Chapter 7

“Yup. I’ll be on my way. Oh. I almost forgot…in my pants…I got something for you.” When he reached down into them, I thought I was going to pass out. What he whipped out wasn’t his majestic cock, though, but rather five tiny bottles. “Maple syrup. Miniatures. Single serve. My mom makes them.”

Had his shirt not been so long on the sides I would have noticed the bulges—had I not been so transfixed by the one in the front. “Oh my God. Actual Vermont maple syrup. Cool.”

“There were six, but one fell out on the road and broke. Sorry if they’re warm.”

Why was that sexy as hell? “Warm syrup is good. And better on the road than in your…pants.”

“Sticky,” he said.

And then we just stood there. “See you tomorrow?” I finally asked.

“Or maybe…I’ll be here.”

I let the “Or maybe” pass. “Me, too.”

And with that, Gordon paid and left. I saw him before “tomorrow” though. I saw him later that night. That must have been the “Or maybe” part.