His erection is obvious as he pulls me back to standing, and I step forward, my hands reaching for his belt. He grabs my wrists gently with a small huff of laughter.
“That was just for you,” he murmurs. “A thank you, let’s say, for letting me fill you up so perfectly.”
He pushes me against the wall of the stall again, plunging his tongue into my mouth and kissing me so passionately, my knees give way.
“Hm. I need to go to lunch. Want anything?” he asks, as if he hasn’t just brought me off ten feet from my desk.
“Uh,” I swallow, catching my breath, barely able to form a thought. “That depends on where you’re going,” I say.
“Little burrito place on the corner. It’s one of my favorites.”
I scoff, and he raises an eyebrow at me. “I can get you better food than that within three minutes of here.”
He smiles playfully, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against his side of the stall. “Oh yeah? Where from?”
“I’ll go and get it and then you can judge for yourself.”
“Not a chance. You canshowme,” he leans into me, pressing me into the wall. I feel his cock nudge against my thigh. “Why don’t you clean up that mess I left inside you, and then we’ll go together, hm?”
I moan as his fingers flirt between my legs again, and then he walks out of the bathroom.
When did I become such a slut for this man?
The street vendor I have in mind is somewhere I’ve been to many times before. It’s just at the end of the block, and run by one of the most miserable men I’ve ever seen. But he makes the most amazing tacos.
“Hey George,” I say as I step up to the front of the line, and he gives me a nod.
Crawford looks confused by the menu, and I end up ordering for both of us, getting two tacos overflowing with pulled pork.
George wraps them up and hands them over, and I wave Crawford off when he tries to pay.
“Thanks,” he says, sounding genuinely touched. “You didn’t have to buy me lunch.”
“If you like it, you can come back and buy me one later,” I say, watching with interest as he takes a bite. I smile fondly at him ashe leans forward, trying to avoid getting any of the sauce on his beautiful suit.
“Wow,” he says, his mouth still full. “Fuck. That’s amazing.”
“Better than the burrito place you were talking about?”
“Much, actually.”
I follow him as he wanders down the street. It’s busy, because it’s New York, but he sidesteps into a parallel road, and the worst of the crowd abates for a while.
I feel comfortable in his presence, like I don’t have to fill the silence, and it’s nice, just to exist beside each other without any expectations.
I open my mouth to ask him what he thinks of the sauce, which is a secret recipe handed down from George’s mother, when I hear shouting up ahead.
Horribly familiar shouting.
I trip over some uneven concrete as I see my mother and father ahead of us. They’re on the opposite side of the road, beside a dumpster. My mom is screaming at my dad, who is still in his construction gear. She’s in her waitress uniform, and a cold weight plummets into my stomach as I realize we’re right by where she works.
I try to ignore the shouting, continuing down the sidewalk we’re on, hoping we turn off soon. But my parents have caught Crawford’s attention.
“Jesus, the white trash really is out in full-force today,” he mutters, staring at my mother with a look of contempt. I don’t blame him. She does look like trash. But she’s still my mother.
I say nothing, steering us slowly away, praying that she doesn’t catch a glimpse of us. We finish our tacos, and Crawford thanks me again, but I can only muster a brief smile, muttering that I need to get some money from the ATM. He frowns, nodding slowly as I hurry away.
I’m mortified, unable to believe that Crawford, of all people, might have had the chance to meet my parents. I often joke with Annabelle about what it would be like to actually bring a man home to meet them.Awfulandhumiliatingwere the only words we could think of.
