I feel a little guilty about it now, but the first thing I noticed about her was her breasts; they were great, the best pair I've ever seen on a real-live woman anyway. The doormen and the guys in the kitchen were betting they were fake but Jackie didn't seem the type; besides they had this way of bouncing under her t-shirt when she walked which was 100% genuine.

Getting to know her was easy, since we worked together a lot and she liked to talk. Frankly I was a little surprised that Mac hired her in the first place; generally the women he hired were hot and stupid. Jackie was cute and smarter than every other woman in the place. She was also hilarious to work with, and gave it back as good as she got it. You couldn't put anything past her and she took the teasing and joking like she was one of the guys.

In less than a month it seemed like she'd been working at Mac's forever; the customers loved her, Mac thought she hung the moon, and the place just ran better when she was behind the bar. I don't think the other girls thought much of her, possibly because they had nothing in common, but Jackie didn't put much score in the "skinny bitches" (her phrase, not mine) anyway.

She was tough and spunky and could swear like a sailor; and I wanted her from the first second I saw her. But life has a way of complicating things, no matter how much you wished it otherwise; she had a boyfriend. He was a fucking idiot and a slacker, but Jackie seemed attached to him so I didn't push the issue. She didn't talk about him much anyway, which suited me just fine; it was easier to pretend he didn't exist that way.

I dated too, the usual string of pretty girls without much between the ears. When you're a bartender it's easy enough to come by the willing ones, and although my low standards sometimes made me feel guilty I wasn't stupid enough to say no. If Jackie thought anything of my girlfriends she said nothing, which was weird because we could talk about everything else.

She had this way of flirting which seemed natural and fun; the customers responded to it and so did I. I'm not sure she was even aware she was doing it, but she had this way of making you feel at ease, like you were the smartest, funniest guy in the room. She tried to explain the niceties of hockey to me; I tried to enlighten her on football. We could talk all night about every subject under the sun or sit in silence and drink a half-dozen beers and be perfectly happy either way.

I could watch her work all night, loved the way she bent over to grab a beer from the cooler, loved the subtle curves of her body beneath her baggy golf shirt. As time went by I found myself just waiting for those opportunities when she'd brush past me; and hoped like a desperate teenager that she'd touch my arm or let me touch hers. She had this way of looking over her shoulder at you and smiling which made me hard every time. Each night we worked together was torture, but I wouldn't have given those shifts up for anything.

The first time I knew I was really in trouble was the night I spent an entire shift trying to figure out if her hair was brown or red and if her eyes were blue or grey; I was thirty-two years old and feeling like a fucking ass for wanting a woman I'd never have; she had me wrapped in knots and she didn't even know it. We worked together as friends for more than four years before my opportunity came.

The night she told me she'd dumped her slacker boyfriend I know I wore a shit-eating grin the entire shift; I tried to be supportive and sympathetic and all that crap that girls think they need, but she saw through it easily and didn't seem to care; her sense of humour carried her through.

"Fuck him," Jackie laughed, popping the cap off another bottle of beer. It was her fifth one of the night, a few more than she usually had after work, but she held her liquor better than any other woman I knew, so I wasn't worried. "He's an asshole."

"Yeah," I muttered in agreement, watching out of the corner of my eye as she stripped off her work uniform to reveal the tank top underneath. It was such an unconsciously sexy gesture that I was hard instantly.

"I'm not thinking about him ever again," she sighed, tossing her wavy brown hair over one petite shoulder; her hair looked so soft I just itched to touch it. "I'm a strong, independent woman; I don't need a boyfriend." She giggled semi-drunkenly into her beer.

I chuckled, raising my beer in a silent toast; Jackie smiled her sexy little grin in return and we both went back to watching sports highlights in the darkened bar. It was our nightly post-work ritual and we'd been doing it for four years but all of a sudden it felt different to me. She was right there, sitting beside me, completely unaware of how fucking cute she was and how much I wanted her; if I was a braver guy I'd have reached for her right then and there, but I was scared she'd turn me away. After all, she didn't treat me any differently than any other guy she knew and at the time I had no idea what she really thought of me.

The truth was Jackie did need a boyfriend; she deserved a man who would treat her well and live to make her happy. I wanted to please her, to take her home and show her how much I wanted her, how possible it was for her to be satisfied. I knew the sex would be amazing between us, and I ached to show her just how good we could be together. But common sense got the best of me and I sat silently and watched the light of the television flicker off her face as she got drunk in celebration of being single.

And so I started seeing Lisa, mostly because she was pretty hot and she'd been easy to get; she flirted openly with me one night while I was working and I took her home. If Jackie noticed she didn't say anything; we'd always been strangely silent in regards to our relationships outside of work and every time I fucked Lisa I felt a little guilty because I was wishing she was someone else.

There were a lot of things I could never tell Lisa, it was almost like she didn't care that I had friends, a job, or plans for the future; and at times I suspected she was using me just like I was using her. It was no surprise to either of us that we broke up and I can't say I missed her when she was gone.

But I had a hard time telling Jackie and I didn't know why. Maybe because we'd never really talked about my seeing Lisa; maybe because I didn't want her to think I was a shitty boyfriend; maybe I just didn't know what to say.

I felt like I was stuck in a purgatory of my own making, waiting for things to happen in my career; waiting for the girl of my dreams to notice me; waiting for the fucking balls to do something about it all.

And then the opportunity came and I still can't believe that it happened.

It was the Sunday of the NFL division finals and I'd left the office to help Jackie bartend; not that she needed the help, she'd bounced around behind the bar with her unique blend of cheerfully sarcastic excitement all night long; her mood was so contagious that by halftime I'd forgotten the bitchy, post-breakup-bull-shit phone call from Lisa earlier in the evening.

So I teased and flirted and Jackie gave it right back, unaware of the effect her sexy little laugh had on me. The shift flew by even though I kept finding myself distracted by the smallest things: the little curl which had escaped her ponytail to rest against the back of her neck; how good she smelled when I got close enough to breathe her in; hell, even the way she wrapped her hand around a bottle of beer had me thinking the wrong things.

So when the night was over and we were having our post-shift beer I told Jackie about breaking up with Lisa and she seemed genuinely concerned, and when I put my arm casually around her and she didn't shy away I was so pleased I couldn't keep the grin off my face. All I could think about was kissing her and how warm her bare shoulder was against my arm.

Jackie was strangely quiet as we sat watching Sportscentre; usually she pestered me with questions and I couldn't help but wonder what was going on in her pretty little head. It was just as well that she didn't know what was going on in mine.

"What is this?" Jackie asked after a long stretch of silence; she kept her eyes glued to the T.V. screen.

I tore my gaze from the Bulls/Pistons highlights to glance over at her and tried to sound cool. "What is what?"

"This. Whatever this is, you know, between us. What is it?"

My heart stopped; the little voice in my head was screaming at me to make my move. I tightened my arm around Jackie, swivelling her barstool so we faced each other again, knees bumping. I wound my other arm wound around her too, caressing the length of her bare arm and watching as her beautiful blue eyes grew wide.

"I don't know," I admitted, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt; I had no clue what I would say or do if she turned away. "Want to find out?"

A sexy smile bloomed slowly across her face, and I found myself wondering why I'd ever thought her cute; Jackie wasn't just cute, she was fucking gorgeous.

"Hell, yeah," she whispered and then she kissed me. Later we would argue as to who kissed who first; I'd never admit that it was her, but to be honest it was and the fact that she wanted me back made me dizzy.

Every bone in my body jolted with shock as our lips met, and when her tongue found mine it took a moment for my brain to register what was happening; my cock, however, was right on board.

So I did what was I'd been dying to do for four years: I kissed her back. All the while hoping it wouldn't be the last time because she was amazing. Her mouth was scalding hot, her tongue insistent; she met every move I made with one of her own and made the sexiest little noises I've ever heard. It's possible I forgot to breathe.

I tightened my grip around her narrow waist and deepened our kiss. I couldn't keep my hands off her; I wanted to touch her everywhere. Her curves were amazing beneath her white tank top and I was hard just from knowing they were mine to touch, at least for the moment. Jackie dug her hands into my hair and moaned sexily, holding on to me as if she were afraid of falling off.

I wanted desperately to move the proceedings to somewhere more comfortable. It was way too warm in the bar and Jackie was practically sitting on my lap. Let me be the first to say that there isn't enough room on one barstool for two people, especially when one of those people is getting bigger every second. No girl has ever had me as worked up as Jackie did and I wondered what else she was capable of; I was aching to find out how far she was going to let me go.