Bookies Beauty
"A long shot at the bookies leads to an even bigger jackpot with the gorgeous cashier"
Ladbrokes at half three on a Tuesday was its own kind of purgatory. Old men nursing coffees, studying form like it held the secrets of the universe. Machines blinking in the corner, eating twenty-pound notes. And behind the counter, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else: Melissa.
She was everything the betting shop wasn't—glamorous in a way that defied the fluorescent lighting. Full makeup, hair done in those complicated braids, nails so long I wondered how she typed anything. And curves that her sensible work blouse couldn't contain no matter how many buttons she did up.
"Accumulator, is it?" she asked, barely looking up.
"Yeah. Four legs. All long shots."
She raised an eyebrow, finally meeting my eyes. "Feeling lucky, are you?"
"Something like that."
She took my slip, processed it, handed back my receipt. Our fingers touched—intentionally, I thought.
"Good luck then. You'll need it with them odds."
I took my usual spot by the window, watching the races on the big screen, watching her more. She caught me looking twice, three times. Didn't seem to mind.
By half five, two of my legs had come in. Improbable, but not impossible.
"You're still here," she said during a lull.
"Two down. Two to go."
"Persistent. I like that." She leaned on the counter. "What happens if you win?"
"Dunno. Never thought I would."
"Helpful." But she was smiling. "Tell you what. Your last two come in, I'll buy you a drink. How's that?"
"And if they don't?"
"You buy me one. Either way, win-win."
"You're on."
The third race was close—my horse by a nose. Melissa actually cheered, which earned her looks from the regulars.
The fourth was at half six. By then, the shop was empty except for me and one old boy who'd fallen asleep in the corner. Melissa locked the door, flipped the sign.
"Last race of the day," she said, settling into the chair beside me. "Moment of truth."
"Nervous?"
"For you? A bit." She was close enough that I could smell her perfume—something sweet, expensive. "That's a lot of money if this comes in."
"And a drink with a beautiful woman either way."
"Smooth." She didn't pull away. "Watch the race."
They were in the starting gates. My heart was pounding—for the money, for her, for the absurdity of the whole situation. Then they were off.
My horse started slow, which wasn't good. But by the halfway mark, he was gaining. Three furlongs out, he was second. Two, he was neck and neck. And at the wire—
"YESSS!" Melissa screamed, jumping up, grabbing my arm. "You won! You actually fucking won!"
I couldn't speak. Couldn't process. Three grand on a stupid accumulator.
"Come on." She was pulling me toward the counter. "Let me cash you out before I change my mind."
She processed the payout with shaking hands, counted out the notes, handed them over like they might bite.
"There. You're officially the luckiest bastard in this postcode."
"Luckiest because of the win?"
"Luckiest because of the drinks." She was already grabbing her coat, her bag. "Come on. I know a place."
The place was her flat.
"Bar was too loud," she explained, letting me in. "This is more private."
Her flat was small but nice—fairy lights, plants, a massive sofa that looked expensive. She poured two vodka tonics, handed me one, clinked glasses.
"To lucky bastards."
"To beautiful cashiers."
"That's me." She settled onto the sofa, kicked off her heels. "So. You've got three grand in your pocket. What now?"
"Hadn't thought that far ahead."
"Again with the planning." She patted the seat beside her. "Sit. Let's think together."
I sat. She moved closer—close enough that her thigh pressed against mine, close enough that I could see the tiny mole on her collarbone.
"You know what I'd do?" she said softly. "With that kind of money?"
"What?"
"Something memorable. Something worth remembering." Her hand landed on my thigh. "Know what I mean?"
"I think so."
"Show me."
I kissed her. She kissed back harder, climbing onto my lap, her work skirt riding up around her thighs. Her curves pressed against me, soft and warm and exactly right.
"Been wanting to do this for weeks," she admitted between kisses. "Every time you came in, looking all fit and awkward..."
"Should have said something."
"I'm saying it now." She was working at my shirt buttons. "Less talking, more showing."
The blouse came off—underneath, a red bra that made her dark skin glow. I unhooked it, watched her tits spill free. Heavy, perfect, the kind you could get lost in.
"Like what you see?"
"Love it."
She pushed me back against the sofa, straddled me properly. My hands found her arse, squeezed, pulled her closer. She ground down against me, gasping when she felt how hard I was.
"Fuck—that's—you're—"
"Interested?"
"Very fucking interested."
We stripped each other efficiently, urgently. She was gorgeous naked—all curves and confidence, stretch marks she didn't try to hide, a body that was lived-in and loved.
"Bedroom's that way," she said, "but I'm impatient."
She reached behind the sofa cushion—actually behind it, like she'd planned this—and produced a condom.
"Scout's motto," she grinned at my expression. "Be prepared."
She rolled it on herself, then sank down onto me with a moan that made my toes curl.
"Fuck yes. That's what I needed."
She rode me on her expensive sofa, fairy lights glowing behind her, vodka forgotten on the coffee table. Her tits bounced, her moans filled the small flat, and I held her hips like they were worth more than any jackpot.
"Close—touch me—please—"
I found her clit, rubbed circles while she rode. She came with a scream that probably reached the neighbors, then kept going, chasing mine.
"Come on—give it to me—fill me up—"
I came hard, pulling her down, feeling her shudder through aftershocks.
We stayed there, connected, breathing hard.
"Well," she said eventually, "that was worth more than three grand."
"Infinitely more."
"Good answer." She kissed me, soft and sweet. "Stay the night?"
"Couldn't leave now if I wanted to."
I woke up to coffee and her smile.
"So," she said, settling beside me with her mug, "same time next Tuesday? You can bring your luck."
"Count on it."
Some bets pay off better than others.