He first saw her from behind, her stretch jeans hugging legs so long that they came together where her navel should have been. He imagined

the place those long legs merged and stepped up beside her to wait his turn, standing close enough to smell the scent of shampoo on her almond colored tresses. His body tingled with a surge of testosterone as he daydreamed about touching her. When she finished and turned to leave, she brushed against him, then looked at him with luscious, sapphire eyes. “Excuse me,” she squeaked like a dog’s rubber bone, and the sound of her voice in his ears turned to ice water that flooded his veins and doused the fire smoldering in his shorts. He nodded his pardon, then looked past her to the postal worker across the counter and said, “I’ll settle for a book of stamps.”

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