CHAPTER 2
AVA
Two days later, the bell jingles at 5:57 p.m.
Mark steps in, tie already loose, raincoat slung over one arm, eyes finding me like magnets. The line had been brutal all afternoon, but now the shop is empty except for the low hum of the cooler and the patter of rain on the roof.
I’m behind the counter in the green apron again—nothing underneath, t**s barely contained, n*****s pierced and hard against the fabric, skirt nonexistent today.
He locks the door behind him without asking. Flip. Click.
“Drive-thru side,” I whisper, crooking a finger.
His eyebrow arches. “You serious?”
I’m already moving, hips swaying, apron strings brushing my bare ass. The drive-thru window counter is narrow, stainless steel, still warm from the afternoon rush. Cars idle outside in the evening
