Page 95 of Matteo

“Dinner,” I say, desperate to change the subject.

“Dinner sounds good.” Elizabeth looks at me. “Now that you mention it, I'm starving.”

We stand, and walk along, arms linked as I try to think of a nice place to take her. “What about Akira?”

“Who’s she?”

I try to suppress my smile. She’s so cute. “It’s a new Japanese place, near the Hudson. Shall we go there?”

“Never heard of it.” She whips out her cell phone and looks it up. Then chokes. “What?”

She doesn’t like it. “If you don’t like Japanese food—”

“Not at those prices!” She stops, and stares at me, shaking her head. “You don't have to impress me, Matteo. I don't need to be wined and dined.”

“I'm not trying to wine and dine you—”

“I'd be happy sitting in the park eating a hotdog.”

A pedicab rolls past us at that exact moment, strings of tiny lights wrapped around its canopy.

“I have a better idea.” I raise my hand, catching the driver's eye. He immediately brakes.

“Oh no,” Elizabeth says when she sees it. She starts laughing.

“Oh yes.”

A few minutes later we're sitting side by side beneath a blanket in the back of the pedicab while the driver pedals us through the park. The lamps flicker on one by one.

“Like it?” I say, turning to her. Surprise knocks the wind out of me when I catch her looking up at me like she's forgotten the rest of the world exists.

“I ...” she starts to say, but I don't let her finish. I bend down and capture her lips with mine.

She moans softly against my mouth, and now that we're sitting, slightly shielded, feeling like we have a tiny piece of privacy, our kiss deepens, turning hotter with every passing second. My cock strains against my boxer briefs. When we come up for air, my hand rests on her thighs, and I stop, then look down. “Is that a belt or a skirt?”

“A mini skirt,” she says, turning all coy. “Like it?”

I answer her with another kiss, my tongue exploring her sweet mouth. Her fingers slide into my hair, curling gently at the nape. We both start breathing harder than we should be and when we pull apart, her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes shiny.

We sit in silence, holding hands, trying to regulate our breathing.

“Hotdogs?” I ask Elizabeth.

“Yes please.”

I tell the driver to head towards a hot-dog cart and a short while later, he stops beside one. Elizabeth practically jumps out and I follow. We return later carrying hot dogs loaded with mustard.

“You know,” she says, climbing back into the pedicab, “this probably cost less than one of the appetizers at your fancy restaurant.”

“Probably.”

The driver sets off again and we eat as the pedicab rolls through the winding pathways beneath the trees. I didn't realize how hungry I was until I devoured this.

“I could do with another one,” Elizabeth says, having devoured hers quickly. I wipe a dot of mustard off her lower lip. I start to tell the driver to head back to the cart, when she stops me.

“Probably not a good idea to have a second one. I'll be too full then.”

We sit back, holding hands again.