“Now go bake your cookies, sweet girl. Go make the men of the boardwalk’s mouths water, but know that I’m the only one who’s tasting you tonight.” I can almost hear the record scratch, except my own music is still blaring. “Excuse me?” I ask, trying to pull back to look at him, his smile in place. “After you close, come to the shop. You’ll sit in my booth until we close, then you’ll be sleeping in my bed.” “Excuse me?” I repeat again. There’s no way I’m hearing this correctly. “Your music is loud, babe, but you’re not deaf.” He leans forward and nips my ear. A shiver runs down my spine, and he
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