Salty

Seven | Stolen Granola

Seven | Sloan

The Uber smelled of cheap beer mixed with vomit. Not even the open windows or the air conditioning on full blast on a cool day was helping. The driver had apologized as soon as I had entered, telling a wild tale about a poor guy getting abandoned on his twenty-first birthday, finding the 'love of his life' while waiting on the sidewalks of Chicago, ordered an Uber to take them back to his place, and then was puked on by the girl just before she fled. There was a lot of nodding with this story and many attempts to ignore the smell of sick. The throbbing in my head wouldn't let up. And it didn't even compare to the throbbing left between my legs.

I'd been raptured all right.

I was sore everywhere. From head to toe, my body ached from ruthless pleasure. Just as I found a spot where fresh air from the window could hit my face, and where my head was comfortable against the leather seat, the car finally came to its stop in front of TJ's consignment shop. I looked at my shoes, then to my sore feet, then back to the shoes.

Nope. Not happening. Barefoot it is.

The cement was cold, but it was nothing compared to the apartment I had just left. I rushed to the doors of the consignment shop, cursing under my breath when they took too long to open. Finally, the automatic doors parted for me to enter. TJ was nowhere in sight. According to the time on my phone, my shift started twenty minutes ago. I had seriously underestimated the morning commute from inner Chicago.

Thankfully, the store appeared empty. There was not a customer in sight, and it gave me time to rush to the lady's clothing section to grab a plain black tee and a pair of white shorts that normally, I would avoid. Today I wouldn't be picky. The shop had almost everything I would need for the day, except for essential undergarments. I was lacking a bra and was wearing last night's panties.

"You're late."

I jumped. Everything I was holding—including Hallie's heels, and a stolen condiment—fell from my hands. As if every other part of my body wasn't already telling me I was still alive, my heart now seemed to have leapt from my chest with the appearance of TJ.

His eyebrow raised. "Since when are you ever late for anything?"

It was a fair question. I liked to be the first one to any event on my schedule. This was the first time I had ever been late for a work shift in my life. I didn't even like to call in when ill, but that was more for the sake of needed income. I was the most reliable person I knew, making me likely the most reliable person who TJ knew.

"Sorry." I blushed.

Bending down to pick up the hangers and shoes, TJ quickly diverted his eyes to the lights in the ceiling, and then pretended he heard the door open and looked there. The dress was definitely revealing in many places and was anything but work appropriate. It was the type of dress for nights like the one that had occurred last night. This dress told TJ everything he needed to know.

"You can, uh, change after you clock in. The store is empty. If you want to just bring the stuff back tomorrow, you won't need to pay for them."

"Thank you." I gave the little black dress a tug down as much as I could to cover my ass without losing coverage of my breasts.

Before TJ could ask about last night, or judge me for it, I diverted to the shoe section to grab the only pair of shoes my poor feet could handle today—a pair of bright orange flip-flops that had bedazzled plastic straps. They were hideous, but they would not make me feel like I was dying every time I took a step either. After clocking in, I winced my way to the fitting rooms, shutting the flimsy door to have some peace for the first time today.