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wasn’t there. Confused, Aniston began taking out the contents to
find it. Worried, she began mentally retracing her steps. Like the
proverbial light bulb above the head, the realized in an instant
that she had left her phone on the table at the
restaurant.
     
    “Great,” she thought. Just what she needed. She
had been trying to make a dramatic exit to chastise Archer for his
behavior and now she would have to go back. All she could do was
hope the late hour meant that only the bus boy doing the dishes
would be left and maybe the GM. Probably not Archer. He was the
star chef, after all.
     
    She looked down at her satin pajamas and
decided against changing. She would just throw a trench coat on and
flip flops. No need to change clothes for the busboy. She grabbed
the coat and her keys and headed out the door. The streets were not
very crowded in the city that never sleeps because it was a Tuesday
night. Her neighborhood was full of hip new restaurants, used
bookstores, and a low key bar where “everyone knows your name.”
Once the restaurants closed, there wasn’t a ton of late
traffic.
     
    She reached the restaurant and the front door
was locked. She knocked loudly and pressed her face against the
window to see in. Nobody was in the dining room but there was still
a light on in the kitchen. She was banging on the door now hoping a
busboy would hear.
     
    Finally, the kitchen door opened and Aniston’s
heart beat harder as she saw Archer crossing the dining room to let
her in. He had on a thin white t-shirt, jeans, and an apron. The
shirt did a weak job of covering his body. His hair was even more
mussed giving him a look sexier than before. If he didn’t have the
apron on, he would’ve been just a normal, hot, twenty-something New
Yorker. That would have been enough in Aniston’s mind. But the
apron… the apron is what put her over and ignited the lust in her
once again. He was like a man in uniform, a culinary
uniform.
     
    Her juices had begun flowing again between her
thighs. She became aware of this just as Archer reached the door
and she reddened with embarrassment.
     
    “Ms. Monroe. Didn’t get enough of my food? Want
to experience more delectable perfection that is my
cooking?”
     
    “I’ve had quite enough, thank you. I need to
get my phone.”
     
    “Ah, yes. It’s in the office. Follow
me.”
     
    They were snaking their way through the tightly
packed tables with chairs on top in the medium sized dining room.
Before they reached the kitchen door, Archer turned and casually
said, “You know, Ms. Monroe, you really should password protect
your phone. You have some racy pictures on there. Where was that
nude beach? Mexico? France? I couldn’t tell.”
     
    “You looked through my phone!” She stared at
him in amazement. She should have figured he would be so rude, but
the intrusion angered her nonetheless.
     
    “Like I said, you should password protect your
phone.” Aniston shoved her way passed him forcing her body to rub
against his to get by. She felt the hard muscles she had been
imagining while masturbating less than an hour earlier. This turned
her on but did not dampen her indignation. It was her turn to storm
through the kitchen door.
     
    She pushed through dramatically to reach the
bright and airy kitchen. The dining room was packed tight but the
kitchen was spacious. “How did he pull this off?” she muttered
under her breath.
     
    “Because I’m me,” Archer replied. Aniston
hadn’t meant for him to hear her. She was growing more frustrated
with him and with her body by the minute. If he would just stop
talking. She didn’t want to be so turned on by a man that was such
an arrogant ass. But she couldn’t help it.
     
    She looked around for the office, spotted it,
and marched toward it. Archer grabbed her arm before she could
reach it and swung her around to face him. Too surprised to react,
she stood there as he pulled her body against his and pushed his
lips against