Page 9 of Seeking Two Lovers

No BDSM—no problem since my dominant nature never leaned toward the pain with pleasure or tying someone up.

Last check mark…

“Five-foot-three,” I read, my lips turning upward. A tiny sprite compared to the two of us. “Perfection.”

Blaine might not want pussy in the near future, but there was no fucking way on earth I would give up the opportunity to poke the hell out of her right back. Hopefully, I could string her along until my heart’s other half climbed aboard the ready-to-fuck train.

I hit the poke button in return which offered the option of communicating via direct messaging.

Having no clue what I’d brought onto myself by opening that door, I turned off my light and rolled to my stomach, ready for sleep since Monday mornings came too damn early.

The smile lingered on my lips, and hope welled in my heart even though over seventeen years of dreaming hadn’t brought jack shit to fruition between me and the man I loved.

4

LILY

And I’d thought Monday mornings greeting a class full of second graders was rough.

Within three hours of learning the ropes and getting tossed behind the cafe’s front counter, I was ready to prop my feet up and let some tears roll down my cheeks.

I wasn’t a coffee drinker myself, but those who needed it and had to wait in line before finally having that first sip in the morning? Didn’t they not know they could keep their grumpiness and bitchiness at bay by making a cup at home before dragging their asses out to start the day?

I hoped the fact it was a Monday morning accounted for most of the shortness and frowns I’d dealt with while smiling at every customer walking up to the counter.

Otherwise, I wasn’t going to make it through barista training over the next couple of weeks.

Finally, my break time rolled around, and I went to the back room to get my cell.

“Is every morning like this?” I asked Cheryl, the shift manager rifling through the employee fridge.

“Busy as hell with everyone bitching about their lack of foam or too much ice?” Cheryl closed the fridge door with her hip, her hands wrapped around a few boxes that looked like last night’s leftovers. “Mostly just Mondays.”

“Thank God.” I pulled my cell from my purse. “I honestly don’t know if I could handle dealing with coffee-fiend-needing-a-hit customers like this for six hours straight.”

Cheryl snickered and popped a box into the microwave. “That’s why you have a break halfway through.”

I groaned. “Tell me it gets better.”

“It gets better.”

“Are you lying to me?”

She outright laughed. “When you have a bubbly outlook and a smile like you do, it gets better.”

My face hurt from forcing grins all morning long, but my lips curved upward naturally at her praise.

“You must be a church person,” she mused.

I snorted, knowing right where Cheryl headed. Others from Simply Grace Church had always said I’d been filled with the joy of the Lord, but they never considered the truth that someone could experience happiness without it coming from a higher being.

“I don’t need to bow down to a god to be happy,” I told her, my chin lifting a bit.

“I agree. That’s just what my gram used to say.” Cheryl glanced over at me. “Filled with the joy of the Lord and all that other God bullshit.”

Yep. Nailed it. I shook my head. “I had enough of that back home—I live my own life now.”

Her eyes softened, and in that moment, I understood we had more in common than dealing with pissy non-morning customers.

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