He leads me to a small table and pulls out my chair for me. We’re seated in front of a row of French doors that connect to the pool and hot tub where we definitely got naked last night. He even undressed me because I was too blitzed to do it myself, and in the hot tub we talked about…
I told him…
“Fuck,” I mutter and draw my hands down my face.
“You don’t like southwestern omelets?”
The omelet looks delicious, golden and crisp around the edges with a buttery sheen, still with steam rising off of it and a thick layer of melted cheddar cheese over the top. So many calories, at least 500 between the cheese and butter alone, which is a quarter of my daily intake. Another 150 for the two slices of toast. At least they’re dry.
“The food looks great. Thank you for cooking. I was just thinking about all the stupid shit I said last night.”
“Like what?” he asks, cutting into his omelet with the manners of a prince.
“You know, stuff that could have probably waited until we knew each other better.” Or never.
“I wanted to skip all the getting-to-know-you chit-chat and get right to the good stuff,” he says as he places a yellow triangle of omelet into his mouth. His dirty talk comes rushing back to me then too, what he said while he was jacking me off, something about me wearing heels and choking on his dick. My whole face burns with a sudden violent heat.
“Did you enjoy our time together?” Cassius asks with a little quirk to his lips.
Which part, I want to ask, but then he might detail it for me, and I would definitely die of embarrassment.Here lies Adam Scott Bailey, deceased this day in late June from complete and utter cringe.“Yeah, it was great.” I study my food, cut a tiny piece of omelet where the cheese hasn’t completely covered it, and stuff it in my mouth.
Ohmygodthisissogood.
I might orgasm from this one bite alone. “Do you mind if I take a picture of this?” I ask Cassius.
“I do mind,” he says. I glance up at him, surprised by his answer. “Boundaries, Adam. Not every moment of your life needs to be Instagrammed, and unless you’re a professional chef or you’re selling farm-fresh eggs, who the hell cares what you’re eating for breakfast?”
Cassius puts the brutal in brutally honest. I’m not rich or even famous-adjacent, but I’m doing my best. “I’m under a lot of pressure to produce content. I can’t be interesting in every post.”
“You don’t have to be interesting in any of your posts. I haven’t done any market research, but my guess is that your followers want to see your face, your abs, your ass, and your pouty, fuckable mouth, more or less in that order. Unless those eggs are served on your perky pecs, no one cares, dove.”
His clarity of thought is next level. He really is like a guru. “Take a video for me then, will you?” I hand him my phone
Cassius sets aside his silverware to angle the screen in my direction. I cut another bite, this one with a hefty amount of cheese, and put it in my mouth. I chew, swallow, accidentally moan because it tastes so goddamned good, then lick my lips to draw attention to my mouth as Cassius suggested.
“How was that?” I ask while he reviews it.
“It made me think about you sucking my dick and me coming down your throat, which is a vast improvement over a soggy egg shot.”
I have to swallow the saliva that floods my mouth. I’d do it right now if he asked me to, but I don’t want to offer and come across as slutty or desperate. “Well, thanks for the feedback.”
“You’re welcome.” He hands me my phone and continues with his meal. I’m about to upload the video when I notice a selfie I must have posted last night. I look high as hell, my pupils are huge, and there is a self-satisfied smirk on my face that means I probably just came. Thankfully, you can’t see any jizz on my abs. Jesus Christ, that was close. The comments are all variations of asking me what I was on and telling me I look sexy as fuck.
“Did you take this?” I ask and show him my phone.
“Yes, you asked me to.”
“I did? I don’t remember that.”
Cassius shrugs. “You should probably lock your phone if you’re going to be doing drugs with strangers. God knows what could end up on the internet.”
“We’re not strangers, though, are we?”
“Not anymore.” He smiles. His teeth are so white and straight. Even with whitener, my enamel is still a dingy yellow.
“So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?” he asks.
Right. He’s probably trying to get on with his life. I finish with the video and open my calendar app and notice the dozens of texts Elliot sent me the night before and this morning too. Some missed calls as well. “Uh oh,” I murmur.
