447 1035. And no, I won’t repeat it.”
Six, one, nine, four, four seven, one, zero, three, five. Six, one, nine, four, four seven, one, zero, three, five. Six, one, nine, four, four seven, one, zero, three, five. Six, one, nine, four, four seven, one, zero, three, five.
“I don’t need to write it down, I’m a reporter.”
Six, one, nine, four, four seven, one, zero, three, five.
He nodded. “Impressive. How’s the article coming?”
“Just getting started,” I responded. “We need to, uhhm, meet again. Soon.”
Six, one, nine, four, four seven, one, zero, three, five.
I studied him. His clothes served him all too well. His shirt hugged his muscular torso like a black glove, leaving nothing about his washboard stomach and massive chest to the imagination. His worn denim jeans were tight against his shapely butt, more proof that all of his leisure time wasn’t spent in the bar.
His ass was the product of countless hours at the gym.
Charlie Hunnam was no longer the object of my sexual desire.
Nick Navarro was.
“I’m busy right now, reporter,” he said. “Give me a shout tomorrow, around noon. Maybe we can have coffee and a crunchy little biscuit. How’s that sound?”
Six, one, nine, four, four seven, one, zero, three, five.
“Alright,” I said, turning away. “Talk to you tomorrow.”
I opened the door to the Jeep, climbed inside, and did an imaginary fist pump.
Yes!
And, the entire drive home, all I could think of was him shoving his cock in my mouth every time I started to speak.
EIGHT
Nick
I turned into the coffee shop, coasted to a stop, and parked the bike alongside a hybrid Toyota. In complete contrast to most of my southern California neighbors, I tried like hell to leave the biggest carbon footprint on the earth that I could.
I hopped off my bike and glanced at the battery-powered eco-friendly ride. From the rearview mirror, an orange dangled by a string. Protruding from the skin of the fruit over the entire surface, were cloves.
A hippie air freshener.
Today’s colon-cleansing, environmentally conscious, trash-separating robots disgusted me. I felt if the occupants of the earth could focus more on being genuine, and less on being what they felt others expected them to be, the world would be a much better place.
I scanned the lot for Peyton’s Jeep, but saw nothing. After checking my watch, I realized I was ten minutes early. I gazed out into the street, wondering if I could stomach being in the presence of whoever drove the fruit-scented Prius until she arrived. In a matter of seconds, she swerved between two passing cars and into the parking lot.
With the top off of her Jeep and Jimi Hendrix’s Castles Made of Sand playing loud enough that I could recognize it, she shot into an empty stall, parked, and hopped out of the Jeep. Wearing her trademark attire of jean shorts, Chuck’s, and a tee shirt, she looked no differently than she had on the other three occasions I had seen her.
“Nice day for going topless,” I said.
She pulled her hair into a ponytail and secured it with a rubber band from her wrist. “Your subliminal suggestions are falling on deaf ears, biker man.”
“It was worth a try, reporter .”
While walking toward me, she dropped her sunglasses in her purse, removed a pair of glasses, and put them on.
One of my weaknesses was a hot bitch wearing glasses. With her hair in a ponytail and the bold black frames fixed high on the bridge of her nose, my imagination took over. An image of her peering at me through the lenses while my cock was in her mouth quickly came to mind.
“You wear glasses?”
“My contacts were killing my eyes.”
I admired her until she was at my side, then turned toward the entrance. “Inside or outside?”
She stepped between me and the Toyota. “Outside.”
We got our drinks, she declined a crunchy biscuit, and we sat outside at a table amongst several coffee-drinking sun worshipers.
“So, did you
Six, one, nine, four, four seven, one, zero, three, five. Six, one, nine, four, four seven, one, zero, three, five. Six, one, nine, four, four seven, one, zero, three, five. Six, one, nine, four, four seven, one, zero, three, five.
“I don’t need to write it down, I’m a reporter.”
Six, one, nine, four, four seven, one, zero, three, five.
He nodded. “Impressive. How’s the article coming?”
“Just getting started,” I responded. “We need to, uhhm, meet again. Soon.”
Six, one, nine, four, four seven, one, zero, three, five.
I studied him. His clothes served him all too well. His shirt hugged his muscular torso like a black glove, leaving nothing about his washboard stomach and massive chest to the imagination. His worn denim jeans were tight against his shapely butt, more proof that all of his leisure time wasn’t spent in the bar.
His ass was the product of countless hours at the gym.
Charlie Hunnam was no longer the object of my sexual desire.
Nick Navarro was.
“I’m busy right now, reporter,” he said. “Give me a shout tomorrow, around noon. Maybe we can have coffee and a crunchy little biscuit. How’s that sound?”
Six, one, nine, four, four seven, one, zero, three, five.
“Alright,” I said, turning away. “Talk to you tomorrow.”
I opened the door to the Jeep, climbed inside, and did an imaginary fist pump.
Yes!
And, the entire drive home, all I could think of was him shoving his cock in my mouth every time I started to speak.
EIGHT
Nick
I turned into the coffee shop, coasted to a stop, and parked the bike alongside a hybrid Toyota. In complete contrast to most of my southern California neighbors, I tried like hell to leave the biggest carbon footprint on the earth that I could.
I hopped off my bike and glanced at the battery-powered eco-friendly ride. From the rearview mirror, an orange dangled by a string. Protruding from the skin of the fruit over the entire surface, were cloves.
A hippie air freshener.
Today’s colon-cleansing, environmentally conscious, trash-separating robots disgusted me. I felt if the occupants of the earth could focus more on being genuine, and less on being what they felt others expected them to be, the world would be a much better place.
I scanned the lot for Peyton’s Jeep, but saw nothing. After checking my watch, I realized I was ten minutes early. I gazed out into the street, wondering if I could stomach being in the presence of whoever drove the fruit-scented Prius until she arrived. In a matter of seconds, she swerved between two passing cars and into the parking lot.
With the top off of her Jeep and Jimi Hendrix’s Castles Made of Sand playing loud enough that I could recognize it, she shot into an empty stall, parked, and hopped out of the Jeep. Wearing her trademark attire of jean shorts, Chuck’s, and a tee shirt, she looked no differently than she had on the other three occasions I had seen her.
“Nice day for going topless,” I said.
She pulled her hair into a ponytail and secured it with a rubber band from her wrist. “Your subliminal suggestions are falling on deaf ears, biker man.”
“It was worth a try, reporter .”
While walking toward me, she dropped her sunglasses in her purse, removed a pair of glasses, and put them on.
One of my weaknesses was a hot bitch wearing glasses. With her hair in a ponytail and the bold black frames fixed high on the bridge of her nose, my imagination took over. An image of her peering at me through the lenses while my cock was in her mouth quickly came to mind.
“You wear glasses?”
“My contacts were killing my eyes.”
I admired her until she was at my side, then turned toward the entrance. “Inside or outside?”
She stepped between me and the Toyota. “Outside.”
We got our drinks, she declined a crunchy biscuit, and we sat outside at a table amongst several coffee-drinking sun worshipers.
“So, did you
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