He raised his eyebrows at me. “In this day and age of facebook and skype and cell phones, it was impossible to keep track of him?”
“I don’t have a cell phone,” I said. “Or a computer.”
“You don’t have a cell phone or a computer?”
I shook my head. “Sorry if that offends your privileged white boy sensibilities.”
“Nothing offends me,” Colt said. He reached over and pushed a button on the phone that was sitting on the desk in the corner. After a second, a girls’ voice answered. “Jessa,” he said. “Can you bring me a waitress uniform?”
“Sure,” she said. “What size?”
Colt’s eyes racked up my body, taking in my legs, my hips, my breasts. “What’s your dress size?” he asked.
“Six.”
“And your bra size?”
I swallowed. “36C.”
He grinned, and relayed the information to the girl on the phone.
“So I’m going to be a waitress?” I asked. I could definitely handle that. Being a waitress sounded like it wouldn’t be that hard. I imagined myself bustling through the tables, serving food and drinks, making conversation with the customers.
“Cocktail waitress,” Colt said. “Have you ever waitressed before?”
I shook my head. “But one of my foster families had ten kids, and I was the oldest, so I served a lot of meals. It was kind of like being a waitress.”
“Trust me,” Colt said. “Our customers are not kids. They’re men looking for a certain kind of service. Do you know what that means?”
“It means they want me to have sex with them?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Well, yes, maybe. But most of all they want you to make them feel special.”
There was a knock on the door, and the bartender, the one who had answered the phone when I’d called about the audition, came walking into the room holding a plastic dry cleaner bag.
“Jessa,” Colt said. “Have you met Olivia?”
“Yes,” I said at the same time Jessa said, “No.”
“We met earlier,” I reminded her. “Remember?”
She shrugged. “Colt,” she said. “Are you going to have time later to go over the vendor orders with me?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll catch you on the way out.”
She gave him a smile, and I saw a flash of something in her blue eyes before she turned and walked out the door. He’s mine. She wanted me to know that Colt was off-limits. Were Colt and Jessa together? Was that why she had been so rude to me earlier?
“Here you go, Princess,” Colt held the bag out to me. “Try it on.”
I took it. “Where should I change?”
“Here.”
“In front of you?”
He shrugged, like it was no big deal.
I hesitated, and he rolled his eyes. “You can change over there, behind the screen.” He pointed to the corner of the room, where there was a room divider set up. It was cream-colored, with a red and blue abstract design printed on it.
I took a deep breath and slid behind it, then pulled the plastic bag off the uniform and studied it. It was a short pleated black skirt with a black push-up bustier with spaghetti straps. There was a tiny black thong to wear underneath it. It was revealing, but not anything worse than you’d see out in a club.
I slid out of the clothes Colt had given me and into the uniform. Even without a mirror, I could tell it was way too small. The waist was fine, but the skirt was so short that bottom of my ass was hanging out. My breasts were pushed together and practically falling out of the top. There was a cut out in the top of the bustier, and it tied in the middle, holding your breasts together.
“Colt?” I called. “My uniform is too small.”
“Let me see.”
“No.”
“Let. Me. See.”
“No.”
But he appeared a second later, sticking his head around the side of the partition, taking me in. I tried to cross my arms over my chest, but that only served to push my breasts together more.
“Jesus,” he said when he saw me.
“I told you it was too small.”
“No,” he said. “It’s perfect.”
“It’s not. My chest can’t fit in the top and the skirt is way too short.”
Colt reached out and slowly, deliberately, grabbed my arms and pulled my hands down from where I was covering my breasts so that he could see me. My breath hitched as he stood there, so tall he was almost towering over me, staring down at my tits.
I saw the desire searing in his eyes.
“You’re not wearing it right,” he said. “You need to tie it tight in the middle.” He reached up to undo the strips of material, but I grabbed his hands and stopped him.
“Don’t,” I said. “I can do it.”