Liz stood under the air conditioner in the break room, holding the top of her uniform away from her body, allowing the cool air to blow over her heated skin. Beads of sweat trickled down the valley between her breasts and made her uniform damp and sticky against her body. Long strands of her hair escaped from her ponytail and curled, damply, around her face.
For once, she was almost glad of the brevity of the uniforms her father had chosen. She didn't wear it all of the time, anymore. When she was acting as the manager of the café, or standing in as hostess, she wore normal clothes, but when she was filling in for one of the waitresses, like she was doing this week, she always dressed the part. The customers had come to expect it, and she always made better tips when she did.
She almost felt sorry for the guys in the kitchen, in their jeans and aprons. No matter how much Michael used his powers on the AC in there, there was no way for it to compete with a hot kitchen in a New Mexico heat wave.
The heat always made her restless, made her ache with a need that filled her nights as she tossed and turned, unable to sleep, except in short, feverish bursts. She dreamed of humid caresses and smooth friction of bodies eased by slick sweat. More and more, her faceless partner in these dreams wasn't so faceless.
In fact, every day , it became a little clearer that Michael was working overtime in her dreams. She knew that it made sense and didn't really have to mean anything. She hadn't really been interested in anyone since Max broke up with her - not that she'd had time between school and the Crashdown - and Michael was only a room away, while echoes of Max's accusations rung in her head. Besides, Michael had been one of her first fantasies, before she had substituted Kyle, and then Max, as a more appropriate crush. Hell, she'd almost come just from watching him and Maria making out in the café, especially during last year's heat wave.
So, Michael showing up in her fantasies wasn't a new thing, what was new was the tendencies of those fantasies to follow her into her daytime life. Even now, her eyes kept sliding sideways to watch him at the grill, watching his big hands flipping and slapping and stacking the food he prepared, and she wondered what it would lfeel like to have those same blunt, slightly calloused hands moving across her skin with purpose, pulling open her buttons and pushing under the open edges of her uniform to slide it off of her shoulders.
She really needed a cold shower. The heat was getting to her.