“Are we talking about the booth?” I ask.
Davis leers at me over his shoulder. “We’re talking about wood. Where do you want me to put it?”
My mouth goes dry with lust and when I speak, my voice barely makes it above a whisper. “Put what?” The booth? The wood he’s holding? His d**k? I don’t know about the first two but I’ve got an idea where I’d like that last one to go. “You mean the booth, right?”
Davis just laughs, a delicious sound that washes over me like a summer breeze. “What do you think I mean?” he asks.
I’d really love to find out.
* * * *
After our booth is up and Davis has moved onto the next vendor, leaving me with aching balls and a promise to return when he gets the chance, I set out as much of the vegetables as I can and stack the empty crates in the back of my truck. T
