The horn blared the intro to the Exodus End song “Bite.” Stacy, the college student Reagan usually worked with, turned at the sound of the horn. Her dark eyes widened and she yanked the drive-thru window open.
“Reagan! What in the world?” She gaped at the limo and then pointed at Reagan. “Hank is pissed that you didn’t show up for work. He says he’s going to fire you.”
“Tell ol’ Hank to come here,” Reagan said.
“Why are you in a limo? Did you win the lottery?” Several of the other baristas were at the window trying to see through the tiny opening. Every last one of them was wearing a teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini.
“Better,” Reagan assured her.
“What could possibly be better than winning the lottery?” Stacy asked.
“Oh, I don’t know…” Reagan said, sure her face was about to crack from the huge smile she couldn’t seem to curtail.
A hand pressed against her lower back and Trey peeked out the moonroof beside her.
There was an ear-splitting scream from within the coffee shop. “That’s Trey Mills!”
“Hiya,” he said and stuck his arm out of the limo’s roof to wave.
“Oh my God, Reagan, are you dating Trey Mills?” Leah squeaked, shoving the other bikini-clad baristas away from the window as she attempted to climb out of the tiny opening. Not going to happen. “That is better than winning the lottery!”
“She keeps turning me down,” Trey said.
Reagan slapped at him. “He lies.”
“Reagan, will you be my girlfriend?” he asked.
She looked down at him, knowing he was teasing her. Knowing he expected her to say no. His grass-green eyes were full of mischief. “Yeah, sure, Trey. Why not? Consider yourself saddled with a steady girlfriend.”
Trey’s eyes widened and he sort of melted down through the open moonroof and disappeared from sight. She laughed, wondering what he would say to get himself out of that arrangement.
“What are you doing? Causing another spectacle?” Hank yelled through the window. “This is the last straw, Reagan Elliot. I cut you some slack when you hosed down a customer with club soda.”
“He was being a dick,” Reagan said. The four women behind Hank nodded in agreement.
“I turned a blind eye when you wore combat boots with your bikini instead of the required heels.”
“Hey, I said if you made it through an eight-hour day in those foot-killers I’d be willing to wear them.” She shrugged.
The sound of Trey laughing rose up through the open moonroof.
“And now you’re blocking the drive-thru with your obnoxious limo,” Hank said.
“There’s no such thing as an obnoxious limo. I just stopped by to quit. I don’t need this f**ked-up job anymore.”
“Just like that?” Hank bellowed out the window. “No notice or anything?”
“Yeah, just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “Later.” She pursed her lips and crinkled her brow as if concentrating. “Actually, I won’t see you later, Hank. Split my last paycheck between all my honeys. Bye, girls! I’ll miss you!” She waved at her ex-coworkers. They waved back excitedly.
She dropped back down into the limo and grinned at Trey. “That was awesome,” she said.
“I thought you were going to moon them.”
“They do call it a moonroof for a reason, but I’m not wearing any panties, so I think I’ll skip that part today.”
“Did you really wear combat boots with a bikini?”
“Is that a problem?”
He shook his head. “I’d just like to see it is all.”
“I don’t wear a bikini to work anymore.” She grinned again. Couldn’t help it. “I wear a guitar now.”
“And nothing else?”
“It wouldn’t bother me. Would it bother you?”
“I’d definitely be bothered. Hot and bothered.”
The phone in the center of the console rang. Trey answered. “One moment. Let me see if I can get reservations at Spago.”
Trey dug his cell phone out of his jeans pocket. Reagan was not dressed to rub elbows with the rich and famous. It didn’t sound all that fun to her, really. Trey slid his finger down the screen of his phone looking for the right number.
“You’ll never get reservations on such short notice,” Reagan said.
He glanced up at her and blushed. She noticed for the first time that he had a light spattering of freckles on his nose. She wanted to kiss them all.
“I… uh… have connections with someone there. They always get me in.”
She took his phone to make sure she had his undivided attention. “I’m impressed. Really,” she said, “but honestly, I’d rather get a burger and a beer and eat while cruising around in the back of a limo. With you. Just you.” She looked up at him. “But if you’d rather I behave properly in public—”
He snatched the phone out of her hand and tossed it into the seat on the opposite side of the limo. The driver’s phone hit the console, and Reagan found herself buried under one hot and eager man. Heavy on the hot.
Dear Lord, the man could kiss. Trey’s lips were soft yet strong against hers. He applied just the right amount of pressure and suction—rubbing with lips, caressing with tongue—to drive her mad with desire. He nipped her lower lip and then drew it into his mouth to suck it gently and soothe it with the tip of his tongue. She knew she was clinging to his back, rubbing her heat against his thigh and panting with excitement, but the incurable tease in her had gone on vacation and for a long moment she let Trey drive her to distraction without even considering pushing him away.
“Sir,” a tinny voice said from somewhere in the middle of the car. “Sir! We’re blocking the drive-thru.”
Reagan slapped around at the console, trying to find the phone receiver. When she finally wrapped her hand around it, she turned her head to break Trey’s kiss. He stared down at her, his heavy-lidded eyes partially closed, and a pulse of hot lust surged through her pu**y. He seemed to be waiting for her to give him the proper cue, but all she could do was stare up at him and imagine the feel of his c**k filling that hot, achy emptiness between her thighs.
“Sir, are you there?” the driver said exasperatedly. “Damned rock stars,” he muttered.
Reagan lifted the receiver to her ear. “The damned rock stars would like to drive around for a while. Head north along the coast. Just keep driving. We’ll let you know when to stop.”