*How long have I been standing here?*
Flexing my fingers to assess their numbness, I can still move them pretty easily, so it hasn't been that long.
I refocus my eyes on the row of sodas in front of me. Glass bottles of various sizes and hues lean out at an inviting angle, each beverage begging harder than the last to be chosen by a thirsty customer.
*That's me. A thirsty customer.*
Having filled my basket with the essentials and successfully avoided every holiday display, specialty food, and "can't-miss" sale item, a fizzy drink to make my lips tingle is my small reward. But, unfortunately for the circulation in my fists, the decision is never easy. I always want to try something new... something memorable.
Scanning the rack left to right, top to bottom, I pick out the ones I have yet to try. The newbies. My eyes dart back and forth between options, creating categories and sub-categories until I'm left between a crystal clear citrus soda and an extra spicy ginger beer.
*Citrus is boring... so, ginger beer it is!*
I pull the dark glass bottle from the rack and nestle it safely between a carton of greek yogurt and a loaf of sourdough. Spinning on my heel, I make my way up to the register. It only takes a few minutes to round a few more aisles and ignore the other shoppers. I'm eager to get home, sliding my basket on the first available counter and taking my phone out to check my messages while my items are tallied.
"Total looks like... forty-eight, forty... no, eighty-four forty-thr- uh, thirty-four," the cashier stumbles over his words. I stash my phone and give him my attention. He reads the number over and over between brief seconds of eye contact.
He looks a little bit panicked, so I flex my lips and eyes into a squinted smile, trying to break the awkward tension. "Damn, that's like," I look over at the tobacco counter, "... five packs of cigarettes," I shake my head and sigh with exaggeration, handing him a hundred dollar bill.
He let's out a long and nervous chuckle.
"What?" I peek behind his head, wondering if I'd seen the wrong price tag.
"Oh, uh... you just don't look like much of a smoker," his dark eyes focus on the payment, overshooting my outstretched fingertips and grazing me gently. He pulls the bill back quickly; nervously.
"Long time ago." I sigh, remembering the woman I was the last time I brought a cigarette to my lips. "Bad habit."
"I hear that," he sucks a breath through his teeth, placing the bill in the register. "I promised myself that if I cut back on the drinking, I would buy myself a motorcycle."
My ears perk at his last word. Cigarettes weren't the only thing I left in my reckless youth...
"That's a pretty good tactic there... Nicky," I glance at his nametag. "Making any progress?"
Judging from the soft lines around his eyes, he looks to be in his late 30's, a bit older than me, clean shaven with multiple empty piercings in his earlobes. He's tall - way taller than I am, with dark, messy hair. He's not the type of guy I see around very often...
*A newbie.*
"Payment plan is about one-seventy a month," he responds to my question, a glint in his eyes.
"No shit!" I widen my smile. "Must feel pretty good."
"Oh yeah," he beams, "I got a Trident. She feels amazing on the road."
My lips pop open, an embarrassing twinge of lust tightening my inner thighs. "Any chance she's out back?" I smile, trying not to seem too eager.
"Uh... yeah, actually." Nicky gulps, his throat drawing my gaze. I flit back up to his eyes. "Let me, um... let me get you your change here."
He focuses intently on the numbers on the register, pulling the bills carefully, coins clicking and sliding as he finds the right amount.
"Coming back to you is..." he clears his throat and counts out the change bill by bill, grazing my cupped hands with less hesitation than the last time. I close my fingers around the money and start to thank him.
"Can you-" he cuts off my acknowledgement, "Can you wait here, just a second?" I nod, a little surprised.
Nicky takes a few long strides, ducking behind a flimsy partition at the corner of the store. A hushed conversation takes place, and within a few seconds he's returning, an older coworker in tow.
"Make it a quick one, I'm pulling a double," the greying woman murmurs.
"Will do," Nicky calls behind him, stopping short next to me. Our bodies almost touch. I have to extend my neck to meet his gaze, his chest... surging with excited breath... is tantalizingly close to my face.
"I- Um, would you... I'd love to show her off, if... do you have a second?" he shuffles past me and walks toward the exit door, holding it open for me.
"Sure," I chuckle. His ride isn't the only thing I'd like him to show off.
I pass through the door and wait for Nicky to lead me to his parking space. My shoes scuff along the asphalt, tapping quickly to keep up with his gait and holding the bulging tote bag on one shoulder.
He rounds the back of the building into a gravel lot where the employee parking is, a Trident 660 tucked away near the hedges. I can't help but smile. He couldn't have picked a better spot.
Skidding to a stop next to his hog, he grabs the handlebar and swings his leg over proudly. "Cobalt Blue and Sapphire Black," he slaps the Triumph symbol on the gas tank. "Six speed, eighty-one horsepower, takes these curves beautifully."
I let out a complementary whistle... he looks really damn good perched atop a few hundred pounds of motorized aluminum and steel.
Nicky's eyes widen with the attention, and he scrambles off the bike, getting back on his feet as I walk over. I slip between his tense body and the hedge, popping down into a squat at his front tire and setting my bag of groceries down on the gravel.
He leans against the seat, the suspension squeaking gently. He's exactly where I want him, and I know he doesn't have much time to waste standing around on his work break.
I plant one knee in the gravel near his shoe, flatten my palm on his leg, and swing the other knee around his other foot, settling my face at his waistband.
"Do you mind?" I stare up at him, propped high on my knees.
Nicky stares at me for a moment, realizing what I'm after. "Fuck, no... I don't mind," he sighs, and planting his feet heavily in the dirt.
I pop the button and unzip his fly.
Overly baggy jeans fall down around muscled thighs, revealing tight red boxer briefs with white lines outlining his bulge. Fuck... he's got a nicer body than I expected. The soft cotton doesn't do much to contain his growing erection, and I lay the heel of my hand at the base his shaft.
"Shit..." he growls at the contact.
I let my fingertips cradle his cock while my other hand moves up his hip, sneaking underneath his shirt. I need to feel more of him. His abdomen tightens as my hand explores, sliding across his belly and up his ribs as high as I can reach. I bite my lip up at him, and he nods, eyebrows scrunched.
