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“Burger and fries, please,” Quin said handing the menu back to the stout man with the four-day stubble.
“The same,” I told him handing back the menu and looking to pick up where I left off. “So, have you done anything with a guy before?” I asked feeling my hard cock pulse.
“Nothing,” Quin replied glowing.
“At all?”
“No. Are you disappointed?”
“Why would I be disappointed?”
“I don’t know. Because things might be easier if I had.”
“Well, I haven’t done anything with a guy either if that makes you feel better.”
“I don’t know if it does.”
“I’ve thought about it, though. And I’ve thought about doing it with you.”
“What have you thought about?”
I took his hands again.
“Let me see. I’ve thought about kissing you.”
“I’ve thought about that,” he said with a smile.”
“I’ve thought about slowly undressing you and kissing you… there,” I said suggestively.
“Where?”
“You know where. I’ve thought about sliding my hand down your body and taking hold of you,” I said leaning in. “I’ve thought about taking you into my mouth. I’ve thought about running my tongue along the rim of your cock and seeing if I could make you squirm.”
“Me too.”
I stared into Quin’s eyes. I never wanted to look anywhere else again. When I couldn’t resist him any longer, I leaned further across the table and kissed him. Our lips lingered on one another’s sending a chill down my spine. The kiss continued until the sound of someone grunting in disgust ruined the mood.
Hearing it, I lowered to my seat unsure how to feel. Still staring at Quin, he knew what I was thinking before I said anything.
“Let it go,” Quin pleaded. “You know nowhere can be perfect.”
Sure, I knew Quin was right. But I didn’t like him having to experience that. And as long as I was around him, no one would ever disrespect Quin or our relationship.
I slowly turned searching the room for who had made the sound. Our waiter was back in the kitchen making our burgers. We probably wouldn’t have been able to hear it over the sizzling if it had been him. And the only other person in the place was a young guy dressed as a busboy.
I eyed the busboy wondering how long it would take me to beat the crap out of him. The kid couldn’t be more than 20 and clearly had a chip on his shoulder. His tussled, dark blonde hair highlighted his incredibly squared jaw. His angular features spoke to how lean and muscular he was. And, more than anything, he seemed like he was looking for a fight. Looks like he found one.
“You have a problem with something,” I said getting him to lift his head and look at me.
“What?” He said using it as an excuse to bring his tray a little closer.
“I said, you got a problem with something?” I repeated sliding out of the booth and showing him who he was talking to.
By any comparison, I was a big guy. The only guys bigger were the 300-pound ones who hurled themselves at me on the field. This kid couldn’t be more than 170 soaking wet. Yet, he kept coming like he had something to prove.
“Yeah, I got a problem with something. I got a problem with you two. Are you going to do something about that?”
“Cage, don’t.”
