Lupe nods and turns back to the film. The boy is still staring at her, trying to be inconspicuous about it, but she can see out of the corner of her eye - his eyes keep flicking from her hips to her tits to the curve of her lips and back again. Fuckin' out-of-towner, this one.
She clears her throat, and he colors and turns away, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
The movement makes his shirt pulls tight over his shoulders. Out-of-towner, but he's strong. Put together right. And shit, he's got hands as big as her head.
She hums under her breath, smiles a little. She's about done with the fiche anyway.
He starts when she touches his elbow, skin hot through his shirt. "It's all yours," she says, pitching her voice low, and she grins when he stutters his thanks.
There are a couple of chairs, worn and well-loved, sitting across the aisle from the microfiche, and she settles in one, pulling a magazine from the periodical rack and watching him. He can't concentrate on whatever he's doing - she highly doubts he's looking up his Abuela's wedding announcement, like she had been - because he keeps giving her sidelong glances.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2007-09-21 06:35 pm (UTC)...
Lupe nods and turns back to the film. The boy is still staring at her, trying to be inconspicuous about it, but she can see out of the corner of her eye - his eyes keep flicking from her hips to her tits to the curve of her lips and back again. Fuckin' out-of-towner, this one.
She clears her throat, and he colors and turns away, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
The movement makes his shirt pulls tight over his shoulders. Out-of-towner, but he's strong. Put together right. And shit, he's got hands as big as her head.
She hums under her breath, smiles a little. She's about done with the fiche anyway.
He starts when she touches his elbow, skin hot through his shirt. "It's all yours," she says, pitching her voice low, and she grins when he stutters his thanks.
There are a couple of chairs, worn and well-loved, sitting across the aisle from the microfiche, and she settles in one, pulling a magazine from the periodical rack and watching him. He can't concentrate on whatever he's doing - she highly doubts he's looking up his Abuela's wedding announcement, like she had been - because he keeps giving her sidelong glances.