The Shacking Up Series

by Helena Hunting

  “I guess.”

  “There’s no guessing. Here.” I grab the one he’s holding—he lets it go without a fight—and shake them both again. “See, mine has way more flexibility.”

  “Is that a good or a bad thing?”

  Based on the number of these we sell in a week, I’m guessing a lot of people think it’s a good thing. “With the right lubricant, it can be a pleasurable experience for your girlfriend.” I have no idea if this is true or not, but that’s what the lubricants advertise. Also, I’m fishing for information.

  “I don’t have a girlfriend. And even if you’re right, if I did have a girlfriend, I’d prefer to insert my own . . . body parts rather than one of these.” He motions to my hands, which are both full. “Not that my relationship status is relevant since this is all for a bachelor party. Not me.”

  I give him a conspiratorial wink. “Of course it’s not.”

  “Seriously.” He roots around in his pocket and produces the list. “I really did draw the short straw, and now I’m here buying all the weird shit—”

  I snatch the list out of his hand and spin out of reach when he tries to grab it back. It’s fairly extensive, so either he’s not lying about the short straw, or he is lying about the girlfriend. Neither would be a first.

  “Okay, well, we’ve crossed one item off your list. I’ll have you stocked up for this party in no time.” I grab the basket and one of the packaged double-headers and sashay over to the Pocket Rockets, the next item on the list.

  When we get to the flavored lube, he seems at a loss. There are twenty different flavors, so instead of choosing, he grabs one of each. My commission on this sale is going to be amazing.

  “Have you worked here long?” he asks after I hook him up with a top-of-the-line personal pleasure device, cleaner, and special lube.

  “A couple months,” I say.

  He nods, as if my answer is riveting. “Is this your full-time job?”

  He finally seems to be finding some chill, which is great, so I entertain the idle chitchat. “No, it’s a part-time gig.”

  “What do you do when you’re not working here?”

  Oh my God. Is this suit hitting on me? I mean, he’s hot, but he’s buying a lot of weird stuff, and while he might be telling the truth about the party, he also might be lying. Still, this is fun, so I play along. “I’m a toy tester on my off days.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” he sputters.

  I throw back my head and laugh. He really is adorable. “Kidding! Oh my God, your face. You need to relax, Suit, you’re too buttoned up.” I tug on his tie. “I mean, I get a sweet discount on everything in the store, but who wants to test this?” I tap the black rubber fist next to the butt plugs, since we’ve made it to the end of the list.

  He says something under his breath that I don’t catch.

  “Anyway, I’m taking some college courses, furthering myself and my career and so forth, so I don’t have to sell this stuff to people for the rest of my life.”

  “You’re in college?” It sounds like he’s choking again.

  “Mm-hmm. It’s taken me a little longer to finish since I like to travel. I’ll be working for at least four more decades, so I’m thinking I should enjoy my freedom while I have it, you know? So many people say they’re going to travel when they retire. They save up all this money, and then two months into retirement they have a heart attack and die. Or they’re too old and rickety to do any of the fun stuff.”

  “That’s an interesting outlook.”

  “Probably not super popular either, but you only live once, right?” I point to the plug that’s roughly the same size as my head. “That’s the biggest one.”

  Suit makes a face. “Please tell me people don’t actually buy these.”

  I shrug. “I usually sell one every few weeks or so.”

  “As a gag gift?”

  “I don’t ever ask.”

  He shakes his head and motions to the one beside it, which is about half the size, but still enormous. “If nothing else, it’ll function as an interesting doorstop.”

  After we’ve checked everything off his list, we head back to the register. He sets his wallet on the counter and flips it open, withdrawing a credit card as I scan his many purchases and bag them.

  “Your total is $657.69.”

  He blows out a breath and passes over his card. “He sure as hell better use some of this stuff.”

  I glance at the name on the card. Griffin. Kind of different, like my name, but not as weird.

  The bell over the door tinkles as a new customer enters the store. It’s another suit, but this one looks cheap and slimy. Like a pawn shop salesman or something. Ugh. Here’s hoping this one is quick so I can finally eat my shawarma, which is probably cold and soggy by now, although that’s my fault for being so thorough with Griffin. And it totally paid off.

  Griffin glances at the new customer and hunches his shoulders. As if that’s going to make him any less noticeable. The receipt seems to take forever to print. I hand it over, and his long, thick, well-manicured fingers graze mine.

  Goose bumps flash over my skin. The thermostat is probably set too low because the vent above suddenly blasts me with cold air, and I shiver.

  He tucks the receipt in his wallet and grabs the bags. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  “Looks like you’re pretty stocked on the sex toys, but you know where to find me if you run out of lube.” I wink, and then internally chastise myself because I have no idea what this guy is really like, and now I’ve given him the equivalent of a green light to come back and visit. Not that I’m opposed to seeing his gorgeous face, but he could be one of the crazies. Then again, maybe he’s not.

  He chuckles and taps on the glass top counter. “Have a good day, Cosy. Thanks for sharing your extensive knowledge with me.” He flashes me a grin, and holy hell, I think that alone might have given me a mini orgasm.

  Okay, no it didn’t. But his smile is damn pretty.

  I watch him leave before I turn my attention to the cheap suit. He’s hanging out in the video section. I don’t understand why people pay money for that stuff when it’s all over the internet for free, but whatever.

  Cheap suit buys two granny flicks and makes his exit. I assume he has mommy issues or something.

  After he leaves, I finally have a chance to eat my lunch. As predicted, it’s soggy, but still delicious. I make random doodles as I eat and find myself writing the suit’s name over and over, like I’m some smitten high school girl. I roll my eyes. That guy is one of a million suits who fly in for a business trip, mix it with a whole load of excess and pleasure, and then go back to their regular life and talk about that trip they took to Vegas.

  Doesn’t mean I can’t fantasize about him, though.

  Chapter Two: Sexy Stalker. Maybe.

  Cosy

  Three weeks later

  I groan at the annoying buzz of my alarm. Mondays are always the hardest. Especially Mondays when I work at STW and follow up the shift with an evening seminar. This is one of those Mondays.

  I roll out of bed and stumble across the hall to the bathroom. It’s nine thirty and I still feel as if I could sleep another four hours. Probably because I stayed up until two in the morning working on an assignment for my hotel management class. I’m mostly done, and it isn’t due until tomorrow. So I have time to go over it and make sure it isn’t full of two-in-the-morning drivel.

  I take a quick shower, wrap myself in a towel, and head for the kitchen. My apartment is small but functional. I come to a stop when I enter the living room. On the couch is a body. More precisely, my sister’s body. I watch her for a few seconds to make sure she’s still breathing. When her back finally rises and falls, I sigh with relief.

  Nevah—or haven backward—is my older, less grounded sister. Her presence on my couch means one of two things; she’s either broken up with her most recent meal ticket, aka boyfriend, or she’s lost another job. Or both. Sometimes it only
lasts a day or two until she and the boyfriend in question make up. Other times, when she can’t find a job, or someone to shack up with, she’ll stay for weeks. Or at least until she gets annoyed with my work schedule and my responsible attitude.

  I leave her to sleep and set the coffee to brew while I get ready for work. I change into my STW uniform, which is a tank with their logo on my boobs and a pair of shorts. The heels are a suggestion, but as a general rule, the higher they are, the better the sales tend to be. I also pack an extra outfit for class—once I accidentally forgot a change of clothes. There was a lot of staring that day. I also got asked out by three different guys. Needless to say, I haven’t made that mistake again.

  I pour myself a cup of coffee, black, no milk or sugar. Not because I don’t like those things. I do. But half the time the milk goes sour or I run out of sugar, so I stopped bothering with either to avoid the disappointment.

  It’s already ten, so I need to get a move on if I’m planning to make it to work on time. I drop a bagel in the toaster, grab a banana, and tuck a few granola bars in my bag in case I get hungry later.

  Nevah cracks an eyelid and groans. “Do you have to be so noisy in the morning?”

  “Last time I checked, only my name was on the lease here, so not sure who I’m trying to be quiet for.”

  “And bitchy too. No wonder you’re always single.”

  I ignore the barb, even though it hurts. Me and relationships don’t seem to work out very well. Partly because I’m not very settled. I can barely make it through the getting-to-know-you stage before I get the itch to get out of Vegas for a while. I learned the hard way that it doesn’t make a lot of sense to get attached to someone if I’m not going to be around longer than a few months, so I tend to avoid the getting-attached part.

  “You and the boy have a fight?” She goes through boyfriends faster than underwear, so I don’t bother learning their names.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Nev shoves her head under the pillow.

  “Suit yourself.” The toaster pops, and I crack the lid on the cream cheese. It’s practically empty. I opt for Nutella instead. “I’m working this afternoon, and I have a seminar tonight so I won’t be home until after ten. Will you be here?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Okay. Well, text or leave a note so I don’t worry.” I wrap my bagel in parchment, tear a paper towel from the roll, and head for the door.

  “Can you leave me a twenty?” Nev calls out.

  I hold back an annoyed sigh and fish my wallet out of my bag. “All I have is a five and a ten.”

  She pops her head out from under the pillow. Her eyes are bloodshot and mascara is smeared under them. She looks like she’s been on a pretty hard bender. “I guess that’ll have to do.”

  I toss the money on the table beside the door. “There’s leftover pasta in the fridge if you’re hungry, and bagels in the breadbox. You can sleep in my bed if you want.”

  “Thanks, sis.” Nev rolls off the couch. She’s wearing a short, tight, black dress, which means she was probably out clubbing last night. I imagine she’s pretty hungover. She stumbles down the hall, leaving her blanket on the floor. A few seconds later my bedroom door slams shut.

  I make sure the door is locked behind me and groan when I find the out of order notice taped to the elevator. I jog down eight flights of stairs, which makes me sweaty and sticky before I even step outside. It’s shaping up to be another warm day. Luckily the bus is air-conditioned, and I get a seat to myself. I read over my assignment on the way to work, self-editing for typos and spelling errors.

  Today I’ll have company in the store since Helix, one of the other sales associates (it sounds better than cashier), has the evening shift, so we overlap for the “rush” hour. Helix’s real name is Helun Alix—her parents didn’t like conventional spellings—and she refuses to go by either name. Instead, she made up her own hybrid, and that’s what everyone calls her.

  Heat from the exhaust slaps me in the face when I step off the bus. I fight a groan when I spot Eugene across the street in the café. Lately he’s upped his visits. More than half the time he doesn’t buy anything; otherwise he purchases things like flavored lube or lingerie. I’m not sure who the lingerie is for, but he always asks my opinion.

  I give him a wave and walk across the parking lot. I don’t have to open the doors for another fifteen minutes. I spend the time straightening the magazine rack and the Blu-ray discs.

  As predicted, the second I unlock the door and turn on the OPEN sign, Eugene comes in. He’s super nerdy and awkward. Not that I have a problem with nerdy or awkward. I started kindergarten a year early, so I know what it’s like to be both of those things too. It’s the greasy hair and the clothes that smell heavily of cigarette smoke and mold that are the real issue. Also, he does a lot of leering. It’s creepy.

  Thankfully, a group of women looking for bachelorette party favors scare him off. Once they purchase all the penis-themed items the store carries, I get settled behind the sales counter, intent on finishing up the edits on my assignment, when the door tinkles again.

  I glance up and my stomach does some weird flippy thing. The awkward suit from a few weeks ago is back. Griffin. The star of my most recent X-rated fantasies.

  This is a surprise; usually bachelor party guys are in and out of town inside of a week. Maybe he’s local and his friends flew in to visit? Regardless, he’s back, and I never expected to see him again. Except this time, he’s dressed in a golf shirt and pants, looking just as yummy as he did the last time he was in here.

  “Run out of lube already?” I ask as the door closes behind him. I grimace at my less-than-appropriate greeting. Shaming customers when I work at an adult toy store isn’t the best strategy to generate business. And the fact that I recall the amount of flavored lube he purchased is embarrassing. I rarely remember what anyone buys, let alone some guy buying stuff for a bachelor party. Also, there’s one primary use for that lube, and it involves mouths and tongues, which means I immediately imagine him dining at the vagina buffet. And of course, I make it mine.

  He grins and ducks his head as he passes the lingerie rack, fingers brushing a pink lace teddy. “It was for a bachelor party, remember?”

  “Oh, right.” I tap my temple. “You drew the short straw. How could I forget?” I close my laptop and lean a casual arm on the counter. I also check to make sure I look okay in the tiny mirror by the register. “Did you have so much fun last time that you decided to host another bachelor party in Sin City?”

  “Uh, no. I’m good for bachelor parties for a while.” He stops a foot away from the sales counter and scratches the back of his neck, looking uncertain as he peeks up at me from under his pretty lashes.

  “What can I help you with, then, Griffin?”

  A half smile tips up the corner of his mouth. “You remember my name.”

  “It’s a unique name, kinda hard to forget.” It’s not like I’ve been doodling it incessantly for the past three weeks or anything. Or drawing gryphons because it’s better than actually getting caught writing his name on pieces of paper when I’m bored. I don’t know what my fascination is. Maybe his eyes? Maybe how uncomfortable he was while I gave him the run down on every ridiculous item he purchased? Maybe because he’s hot?

  His grin widens. “Not as unique as Cosy.”

  “Well, my mom is a big fan of tea, so . . .”

  “She named you after a tea cozy?”

  “No, but it’s the best explanation I have.”

  He chuckles and the sound makes things happen in the lower half of my body. I don’t think that’s normal.

  “So, if you’re not throwing another bachelor party, what’re you here for?”

  He hooks his thumbs in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “I, uh . . . was in the neighborhood, and I figured I’d pop in and see if you were working.”

  That definitely wasn’t the answer I expected. He looks way nervous, but it’s different than the
last time he was in here. “Because of my amazing expertise on all things sex toy related?”

  “Well, that was certainly helpful. My buddy was impressed that I managed to get everything on the list.” He takes another step toward the cash desk. “Uh, look, I don’t know if this . . . Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I’m an idiot.” He waves a hand in my direction. “You must have a boyfriend. I mean, look at you, how could you not?”

  I have a feeling I know what’s happening here, and I’m not sure how to handle it. I should probably lie and tell him I do have a boyfriend, but I go with honesty instead. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Really?”

  “They can be a lot of work. I’ve got enough stuff going on without adding another emotional dependent to my plate.” Awesome, Cosy, way to flirt like a pro. Here’s the thing about me—I can sell sex toys like nobody’s business, but when it comes to actual flirting with real live men that I find attractive, I get all flustered and say things without thinking them through.

  He laughs and props one muscular, tanned forearm on the counter. “What about dating? Do you do that, or is it too much work?”

  “I date.” Not often, but occasionally I get lonely and end up on a date with some guy. Usually from college, but never someone from my program because that’s asking for problems.

  I’ve even gone out on a few repeat dates, but as soon as the guy catches feelings, I put the gauntlet down. I’m too unsettled to get serious, and a bruised ego heals a lot faster than a broken heart. I’ve only let it get too far once in the past year. That guy still calls me once in a while, usually when he’s drunk. It’s unfortunate.

  He tips his head to the side. “Would you like to go for coffee?”

  “With you?” What a ridiculous question.

  “Ideally, yes.”

  I’m a little blown away that he’s come back here after all this time to ask me on a date, and I’m hesitant, so I don’t answer him directly. “It’s usually seventy degrees on a cool day here, and you want to have coffee with me?”