When I saw Luke's empty chair and black computer monitor, I nearly said to one of the girls, where's the pretty one. Just about. What was I thinking? Shake head. Back at work now, buddy. No longer on holidays.
Beck was away too. Burst blood vessel in her eye. She freaked me out a couple of times, Tuesday. It was like I was working with The Terminator, just when she looked sideways at me, sometimes.
I could have perved at Luke unchecked. Twenty four, as cute as hell; red blush to his cheeks, intense blue eyes, happy smile. Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Every mother's perfect son. Probably a private school boy.
Thick, dark hair, a fringe on his dewy brow. Square jaw. Velvety skin. And a nice chest under his business shirt. You can see his pecs, the outline of his nipples. Nice arse, what looks like, thick thighs. Good bulge, flat fronted suit pants, kinda tent out. He fills them. Handful. I bet he whacks off every morning, before his shower. I could see him sweaty, his eyes awash. His face lights up when he laughs. His eyes sparkle, unaffected. Free.
He's that gorgeous blend of an extroverted introvert. Solid. Together. Confident. Well spoken. Considered.
I've caught his gaze a few times. He smiles, almost like he's got a secret.
Sigh.
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