Page 12 of Babydoll

“Have you seen anyone else here in the last half hour?” he asks, making me look up from my baggy clothing to him.

“I’m not one of your security lemmings,” I snap. “I actually have my own job to do.” I’ve long since figured out he’s the boss of security, but he’s not my boss.

He frowns his masterfully molded lips and grunts, tossing his brown-bag lunch on the table and points at my chest. “That’s false advertising.”

My eyes widen, flicker down to the BBW patch and back up. Clenching my jaw in mock outrage, I cover my pathetically small breasts. “Are you skinny-shaming me?”

His eyes widen this time. “I—” He holds both hands in front of him.

I don’t notice how big his hands are because I’m not a perv like him, who ogles other people’s body parts.

Ha, yeah right. I totally do. I’m just surprised I hadn’t noticed those gorgeous hands when he was playing doctor with me in the infirmary. And I’m definitely not offended. I’ve lost all sense of pride and modesty now. Live day to day, meal to meal, sleep in your car for a few months, and you’ll see what I mean.

Boobs Shmoobs.

Anyhow, I definitely do picture those hands wrapped around my upper arms as he shoves me roughly against the wall to take my mouth. His kiss, hot and demanding — What the hell happened to not fantasizing? Damn.

“Not the BBW…” he blurts, snapping me back from my quickly developing fantasy.

My brow arcs and I shift my jaw before grinding out slowly, “It stands for Big Bill Williams.”

“I, uh, know. I was—” He gathers a breath, hanging his head a moment in defeat before looking back up.

I make a show of crossing my arms over my chest, smugly cocking my head to the side, daring him to continue.

He clears his throat. “I was referring to the friendly part.” He shuts his mouth then, letting the silence grow heavy between us and scrubs a hand through his thick hair. I want to take over stroking those silky waves. I want to clasp handfuls of it as he buries his face in my neck and between my pathetically sized but still needy breasts.

Good god, Lu’s as horny as a nineteen-year-old college frat boy. Stop!

I press my lips and shake my head. “Sure,” I say, sounding affronted.

He looks skyward and whispers an oath. I turn my head down to hide my smirk. This guy is amusing to toy with. And since I’m basically a death-row inmate I have to take fun wherever I can get it.

“Look, I’m sorry.”

I eye the logo on his V-neck sweater. He’s wearing a security lanyard, only it’s hidden beneath the V of the sweater, but the security emblem is still plainly there. It’s a bear in a red oval with the words ‘Grizzly Security’ beneath.

Under that somewhere would be his name. You’d think I’d have seen it that fateful night when he patched my noggin, but I always find somewhere else more interesting to stare.

“Yours is bang-on, I see.” I point to his security tag. “You’re about as personable as a grizzly.”

“I guess I deserve that.”

“Only for pointing out the bag.” I twirl the new garbage bag still in my hand. “The other stuff…” I shrug. “You’re easy to poke and you were pretty nice the other night.”

He smiles and I note a mischievous sparkle in those brown eyes, as if he’s just won a prize.

“Haven’t you heard the saying ‘don’t poke the bear’?”

I scratch my chin. “Haven’t you heard the saying ‘don’t poke the janitor’?”

His left brow goes up. “No, actually. That’s not really a thing, is it?”

“Well, no, but it should be because no one who has to deal with day-old tuna fish and urinal cakes should ever be poked.” I eye him. “What’s your excuse?”

Walking around to check him out, I ask, “Or are you actually a bear?”

“I can be a little growly and bear-like,” he admits with a small shrug. “But I also have a reason.”

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