Crossroads

by Sasha Goldie

  I whirled away from the mirror, facing Brady. My chest heaved, and the raging erection in my jeans would've been obvious to anyone that looked. "Brady?" I asked, staring into his eyes.

  "Yeah?" he whispered.

  "Kiss me."

  He didn't hesitate, and I damn sure didn't have to ask twice. He pulled me into his arms, his lips meeting mine tenderly, his arms going around my back and pressing me into him. My own arms were trapped between us, but I didn't mind. I turned my hands so I could feel his chest as his lips moved. His strong, large chest. Flexing my hips, I pressed my erection into his thigh. He returned the move, and I realized his dick was as hard as mine, pressing into my stomach. He was a good four inches taller than I was, and I felt his dick up to my belly button.

  I wanted him to press me against the wall and fuck my lights out, but Brady's arms shook around me. He held himself still, kissing me passionately, but with reservation. He was holding back.

  Turning my head slightly, I had to break our kiss. I couldn't breathe. He continued kissing, working his way across my jaw to my ear, tenderly caressing it with his lips. I moved my head back, facing him again, ready for his lips to return to mine.

  His lips made love to mine like nobody ever had before in my life. He didn't just want to kiss me, he wanted to cherish me.

  How could I walk away from a man like Brady now? How could I walk away from the tenderness?

  Brady

  Corey nearly vibrated in my arms. He was so turned on I thought he was going to combust. Still, I refused to give in to my base urges and press him against the wall. For one, someone could come in at any moment, but he needed to know how much I respected him. He wasn't a quickie in a bathroom sort of guy, not to me.

  Still, though, he was strung so tight with sexual energy. Maybe I could relieve it for him, just a little. I broke our kiss, reaching over to lock the bathroom door. No way I would embarrass him by letting someone walk in on him. Pulling him back into my arms, I ran my tongue up the sensitive skin under his ear, letting my hands roam his back, down to the top of his ass and back up. Prolonging the kiss, I ran my hands up and down a few more times before letting them drift farther down so I could squeeze his ass and pull him tighter into my body.

  Corey gave me the sign I craved by pushing his cock into my thigh again, clearly needing more. I put one hand on his waist and stepped back as I reached between us and put a hand on his belt buckle. If he wanted me to stop, I would. He had total control.

  He moaned and flexed again, going onto his tiptoes so that his dick pressed against my hand through his jeans. I took that as his assent and grabbed his belt buckle with both hands, undoing it and his pants quickly.

  Groaning, I pulled his cock out. He wasn't wearing any underwear. "Fuck, I've wanted to touch this dick since I saw you touching it in bed."

  "Believe me, I've wanted you to as well." His voice caught on his words as I wrapped my hand around him, slowly moving, feeling, exploring.

  He staggered backward, his hands on my shoulders, and turned so he was against the wall. "Don't ever stop," he whispered.

  I wanted to take him in my mouth more than I'd ever wanted to any other man, but it wasn't the right place.

  When we had sex, it wouldn't be in the bathroom of a bar.

  Moving my hand, I worked him, trying to help him come quickly. Nuzzling his neck, I began showing him how much I cared again, kissing and licking his neck, jaw, and mouth while my hand moved on his dick, giving him all the pleasure I could.

  Soon, he was writhing and moaning, his hands gripped in my shirt. He closed his eyes. "I'm going to come," he whispered.

  I reached over and grabbed a paper towel, ready to catch the mess before it got on either of us and told a story of what we'd been doing in the bathroom.

  "Open your eyes," I told him firmly. "I want to watch you come."

  He squeaked as he did as I asked him to, and I barely got the paper towels in place in time. His eyes changed while he orgasmed, the vulnerability replaced with trust. I stared at him until he was completely finished, giving him all the strength I could, showing him that he could trust me with his safety, his body, and hopefully soon, his heart.

  13

  Corey

  I tried to reciprocate, but Brady refused. After such a tender orgasm, it hurt my feelings a little to have him say no, but he quickly explained.

  As I tucked my happy dick back into my pants, he kissed me over and over. "You needed that orgasm. I do, too, but when I come, it will be with you riding my cock, in my bed, where I can watch you come all over me."

  My knees nearly buckled at his words. The man rarely cussed, gave me tender kisses and a magnificent handjob, then broke out a dirty, commanding mouth.

  I had to get the fuck out of Dodge, or I was gonna fall hard for this hot cop.

  As tender and noble and fucking hot as his reasons were, I was still disappointed. I'd wanted to suck his cock until he yelled my name.

  We went home after that, holding hands in the truck as Brady drove. I smiled at him several times, determined to enjoy the time I had left with him, but also determined that I would have to leave. He was too perfect. Somehow, it would go horribly wrong, and I wanted to bail before that happened. Plus, he was a fucking cop! If anyone found out about my bench warrant, he'd get in trouble for harboring a fugitive.

  Plus, how embarrassed would he be if the town and all his precious friends found out that his boyfriend was a drug addict? Sure, it had been four years since I'd touched anything harder than coffee, but that didn't matter. I was still an addict, always would be.

  When we reached his house, Brady kissed me tenderly again. My dick twitched, ready for round two, but Brady pulled back.

  "I mean to prove to you that I'm not in this to fuck you," he said.

  "Okay, I get it," I said. "I believe you." I was ready to climb the stairs to his room and let him do whatever fantasy his heart desired.

  "No, it has to be more than that. You have to believe it beyond a shadow of a doubt, beyond any anxious thoughts, beyond anything in your past." He kissed me again, squeezing my shoulders. "You're good for me, Corey, and I'm going to be good for you. Now, go to bed." He walked up the stairs without another word, leaving me standing in his kitchen with another erection and my jaw slack.

  The next morning, I got up early, determined to beat him to the kitchen and cook breakfast. I still didn't make it, though. There was a note on the stove.

  Corey,

  Breakfast in the microwave. See you tonight.

  Don't clean, take it easy!

  Brady

  He'd drawn a smiley face and a little heart. I folded the note carefully and put it in my back pocket. I didn't know if I'd keep it forever, but I definitely wasn't throwing it away just yet.

  I needed to keep my options open. After I ate, I snuck upstairs, feeling like a total criminal, but I needed a different shirt. Hopefully, Brady had one that wouldn't be too big.

  He did, a polo that wasn't too bad. His bedroom smelled like him, cinnamon and oatmeal, which I knew was his shampoo and body wash. The bed was rumpled with brown sheets and a teal and brown cover. He wasn't a bed-maker either. I hated making the bed but loved getting into a freshly made bed. It was silly.

  He'd know I'd been in here once he realized I was wearing his shirt, so I made it up for him. As I moved around the bed, I realized I didn't mind making his bed one bit. Every time John had bitched because I hadn't made our bed, it had made me want to do it less and less.

  Brady would never ask me to make a bed.

  Sniffing, I went back to the cottage and got ready, making myself look as nice as possible, and glad the polo sleeves were long enough to cover my tattoos on my biceps. Grabbing a bottle of water, I set out, walking toward town. Brady had driven me back and forth enough times that I easily found Main Street and the diner.

  Brady would lose his job once everyone found out about me. It was time to take my life into my own hands and make some mone
y. A bus ticket to the next town would be at least forty bucks. If I was lucky, I could make that in a day, then work one more day to get enough money for one night at a shit hotel. I'd find somewhere to work in the next town, slowly working my way away from John. The last thing I wanted to do was end up on the street, running drugs again.

  The diner was bustling, and I remembered Daisy from the cookout. "Hey, Brady said you might be hiring?"

  Daisy ran past me carrying a pot of coffee. "Grab those pies, would ya?" she said as she passed by me. I grabbed three plates from the counter, following her to a table where she handed them out as she spoke to me and her customers simultaneously.

  "You ever worked a diner before?" she asked me. "Enjoy, sugar," she said to the old man that had ordered the pies. He handed them out to his family at the table.

  "I've worked kitchen jobs all my life, but never front of the house. I'd prefer the kitchen, honestly, but I need to work, and I'll do whatever you want."

  She stopped suddenly, eyeing me. "Mmmkay. Go take those last two tables’ orders and come back here. I gotta put on a new pot of coffee." Throwing a pad of paper and a pencil in my hands, she walked around the counter, leaving me no choice but to go take the orders.

  "Hello," I said to the first table, my heart leaping out of my chest. Front of the house meant people. People made me nervous. "Can I take your order? Uh, go slow, it's my first day." Assuming I had the job.

  "Number five, no onion," the man said. "And I already need more tea." He rattled his glass, the ice inside tinkling against the sides.

  Nodding, I wrote it down then looked at the woman beside him with my eyebrows raised. "And for you?"

  "The same, but can I get another glass? This one is dingy." She held the glass up with her nose in the air. The sounds of people talking in the busy diner pressed at my ears as my anxiety rose. Her attitude brought it out of me.

  "Oh, sure," I said, reaching behind me to set the glass on the counter that ran the length of the whole diner. "I'll bring it with his tea." She sniffed but didn't respond. Oookay.

  "And for the kids?" I asked, looking back and forth between the teenage children and the parents, not really sure who would order for them.

  "They look deaf to you?" the man asked. "Ask them."

  Whoa. I could handle a little sass, but that was downright rude. I cocked my head at him and remembered I needed money, so I forced my lips into a smile and turned my head jerkily toward the kids. "And for you?" I asked in a bright voice, pushing away the anger.

  They rattled off their orders quickly. I wrote them down and went to the next table as another couple came in the door. “Sit anywhere,” I called. I hoped that was okay, ‘cause there was nobody else to tell them what to do. “Be right with you,”

  "Aren't you going to get our drinks?" the woman asked as I opened my mouth to greet the next table. I shot her the nicest look I could manage and ignored the bitch.

  The next table was a bunch of older ladies who were very kind, even shooting the hateful table a few looks. When they were finished, the oldest woman in the group touched my arm. "We're not in a hurry, dearie. Take your time." She winked at me and nodded her head back to the people sitting behind her.

  "You're a peach," I said, putting my hand over hers and giving it a small squeeze. "I'll be right back." Daisy had disappeared, so I went behind the counter and looked for glasses. First job, get their drinks. I found a tray and filled all the glasses with ice. They'd ordered easy things like tea and sodas, so I filled all the glasses, and spotted an empty pitcher as I worked. It was clean, so I filled it with tea and put it on the tray, moving the entire tray to the spot on the counter closest to their table instead of walking with it and risking it going flying.

  First, I gave the hateful woman her new glass and filled up her husband's tea, giving them the kindest smile I could manage, which was likely more of a grimace.

  "Took you long enough," he grumbled.

  Okay. I didn't want to work in that diner that bad. Surely, the grocery store was hiring. Or the gas station. I'd find something else.

  "Listen, asshole. If you don't like the diner or the service, hit the fucking road," I said loudly. "Nobody wants your money anyway."

  Daisy walked out of the back just in time to hear me go nuts on her customer. "What is going on out here?" she thundered.

  The surrounding tables burst into applause, shocking the shit out of me. As the Disgustingtons stood to leave, the old woman that had been so nice spoke up. "Don't let the door hit ya' in the ass," she called.

  I turned to Daisy with my mouth gaping. "I'm so sorry," I whispered.

  "Martha, what happened?" Daisy ignored me and spoke to the lady.

  "Daisy, you keep this boy. He's a hoot. That family was the most miserable bunch of people I've ever seen." Martha nodded her head and sat back down, the smell of Bengay and cigarettes following her.

  My head whipped back and forth from Martha to Daisy, totally shocked at her defense of me.

  Daisy nodded and pursed her lips. "Okay. Martha says you stay, you stay. Go cook." She threw an apron at me. "Figure it out on your own and I'll give you a bonus."

  My feet couldn't carry me to the kitchen fast enough. I was glad that Martha, whoever she was, vouched for me, but I was definitely a kitchen sort of employee.

  I figured it out, all right. The kitchen was organized beautifully. Recipes on the wall, everything laid out and neatly set for maximum ease. I made that kitchen my bitch, churning out orders like I'd worked there my entire life.

  It was the best afternoon I'd had in years. I wished Brady was there to see me work. A couple of hours later, Daisy came in as I was cleaning up after the last order I'd made. It was important to clean as the meals were made or it might get away from me.

  "You did great, kid. Come back tomorrow. The lunch rush is over, here's your pay."

  She handed me a wad of cash. "One of those twenties is from Martha. You see her again, and you hug her neck." She smiled. "See you tomorrow."

  "I'll be here tomorrow, but I don't know how long I'll be staying in town. I didn't want you to think I'd asked for a job and then would bail on you, but I'm really thankful for the help."

  She nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. We can take it day by day. I need the help, and you need the money."

  I slipped out the back door, pressing myself against the brick wall and breathing deeply. The afternoon sun warmed me up. Kitchens were hot, but Daisy kept her diner freezing, and my shirt was soaked from sweating and washing dishes.

  Now that it was over, it felt like I'd been anxious all day. I probably had but had been so busy I hadn't realized it. Taking in a deep breath, I decided to see if Brady was at the police station. I was going to leave town, but he deserved to hear it from my mouth. If I didn't tell him soon, I might chicken out.

  14

  Corey

  Urgh, I smelled like a grease trap. Even the cleanest kitchen in the world left its workers smelly after a busy shift. I looked at the police station, debating swinging in to tell Brady, but decided to walk the few blocks back to his place and put my clothes in to wash and take a quick shower.

  Stepping around the diner, I jerked myself back against the wall as I saw John driving by in that damn El Camino. Holy shit. He was looking for me. I hid myself behind the garbage can on the side of the building and watched him turn past the body shop and head toward the highway. No doubt he couldn’t stay away from his fucking job for very long.

  As soon as he was out of sight, I took off. By the time I made it home, ruminating on the fact that I had thought of Brady's place as home, and totally pushing my fear of John coming back out of my mind, I was really a sweaty mess. I cleaned up quickly and left again. Brady's shift was nearly over. I considered turning around and heading back, but if I didn't tell him my plans, I'd chicken out and never leave Three Oaks. Walking out the door after putting a load of laundry in the washer, I set my jaw and walked briskly back to Main Street, straight to the police de
partment.

  Several times, I considered turning back, then coached myself into continuing. It was time to move forward with my life, get my own shit in order, and live for myself. Not for survival, not for John, not for drugs.

  For me.

  My pep talks worked until I got really close to the station.

  Chickening out as I neared the front door to the department, I turned, ready to hightail it back home, but Brady's voice stopped me.

  "Corey," he said excitedly. I froze. Busted. "What are you doing here?"

  Brady walked out the front door as I turned back. "Hey, just thought I'd stop by."

  "You have the best timing," he said as he grabbed my hand. "We need your help."

  Shit. What could they possibly need my help for? The door closed behind me, and I tried to fight the panic. My eyes adjusted to the light and the worry in my chest loosened. I'd expected to walk into a station like all the other ones I'd ever been in. Bustling with cops and criminals, a hooker chained to every bench.

  This was definitely not that. An elderly receptionist sat behind a desk by the door, typing on an honest-to-god typewriter. She was eighty if she was a day.

  "Well, hello there, sugar." She stood from her wooden rolling chair and held out her hand. I nearly squealed when I realized who she was.

  "Martha," I exclaimed, walking around the desk to hug her. "I didn't know you worked here."

  "There's a lot you don't know, child, but that's okay. I hear you're our Brady's new friend."

  Nodding, I let her take my arm.

  She walked us farther into the building. I looked over my shoulder at Brady. He shrugged and grinned, leaving me to my fate. "Word on the street," she said as she walked slowly past the other desks in the room toward a door in the back, "is that you are a chef."

  "Well, I know my way around the kitchen," I said. "I don't think I'm technically a chef, though."