Hotline Fling

4: Hit and Run

Juneau's POV

I stepped out of our office building and onto the bustling sidewalks, the exhilarating noise of New York City traffic hitting me like a freight train. This city had a magnetic, addictive, near aphrodisiac energy level, which I felt the instant I first stepped on CCNY's campus and hadn't left the city since.

"Wow." I entered the high-end lingerie store and gaped at the merchandise selections that wrapped around me from the front entrance. The modern, cold interior design displayed a sparse assortment, edged with a glossy white, high-end look. Overwhelmed, inadequate, and underdressed in my business casual attire all transpired as I took in options ranging from full coverage and suggestive to dental floss thickness. With my black turtleneck and gray pencil skirt, I'd perfected the un-fuckable look.

"Can I help you, Miss?" A bored voice spoke out from behind the counter.

A pair of bright blue eyes looked at me with disinterest. Her unnatural shade of blonde hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and her body language –the slumped shoulders, vacant expression with mouth corners pulled down, fingers that tapped on the glass counters– mirrored the ones I exhibited daily in my job.

"Yeah, hi." I ran my fingers through my hair and smiled uneasily. This was not my element. My fingers fumbled, then reached into my purse and handed her Mr. Sanders' card. "My boss gave me this. Can you, umm...help me find something nice? Preferably comfortable, easy to put on and off."

"For your boss, huh?" She flicked the card from my fingers, then scanned it with a barcode scanner. Her eyes lit up at whatever amount it held. "He'll be a lucky man tonight."

Eww, gross, gross, gross. Not Mr. Sanders. "Oh no."

"Hot date then?" Her eyes and voice perked up with interest. "What are we working with here?"

"I'm a phone sex operator," I blurted out with a smile. "My boss said this stuff would... help with setting the mood."

Candid admissions always embarrassed others, but not this girl. Her eyes widened with flickers of interest, and she nodded. "This way, please." With a wave, she gestured for me to follow her to the dressing rooms. She pulled back a long, thick curtain to reveal a small dressing area with light purple robes hanging on one wall. She pointed at them. "Undress to your underwear, including shapewear, then put on a robe. I'll be back for your measurements."

"Measurements," I grumbled but peeled off my office pencil skirt and black turtleneck shirt and kicked off my black kitten heels. Unattractive grunts left my mouth while I wriggled out of my Spanx. How the hell had she known I wore them? I kept on my pearl necklace, a graduation present from my uncle, and my mother's silver bracelet watch around my wrist.

With my robe tied, I reached to pull the curtain open, but she stood right there with measuring tape in hand. She stepped inside, and in a flash of the closed curtain, my robe opened, and my very plain nude-colored bra and boy shorts underwear were on full display.

"Humm..." She stepped inches from me and strapped the measuring tape around my bustline. "Thirty-four." Definitely not thirty-eight. Then she moved to my waist. "Twenty-eight." And hips. "Thirty-six."

Okay, so I had a few curves.
And too much love for cannoli.

My cheeks flamed at those thoughts. Blondie said nothing about my love handles, only closed the curtain. I refastened the tiny robe and hugged my elbows. Should I step out into the store? Walking barefoot and parading around in this public bathroom toilet paper-thin robe hanging halfway up my legs grossed me out.

I looked at my watch. 12:14 pm. Plenty of time left in my lunch hour, although now it looked like I'd have to eat between calls this afternoon. No big deal since whenever I ate a sandwich, it worked with sound effects for blow job imagery.