Jack Off

by K.B. Cinder

Contract of employment is scrolled across the top of the first page, and judging by the stack’s thickness, he spent a lot of time on this sucker or found one hell of a template to fill in. “Thank you.” “It’s mainly legal verbiage,” he reveals. “Basically, a promise that you won’t throw Pop down a well no matter how much he deserves it and that you won’t sell photos of me on the internet.” I lift my head, quirking a brow. “Photos?” What is this guy smoking? “You know, photos?” He stresses the word like I know what he’s talking about. Newsflash: I don’t. “Like…” I trail. “Indecent ones.” I swear he blushes, but maybe that’s my imagination playing tricks on me. “Do you walk around naked or something?” I ask, and now I’m the one blushing because imagining this dude strutting his stuff in the buff raises the room’s temperature to inferno. He blinks rapidly, cocking his head at me. “What?” “How else would I get naked photos of you? Are you a nudist?” Now I’m super grateful that my room is over the garage because if this guy is a streaker, there’s no way I’ll be able to keep my eyes to myself. Who would think having a hot, nudist boss would be an actual problem? He looks at me like I’m insane, which I very well might be. “No. What are you talking about?” “You said I’d somehow have indecent photos of you.” He frowns, tapping the paper stack. “Yeah, if you were in this job for nefarious reasons, maybe you would. It’s a standard privacy clause. Do you run around accusing ...