Chapter 2

“Hey, Justin. What are you doing here? I thought your shift was over already.”

The man of my dreams, all six feet, five inches of smoking hotness, was in his usual spot in the cubicle to the left of mine. That he worked out regularly was evident in the muscles bulging in his arms and the snug fit of his white Polo shirt. His long legs were encased in tight jeans that emphasized his package, to my delight. He had pushed back his chair and was watching my clean-up operation with customary amusement.

Leaning back, hands resting on his decidedly firm, flat stomach, Justin replied, “I volunteered for an extra shift. I saw how crazy it was and figured they needed all the help they could get.”

And now you could understand why I was so into this guy. Justin Simpson was the nicest person you could ever meet. He gave you the shirt off his back, loaned you five bucks if you needed it. Just all around fuckin’ awesome. Sigh.