I hold my breath and watch his fingers fold around the neck of the bottle. I know he’s smiling, watching me, but I can’t stop staring at that hand. Just a slight turn of the wrist and he’d touch me again, he’d touch me there, and he knows it.
As he pulls the bottle off the shelf, he taps me with the bottom. The plastic is cold and solid against the erection straining the front of my shorts. My d**k goes from eh to OMG! in the time it takes him to extract the bottle from the case.
Now I look at him, and he’s grinning like a damned cat. “I’ll see you around,” he says, and with a wink, he’s gone.
I watch him walk away, my thoughts spun out in a whirl. He said he should come in here more often. Did he mean to see me?
* * * *
The next day, there’s a clean-up on aisle three where some dumba
