He shrugged at me and smiled. "I figured, why go home to an empty house when I can sit here and stare at a hot chick all night."
I felt myself blushing and tried to suppress the giddy smile I felt coming on.
"Well, you're outta luck. It's just me here tonight."
No, I am absolutely not fishing for compliments.
"Then I guess it's a good thing that you are the hottest, sexiest woman I have ever seen."
Here, fishy, fishy, fishy.
I leaned over the bar a little to bring myself closer to him and he did the same. I didn't care if I was at work, I wanted to kiss him. And there were hardly any people here right now anyway. It was still early.
I licked my lips as I stared at his mouth and I heard him groan quietly. One more inch and I could run my tongue across his top lip.
"OUCH!"
I jerked away from Carter and yelled when something smacked against the back of my head.
Rubbing my hand against the spot, I turned around to see T.J. with both his arms in the air doing a victory dance.
"Direct hit, Morgan! That's another point for me!" he yelled as he ran over to the chalkboard behind the bar at the opposite end from me and put a tally mark under his name.
"Son of a bitch," I muttered as I turned back around to Carter.
"Um, what the hell was that about?" he asked with a laugh.
Before I could tell him it was just T.J. being a dick, the man in question ran up and stood next to me behind the bar. He slapped a ping pong ball down on the top right in front of Carter.
"That, my man, is a little something we like to call P.O.R.N."
"Wow, your idea of p**n and mine are slightly different," Carter said as he picked up the ping pong ball and rolled it around in his hands.
"No, no, no. Not p**n . P.O.R.N.," T.J. spelled out.
Carter looked completely lost.
"It's just this little game we play when it's slow in here," I said.
T.J. rested one hand on the bar and the other on his hip.
"Claire, don't underestimate the awesomeness that is P.O.R.N. You are completely devaluing the one thing that makes me not want to kill myself every time I come to work. A little more respect for P.O.R.N. please."
T.J. turned his attention to Carter. "Claire made up the rules," T.J. said excitedly as he pulled a piece of paper out from under the bar.
"Rules?" Carter questioned. "Don't you just throw the ball at someone?"
T.J. pushed the paper across the top of the bar and Carter picked it up to read through it.
"Au contraire my friend. There always need to be rules in P.O.R.N. Otherwise, he'll throw a ball, she'll throw a ball, they'll all throw a ball…it'll be anarchy."
"Alright there, Breakfast Club, walk away before I break the ten-foot distance rule and chuck one at your face," I told him.
T.J. walked away and Carter laughed as he read the rules out loud.
"Rule number one: P.O.R.N. is more fun with friends, invite them. Otherwise, you just look pitiful engaging in P.O.R.N. alone. Rule number two: Sharp objects should never be used in P.O.R.N. Poking someone's eye out will ruin the moment. Rule number three: Sneak attacks or "back door action" must come with advanced warnings or have prior approval. Rule number four: Only two balls allowed in play at all times to avoid ball-confusion, unless approved by the judges. Rule number five: P.O.R.N. is over when the other player(s) say it's over. Otherwise, someone is left holding useless balls."
Yes, sometimes I act like a twelve-year-old boy. Don't judge me.
"So what exactly does P.O.R.N. stand for and how do I get in on this action?" Carter asked with wag of his eyebrows.
"Well, the official title is Pong Organization Rules and Notices. But sometimes we shorten it to 'throwing shit at each other.' Frankly, I'm not sure you can handle P.O.R.N., Carter. It's an intense game of skill, determination and craftiness," I explained with a grin as I took the ball from his hand, turned quickly and whipped it across the bar to hit T.J. square in the ass as he was wiping down one of the tables.
"MOTHER FUCK!" T.J. yelled.
"It's all about being talented with your hands really," I said as I turned back around to face Carter.
I have absolutely no idea where this boldness shit was coming from. I felt like I was channeling Liz.
"Don't worry, Claire, I'm pretty good with my hands. I have a feeling I'd be excellent at P.O.R.N. It's all about how you angle your fingers and the stroke you use…when throwing the ball. Sometimes you have to do it slow and gentle, and other times you have to do it hard and fast."
Sweet baby innuendos, Batman.
"What time do you get off?"
In about ten seconds.
"Not until one. I have to close by myself tonight," I told him while I squeezed my thighs together and thought about his fingers stroking and pushing and hard and fast and gentle and…fuck!
"Can I just wait here while you work? I can help you close up and we can talk…or whatever," he said as he stared at my lips.
YES! Holy shitballs mother of YES! Yes, yes, f**k yes!
"Yeah, whatever," I said with a shrug as I walked away to stock the beer cooler and stick my vagina in there to cool it down.
13. Quivering Loins
For the next couple of hours I stared at Claire’s ass – er, I mean watched her work and chatted with her when she had a few seconds.
I also became a proud member of Team P.O.R.N. when I managed to throw a ping pong ball that ricocheted off of T.J.’s head and hit Claire in the tits. There was talk of making me the team captain after that one. Claire told me I really knew how to handle my balls, and I started to wonder if I was turning more than a little pervy by the fact that it turned me on whenever she said "balls."
