Then I shake it off and square my shoulders.
Why shouldn’tI be allowed to feel this way? That man out there pushes all my buttons and he’s made it abundantly clear he’s equally attracted to me. Why wouldn’tI allow myself to be all fluttery about him?
That thought propels me forward, and soon I return into the shop, stencil ready, mentally prepared for more flirting.
And stumble over my own feet at the sight that greets me.
He’s done as I’d asked, and his suit jacket is now hanging neatly on the back of the chair he previously occupied. But instead of rolling up his sleeve, he’s taken off his shirt completely and is now standing in the middle of the shop with his back turned to me in only his thin, white undershirt. It’s stretched across his wide shoulders, painted on his back, following every hill and valley of his muscles, the tapering lines of his waist, forming an arrow pointing to his ass. His high, round ass, tightly hugged by his fancy suit pants.