The Hookup

Sixteen

It's almost one a.m. One whole hour into the new year. And I'm just now finishing the last of a strawberry milkshake that tastes like heaven on earth. I asked the waitress if this place stays open 24/7 365 days a year or if that's just for tonight. All that earned me was a smile and confirmation that this little hole in the wall is always open. Rain or shine.

I wasn't lying when I told Hero this is the last thing I thought would happen tonight. Him and I, huddled in some booth in a diner off 64th Ave. But honestly, I'm kind of glad it did.

"How can someone like strawberry milkshakes but hate strawberry pie?" Hero asks as he dives his fork into a slice of cherry. The crust looks sweet and my mouth is watering at the very sight of it. But I haven't yet tasted.

"I didn't think I needed a reason to like what I like," I shrug and run my fingers through my hair.

"True. But that's odd. Is it not?"

We've been talking for the last hour about nothing in particular, yet I feel like I know everything about him. Much like the night of the wedding, conversation flows easily and I can't even be mad about it. Since we've been here, I learned that Hero's an older brother, he was born and raised in south London and prefers crepes over pancakes. In return, I've offered a few tidbits about myself, and he's acted like he's shocked about every one. Including, apparently, my taste in pies and such.

"What about cherry?" He asks as he chews, his mouth in a crooked smile. "Because this shit is delicious, if I do say so myself."

Before I can answer, he speaks again.

"Wait, no. You like cherries. Or those little things," he motions towards the maraschino cherry that still sits on my napkin. "So you must not like cherry pie." I sit back, leaned against the booth as I try not to smile.

"I'm right, aren't I?" He grins and takes a sip of his coffee.

"Wrong," I smirk and pick up my fork. "It's actually one of my favorites."

Hero chuckles at the revelation and watches as I break off a small piece and bring it to my lips. I almost moan at the fact that the pie is somewhat warm and the crust seems to melt in my mouth. I can't remember the last time I ate this much sugar, this late at night, but I'm not complaining. I'd live off the damn stuff if it weren't for things like diabetes ruining all the fun.

I slowly chew the mouthful, all the while keeping eye contact with Hero. His elbows are leaned up against the table and he's rolled the sleeves of his dress shirt up a bit. His hair, a bit longer on top, is tousled from the amount of times he's seemed to run his fingers through it, and I'd be lying to both you and I if I said he didn't look as delectable as the piece of pie I've just consumed.

Being here with him; seeing him again? It's brought back all those feelings I had from the first time we met. Every time he's reached for his coffee mug, and wrapped his long fingers around its' base, I remember that those same fingers have been all over me. Inside of me. And it's turning me on.

I had three glasses of wine tonight and that was hours ago. I'm stone cold sober compared to when we hooked up last, and the fact that I'm sitting here, thinking about such things is a testament to the power he holds over me.

In fact, I'm so busy daydreaming about his hands all over my body, I seem to tune out his voice completely. All of a sudden, I hear my name.

"Hey. You alright?" He asks with a worried look as he reaches for his napkin.

"What? Yeah. I'm fine." I shake my head lightly and clear my throat. Trying to pull my head from the clouds. "Sorry. What did you say?"

Hero laughs and throws his arm over the back of the booth, relaxing a bit in his seat. "I asked if you let your friends know where you went."