Page 19 of Nuts

He pulled his chain-mounted wallet from the back pocket of his Rock and Republic jeans, and after fumbling to unsnap the stiff leather, handed me a credit card. “Sounds good.”

Heck yes!

His spending spree would put me at my goal for the month, and it was only the 13th. For the rest of the month I would receive a percentage of my sales as a bonus.

I rang up his purchase, disguising my excitement during the process. After he signed the receipt, I handed him his credit card. “Check back in three days, we should have it all.”

He grabbed the piece of paper I’d drawn the sketch on and scribbled on it. “That’s my cell. Call me when they’re all in. Number might come in handy sometime anyway.”

I picked up the paper and gave a nod. “I’ll give you a call when they come in.”

Asshole.

He shot me a smile, looked at Blane, and then turned toward the door.

“That guy was a dick,” Blane whispered.

“It was funny watching him play with his hair.”

He nodded toward the door. “This dude looks like a hardcore motherfucker.”

I looked up. P-Nut was coming toward the parts counter, unsnapping his vest as he walked.

I fumbled to conceal my boobs, but seemed to only be making matters worse.

Crap.

“I gotta pee. Take him, will you?”

“Sure.”

P-Nut was halfway between the front door and the parts counter. I dipped out the back of the parts department and went to the restroom.

I’d talked to him on countless occasions, and assisted – or at least observed – while he made dozens of repairs on his motorcycle. Having him see me with my boobs boiling out of my shirt, however, wasn’t something I really wanted to do.

One thing would possibly lead to another. If it did, I’d be without the only male friend I’d ever had. Dreaming about being with him was one thing. Taking the chance, and then losing him altogether wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.

I peed, washed my hands, and waited as long as I felt it would take for Blane to look up a part. Then, I waited a few minutes more. After washing my hands again, I checked myself in the mirror.

My tits were everywhere.

I loved my job, but the shirt I was wearing would embarrass a prostitute.

Attempting to conceal 32D boobs in a size small shirt constructed with buttons that stopped at the bottom of my bra was nothing short of impossible.

Frustrated, I pulled the bathroom door open, walked down the hallway, and cracked open the door that led to the parts counter. I peered toward where Blane stood.

The counter was void of any customers.

Thank God.

I opened the door and walked to Blane’s side. “What did that guy want?”

“Wanted to see you,” he said. “You were gone forever. What’d you do, drop a deuce?”

I was flattered that Percy came in to see me, and disgusted by Blane’s remark.

“Stop being gross,” I said.