Trey unsubtly looked straight down Lisa's top, getting an eyeful before she kissed him. His hard-on came back at full force and he moaned into the kiss, his eyes fluttering closed at the effect of it. When she disappeared, Trey rubbed at his dick through his jeans, wondering if he should take care of himself in this office or not. He was just about to stand up when a punk chick came into the room with a glass of light orange liquid and handed it to him.
"I'm Amy. Drink up."
Trey tasted a tropical flavouring - mango and pineapple and orange and all sorts. It was sugary and delicious, but it hurt to swallow. Halfway through his drink there was a soft knock on the door and a huge guy in leathers entered when Amy called out. The big guy had a tiny plate with a sandwich on it. He thrust it towards Trey who took it and wondered how he was going to eat it when he was holding the plate and the glass. The big guy left and shut the door, leaving Amy and Trey together, though the punk chick wasn't paying him much attention.
At first Trey tried to nibble the sandwich directly off the plate but all he ended up doing was shove it around and get some jelly on his chin. Eventually he realised he could set it down on his lap and eat it the regular way. He'd totally forgotten! The smack was good stuff, that was for sure. He gave Amy a winning smile and she must have sensed a change in him because she looked his way, pulled a face of 'what the fuck' then went back to cleaning her nails, her boot-clad feet on the corner of Lisa's desk.
After finishing the sandwich and glass of tropical juice, he set the items down on the floor and saw that there was a sticky-note stuck on the ring finger of his left hand. Where had that come from? He gave it a little wave, trying to make the thing let go but it wouldn't. He plucked it off with his right but then it got stuck on his thumb there. At least he could twist his hand around a little better and read what was written on there.
A mobile number and the name Lisa-Joe. What? He knew Lisa but who the hell was Joe? Maybe he was someone who had access to her phone. Trey didn't want to be texting her if some guy was going to be spying on her. She was mighty clever to have let Trey know about this other guy, but he didn't understand why she couldn't have just given him her direct number. He looked over at the punk chick who'd introduced herself as Amy.
"Have you got a pen?" he asked. Amy didn't ask why. She just grabbed one from Lisa's desk and tossed it at him. He caught it against his chest, making a 'woah' sound as it happened. Using his leg as his makeshift table again, he carefully wrote LISA in block letters along the bottom of the note, then had another question for Amy. "What's Lisa's direct number?" He would've said more but his throat was aching now, even just for talking.
Amy ran off a bunch of numbers and Trey hurriedly wrote them down beside Lisa's name. "Thanks," he said, then threw the pen back at Amy, who hadn't expected him to do it but it bounced harmlessly off her beanie and flicked over her head and then landed on the floor. Trey didn't notice, he was looking at the line of numbers he'd written down, pleased with himself. If he'd been more perceptive, he would've seen that both numbers were the same.
When he stood up, Amy did too. She had a funny expression on her face, like she was enjoying a joke that he hadn't heard. Maybe someone had told her a joke outside and she'd only just got it. That happened to him sometimes, too. He gave her a warm smile, pleased about their similarity, and the pair of them left the office together.
"Trey, take the sticky note off your jeans leg and put it in your pocket," Amy said once Trey was about to step outside. "I don't want the boss's number flying around the city. Okay?"
Trey found the sticky-note on his jeans leg and wondered how it had got there, forgetting that he'd stuck it there himself to write down Lisa's number. He gave her the thumbs up and rescued his note, shoving it into his pocket and hoping he wouldn't throw it into the wash by mistake.
