I like my tea like I like my men,” I say. With the last name “Grey.” But I realize that’s too forward, so I add, “Black.” He raises an eyebrow. “I mean, not that I exclusively like black men,” I say, trying to recover. “I like other...
My shift isn’t over until six,” I say glumly. “Hold on,” he says. He pulls a Blackberry from his coat pocket and taps out a text. It buzzes, and he taps out another text before stashing it back in his pocket. “I think you can take the rest ...
For the first time since he showed up in my checkout lane, I let my eyes wander the full length of his body. The bulge in his running down the side of his pants leg is quite noticeable; either he has a banana in his pocket, or he’s happy to see me....
Most times, my mind is just an ongoing, present-tense, first-person monologue. It's like I'm writing a novel.
