Grand Opening

Casey Calvert sits behind the empty counter, jaw tight, knuckles white around a rag she hasn't used in an hour. She stares at the silent tables like they owe her rent, mind chewing through every possibility. Then her spine straightens. The smile that creeps across her face is trouble wrapped in promise. Maya Woulfe slips through the door, eyes skimming the chalkboard, half-decided to bolt. One look toward the counter freezes her mid-step. Casey is perched on the marble, knees parted, apron rucked up, skirt hitched to her hips. Bare. Wet. Waiting. "Grand opening special," Casey purrs. "You lick, I remember your name." Maya's hesitation lasts one heartbeat. Then she drops, mouth hungry, tongue working like she's late for last call. Casey grips the edge, breath hissing between her teeth, hips tilting to meet each stroke. The bell jingles again. Evelyn Claire halts two steps inside, jaw slack. Maya never flinches, never looks up. Evelyn's surprise melts into calculation. Phone out, quick call, voice low: "Running late, babe." She hangs up, gaze glued to Casey's open thighs like she's already ordering dessert. Alexis Tae pushes the door next, stops dead, then bites her lip and folds her arms. No rush. She leans against the wall, next in line, eyes dark with anticipation. The register stays quiet, but the air hums like a live wire. Business is finally moving.