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3
Charity
It’s time for my evening shift at Cherry Falls Coffee Co. and I’m grateful because hopefully, I’ll be able to focus a little. Obviously, school went by in a blur today because I couldn’t think. I could barely talk even, and my friend Marjorie basically had to jab me in the side when Mrs. Potter called on me. I hope I said something comprehensible, but who knows? English Lit has never been my strong suit, and I could barely get through the Dickens book we’re reading.
But now, all that’s done and I’m in my happy place. No more thinking about Mason Caldwell, or re-living the incredible scene that I witnessed last night. I have to work and earn my keep. But holy cow, that man is hot! The fireman’s all carved muscle and bronzed skin, not to mention his brawny shoulders and powerful thighs. But really, it was the tool between his legs that kept me in Fantasyland all of today. I just kept re-living the scene of him touching himself over and over again in my head, like a movie on repeat. He was gorgeous, and as he climaxed last night, I did too. I let out a short squeal as he erupted all over the stall wall, and then a hot gush of fluid ran down my thighs as my pussy convulsed violently. Yes, the man didn’t even have to touch me. My own imagination did it all, and I can’t get it out of my head today.
But now, I’m at work and need to focus. Resolutely, I pull out my dark blue canvas apron and tie it around my waist with a yank. Then, I plaster a smile on my face and walk outside.
The owner of the cafe really went all out on the décor so Cherry Tree Coffee Co. has a cozy yet modern feel to it. The walls and tables are ash wood, and the floor is polished concrete. Retro pendant lights dangle from the ceiling, and behind the front counter, mason jars fitted over Edison bulbs are attached to black pipes, making for chic light sources.
But right now, all I can think about is what happened yesterday, and another shiver runs through my frame as I stare blankly at a customer with a frozen smile on my face.
“Miss? Miss?” The voice comes to me as if from a distance, and I snap back to reality. Oh shit.
“Sorry, ma’am,” I stammer. “Could you repeat that please?”
A middle-aged woman gives me an impatient glare and then rolls her eyes. “I want a medium café mazagran with decaf. To go.”
I nod furiously, unable to meet her gaze.
“Yes of course. Sorry about that. That’ll be $6.44. I’ll get your drink for you right now.” Then, with fumbling fingers I charge her card and move away to make the coffee. Shit, how do you make mazagran again? Fortunately, muscle memory serves me well as I measure out the lemon juice and the sugar. But as I go through the familiar motions, my mind wanders once more.
I blush as I think about the image of Mason Caldwell’s tanned, naked body through the misted glass. Even through the steam, I could make out each muscle in his broad back as he pressed his hand to the shower wall, overcome by pleasure. I remember the way his abs clenched and tightened as he continued to stroke that huge cock, and oh god, but there was so much seed. What does it taste like, I wonder?
“Charity, aren’t you supposed to use decaf coffee?” Marjorie interrupts. I blink at the pretty brunette and then look down at my hands. Oh shit, oh shit. Flustered, I set down the cold brew pitcher with a bang and grab the decaf pitcher instead. Marjorie giggles next to me and rolls her eyes as I finish the drink.
“So, what’s up?” she asks when we’re alone once more. Thank god the café’s not busy right now. “I’ve never seen you so out of it, girlfriend! I mean, first at school and then now? It’s weird.”
Marjorie looks a lot like me, with our full figures and curly brown hair, and to be honest, we’ve been mistaken for sisters more than once. But even more than physical appearance is the fact that we get along great. Not only are we friends at school, but we also work at the café together, which makes our shifts pleasant and enjoyable.
I take a deep breath and try to deflect.
“Not much is going on,” I say with a bright smile. “I mean, midterms are right around the corner, and I’m just distracted with studying, that’s all. You know how Algebra II can be a killer.”
But Marjorie knows me too well as one eyebrow raises.
“Come on, Charity,” she huffs. “The look on your face doesn’t exactly say ‘drowning in assignments’. It says, ‘lost in thought dreaming about Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing. Ooh, I love when he takes his shirt off.”
