Chapter Three
Xavier
It was like turning a corner and having my number one masturbatory fantasy of all time staring me straight in the face.
It wasn’t even like that. It justwasthat.
It was Dominick. Dominick who commanded the room just by being in it. Dominick who I used to watch walk across campus, studying the way he moved his body and swung his hips. With eyes speckled with gold and big, strong hands. Being charmed by Dominick could make you feel lovesick, but at least you’d have company. His smile alone was enough to bring half the student body to their knees.
The night of the game came back to mind so vividly I could smell the beer in the room and hear the laughter of my dormmates as I ran away.
And I could see his horrified face.
Absolutely disgusted by me.
“Are you… are you visiting Denver?” I asked, stuttering out the words. “What brings you to Baker?”
My cock throbbed to attention, like it could sense all on its own that the real, live Dominick was towering in front of us with a New York City haircut and gym build.
“For a year,” he said, his eyes falling to the rows of nougats. He snapped back up to face me. “That’s actually why I’m here. I’m overseeing a major citywide development project. We’re going to be adding a bus stop to your corner, among other things.”
“What!” I said, startled away from my fantasies and back to reality. “You’re adding a bus stop tothiscorner? Where would it even go?”
“Where that abandoned garden is,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder.
“Abandoned garden?” I protested. “That’s Grandma Mayer’s garden!”
He picked his coffee back up, frowning as he sipped from it. “Who is Grandma Mayer?”
I sighed, leaning forward on the table. “She died a couple of years ago. Her kids haven’t really been interested in keeping the garden up. You should have seen it when she was still in charge, though. She opened the garden for anyone who would stop by, and plenty of people did. It fills with flowers in the summer, and half the time she’d shove a tomato in your pocket on the way out.”
He chuckled. “Sounds sweet. I guess her kids must have sold it to the city, though, because the lot is in Denver’s possession.”
My heart ached to think of the garden being turned into a bus stop. “It’s still so beautiful, though,” I protested. “And a bus stop? Really? Can’t you just put on the street or something?”
“It will be a green bus stop,” he said confidently. “There will be landscaping built into the design, stretching back into the lot, and a solar-powered warming station for the winter. We have a great contemporary design team from Norway doing the project.”
All my anxieties about my sexual fantasies disappeared in a whoosh, replaced by honest concern for Sweet Sensations and our little corner of the neighborhood. I couldn’t believe that Dominick had flown all the way back to Denver from New York City just to flip a few more of my dreams upside down. After the frustrating night at the kink party, I felt like I was on a real losing streak.
“Can I show you something outside?” I asked. Dominick nodded, and I headed to the door. “Help yourself to a nougat,” I said over my shoulder. “They’re good for you.”
We got out to the corner, where a few people were strolling by and a couple of tables outside the small café were occupied. I pointed to the brick building across the street. There was a board nailed over the front door, and curtains were drawn over the front windows.
“Home of the Zing Pop,” he said, reading the worn sign. “What does that mean?”
“The Zing Pop was a very special, very delicious lemon lollipop, which was shaped like a lemon. They used to be produced right there, and kids would come to see demonstrations of the Zing Machine.”
“Zing Machine?”
“That’s what the owner called the lollipop press he had customized to make the lemon shapes. Mr. Ford. Then about six months ago, he up and decides he’s done with the business, and he retires to Florida.”
Dominick cocked an eyebrow, and the sharp lines of his face became even more roguish. “I’m not sure I’m following,” he said.
“If you tear out the garden, too,” I explained, “the neighborhood will really fall apart. There’s a special thing on this little corner, even if it’s not flashy or expensive enough to get the attention of the city. I just inherited this shop from my father a couple of years ago, but he had been here for decades before, just like the other businesses.”
He reached out, and his hand landed with a firm pressure against my shoulder. A shot of electricity startled across my skin and then faded. “I’m sorry about your father,” he said.
I nodded quickly, not having meant to bring it up in the first place. “Thanks. But are these plans really already in motion? Didn’t they consult someone in the neighborhood first? We have a Small Business Association, after all.”
