Crunch Time - Tuesday

Tammy, the brazen brown-noser, had demolished a party platter of double-stuffed tacos all on her lonesome. Despite her diminutive size, she was stuffing her filthy gob with soft shells and crunchy shells alike as dark eye shadow ran down her pale, powdered cheeks.

Zoey and Sam--the two most junior staff members--had attacked a family-sized serving of vegetarian nachos and a large tray of spicy pork tostadas, respectively. Moaning and groaning like starving street urchins as they shoveled down the fast food.

Claire didn't want to consider where the cheesy stack of enchiladas she had mowed through would settle on her not-insubstantial frame. It didn't bear consideration, and her red-rimmed eyes kept wandering back to Sam for some reason.

There was something different about the scrawny young man, an intangible appeal she couldn't quite put a painted pink finger on. It wasn't the soaked sandy hair clinging to his skull like he had just been swimming or the windfall of tortilla crumbs garnishing the front of his sweater vest.

No, it was more abstract. Indefinable. A hazy presence about the junior accountant as he hunched low over his food like a tiger claiming its kill and warding away would-be scavengers. Tomato salsa dripped from his stubbly chin like bloody gore.

The posture was bold and possessive. Strange to see on the skinny, unassuming male. Almost primal. It resonated with an animal instinct of Claire's own and set her pulse racing.

She licked the sauce from her chops as heat pooled between her thick thighs, which began to rub together under the desk.

Sam glanced up from his savaged meal and caught her staring.

"What's wrong? Do I have something on my face?"

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To be Continued...