No, what I want is an empty passenger seat. “You already know,” I say, glancing back up at the clock. It’s five minutes to nine. The shop’ll be open in another hour or so. I flip through the appointment book. I have four clients scheduled today, and will probably end up with a walk-in or two before I bounce out of here tonight.

“I feel you, sexy. Don’t sweat that shit, though. I’ma be home in a minute, feel me? Then it’s on. We nonstop fuckin’—hard, ya heard?”

“Mmm-hmm,” I moan, pressing my thighs together, remembering how good Jasper used to use his lips, his mouth, his tongue, his fingers, his deliciously thick dick—to work my pussy over until it ached and throbbed and erupted. I open my mouth to tell him how much I need to feel him inside of me, but the call is abruptly disconnected.

He’ll call back, I think, watching Felecia at the door, trying to maneuver carrying a Dunkin’ Donuts bag and her morning dose of Hazelnut coffee while digging into her Michael Kors python-trimmed leather hobo bag for the door keys. I walk over and open it for her.

“Thanks,” she says, walking in, then shutting the door with the back of her foot. “You’re here awful early this morning.”

“Yeah, I have a nine-thirty.”

“Oh, I thought your first appointment wasn’t until noon.”

“It was,” I tell her, walking over to my workstation, “but Bianca called last night and asked if she could come in this morning.”

“Oh, okay. She hasn’t been in here in a while.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure her ends are a hot-ass mess, too. She keeps cancelling her appointments.”

“I guess that baby’s been keeping her busy.”

“I guess so,” I say, glancing up at the wall clock. It’s 8:55 a.m. “I know one thing. I hope she doesn’t come waltzing up in here all late and wrong. I coulda stayed in bed a little longer.” I yawn, covering my mouth. “Oooh, ’scuse me.”