzzes in my ear, breath stirring the small hairs on my neck. “He’s been really fucked up lately. Got himself into a whole load of shit when his parents found what they thought was some crack. Turned out to be the really rank baking powder he kept in his gym locker.” Eric laughs, thinking of some inside joke of which I am not a part.

“Shut up and fuck off,” I hiss, tossing a pair of jeans into a cart harder than I probably should. My core has been burning all day, and even though I have never been even remotely attracted to my ex’s best friend, any male within close proximity stirs up feelings that should probably remain buried. Especially at work.

“Look,” He pleads, following me to the next cart, “I’m not talking to you on Charlie’s behalf; I think he’s a total prick for what he did to you. I’m talking to you on my behalf.” He presses his groin into my hip, and I feel the outline of his hard member rubbing against the waistband of my pants. I glare up at him, ready to jam the candle in my hand down his throat. “I find you so incredibly sexy, Red. Your ass, your chest, your lips…” He traps me against the half-wall between the area behind the service desk and the carts. My clit throbs against the zipper of my pants as his hands slide around to the front of my shirt, groping my breasts from behind me. Despite his fumbling fingers, my nipples peak against his palms. I can practically feel him grin against my neck. “You have no idea how many times Charlie has bragged to me about your skills in the sack. About how good your mouth feels or how tight your cunt is or how you love to scream.” He pinches one of my nipples and I gasp, digging my nails into the wax candle still in my grasp. One of his hands wanders down to the button on my pants and begins to inch between it and my skin. “God, I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted to just fuck your brains out—”

“Rose, are you ready to do…bags…yet…?” Michael comes around the corner abruptly and stops upon seeing the two of us. Eric quickly retracts his hands and makes use of the computers at the service desk to hide his predicament. I lower my head in shame. If Michael hadn’t stepped in…I don’t know what I would have done. Eric just might have raped me right there in the front of the store.

I smile brightly at Michael before glowering at the Best Friend. “Yeah. Actually, Eric just offered to finish the reshop for me. Thanks again.” Shoving the basket into Eric’s stomach, I walk around the desk to stand in front of Michael, who towers over me by a good foot: I’m a very petite and nimble girl. Grinning, I say, “Bags in the bag room?”

“Yep. I’ll help you with the ladder.”

There’s a thing you need to know about Michael: he’s every teen-aged girl’s wet dream guy.