Page 38 of Stroked by (Stroked)
Trying to ignore the way Reese ignites my body so easily, I take in the ambiance of the restaurant. It’s quaint with a row of olive-green booth seating flanking the length of the wall with orange tables lined up next to it, providing a great deal of seating. The walls are decorated in cream and orange hues with surfboards and the fronts of cereal boxes scattered across the space. Above the register are chalkboards with the menu, and below it, a cereal bar with toppings that range from fruit to Reese’s Pieces. I think I’m in love.
Leaning in close as we stand behind a few people in line, he speaks softly, telling me all about their menu. “They have a bunch of egg sandwiches, burritos, and yogurts, but then they also offer bowls of cereal.”
“Cereal?” He’s so close, I have to pull away slightly to look him in the eyes.
“It’s not just cereal.” He chuckles. “It’s cereal with a twist. You get two scoops and then depending on what you’re interested in, you can either get two toppings or one toppings.”
“What are the toppings?” I ask, starting to be more interested in this cereal idea.
He points to the jars in front of the bar. “Anything really. They have a bunch of fruits, nuts—”
“Gummy bears?” I ask, my mouth starting to water.
He chuckles next to me, the rumble of his chest vibrates against my back. “Yes, they have gummy bears.”
“Sold.”
I study the menu as we step forward, preparing my order, making sure I have the perfect combination of toppings to my cereal.
“Mr. King, we haven’t seen you in a while,” the worker says as we step up.
“Hey George. Yeah, it’s been a bit. I had a long swim today and decided to bring my friend. She’s a newbie.”
George looks over at me, and it doesn’t go unnoticed to me that Reese referred to me as his friend and not his assistant. I don’t know why that makes me happy. It shouldn’t.
“Welcome then,” George coos. “I’m hoping Mr. King gave you a run-through of how things work, but if he was neglectful to a beautiful lady like yourself, I would love to answer any questions you might have.”
“Settle down, George,” Reese says before I can answer. His voice has a more rugged tone to it. “I explained everything to her.”
Chuckling to himself, George nods. “The usual for you today, Mr. King?”
“Please.”
“And what would your friend like?”
Stepping up to the counter, Reese once again puts his hand on my back, and I wonder if it’s a territorial thing or if he’s taking any opportunity he can to touch me. He did make his attraction toward me quite clear at his house.
“I’m going to have The Basic Bowl.”
George touches the screen in front of him. “Okay, two scoops of cereal, two toppings, and your choice of milk. What will it be, sweetheart?”
From the endearment, Reese’s hand presses harder against my back.Settle down, buster, it’s not like George is trying tongue me from over the counter.
“I’m going to have two scoops of Crunch Berries, a scoop of gummy bears and one scoop of mini M&M’s with one-percent milk.”
There is a smile on George’s face as he plugs my order in. Looking up at Reese, he says, “You payin’?”
“Do you think I’m some kind of chump that will make the lady pay?” All George does is lift an eyebrow. “Fuck off.” Reese laughs and pulls out his wallet to hand George a twenty-dollar bill. Watching Reese pay for my breakfast sends a thrill of excitement through me. It feels like he’s taking care of me, and there’s something to say about the feeling of being taken care of. If anyone says they don’t like that feeling, they’re lying. It’s a simple gesture, paying for a meal, but it still hits home for me, causing me to yearn for the man that much more.
Once again, going to breakfast with Reese is a poor decision on my part because I’m unable to separate professional from personal. Right now, everything is muddled into personal wanting, professionalism nowhere to be seen. I should be so ashamed, but hell if I’m not excited to be around Reese.
While we wait for our breakfast, we take a seat at a table. I try to avoid all eye contact with his hazel glare, knowing I can easily get lost in it.
“I forgot to wear my cup,” Reese says, pulling me into conversation with him.
“Your what?” I ask, completely confused.
“My protective cup, you know, for my balls.”
