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she
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"Hey, will you spot for me?"
"Sure."
"The forklift's back in recieving."
He ends up in front of me, because his strides are much longer than mine. His orange apron has pulled his shirt up, leaving about two inches of skin exposed between his backbelt and his pants. And, ohmygod, it's the best thing that's happened all day. I can see the muscles flex as we make our way through nonstop customers to the other side of the store.
He glances back and catches me watching, but just winks and keeps going. Someday, I tell myself, I'll see the rest of that tattoo. It starts on his collarbone and wraps over his shoulder, and I've been told, stops at the bottom of that goregous ass.
I can just imagine how warm he would be to touch, to kiss, to undress...
"Hey, wake up. We have work to do, sistah."
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