17. Noah
Noah
Idrag the yellow cleaning cart to the women’s bathroom at the church, and prop the door open. The lights hum, with a few moths fluttering in circles around the fixture. I brace myself for the stall, unsure if Trouble left me a surprise.
With a hand, I push the stall door, its creaks open, and there's nothing. No new tips or drawings in permanent marker. My stomach shrinks and twists, and I’m not entirely sure why I’m upset she didn’t write something for me to clean. It’s only the faded outline of what she drew almost a month ago.
And I’m an asshole. I told her I would text her, and it’s almost been two weeks since the bar gig. I haven’t talked to her since that random drunk makeout session. I’ll make another mental note, like I have every day, to message her, but first I gotta get this bathroom cleaned.
I do my usual routine, emptying the trash overfilled with used paper towels, replacing the toilet rolls, kicking up toilet seats and scrubbing them clean.
Bleach and lemon Pine-Sol is an interesting combination when you inhale it for almost half an hour.
I Windex the shit out of the mirrors and leave the counters spotless without a single drop of hand soap to be found.
Finally, I finish and snap off the tight black gloves, leaving my hands saturated in sweat. I toss them into the trash, and sandals slap against the tile. The pop of a bubble grabs my attention. There she is in the mirror, wiggling her fingers at me with a cute smile that perks up her face.
She leans against the wall, smacking her gum with a hand planted on her hip.
“Hey, Trouble,” I say, admiring her short, tight-fitting skirt. Her tan legs shine in the low lighting, and she’s more toned than I noticed at first. “You look pretty, as usual.”
“You said you would text me.” She crosses her arms, and the thin strap of her pearly white tank slides down her shoulder. What I wouldn’t give to spend my time running my hands over her shoulder blades and kissing every inch of her neck.
But I can’t.
Gramps fights all of his doctors. The sudden edema, and dealing with his persistent denial that he isn't in heart failure is killing me. He snaps and throws his blood pressure medication at me. The doctors drill nails into me when I explain he refuses to wear his oxygen.
“Sorry, I’ve been dealing with a few things,” I say, tiptoeing around reality. If I had some sarcastic, witty remark to spike her blood pressure, I’d throw it at her right now, but my mouth is dry and my parched tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth.
“Oh, so you had another gig and found someone new and already replaced me?” She puckers her lips. The remark catches me off guard, and a laugh rattles my rib cage.
“Totally... I found a gorgeous groupie.” I take a step to the door and grab the mop to wrap up the rest of my volunteer duties.
She stops chewing her gum, and her eyes narrow. Wrong words. Her sandals click, and she fists the seam of my black shirt. “What?”
The mop drops to the floor with a wack and I hold up my palms, as she starts to back up towards one of the stalls.
“She tried sucking me off the other night.” I pinch my fingers together, bringing them close to my eyes, “I was this close to letting her.”
Charlie’s mouth drops open, and she shoves me playfully.
She stomps up to the counter, throwing her purse onto the countertop.
“Fine... have it your way.” She shuffles items in her purse, and she lets out a frustrated, “Argh.” There are more shuffles and things clinking in her purse.
“Where the hell is it?” The purse gets tossed upside down and, like Mary Poppins, every little item you can imagine spills out.
Hairbrushes, mascara, one of those beauty blenders, a screwdriver, five bags of hot Cheetos, receipts, probably ten dollars worth of pennies, lotion, perfume.
Is that a tape measurer? I scratch the back of my neck, and she finds it. That goddamn Sharpie.
“No!” I run up to her and hold up a finger as she fists it in her hand and pops open the cap. “I just finished cleaning!”
“You’re going to have some other girl suck you off, huh?”
I stand in front of her, mirroring her movements as she eyeballs the stall door. “Do you have some kind of claim on me?” I ask.
My sneakers squeak against the tile and I chase her. She shrieks and fakes to the left and manages to slip past me into the bathroom stall. I pursue and grasp her sides, reaching for the marker she stretches above her head. I squeeze her sides, making her giggle and squirm.
“Stop that! It tickles.”
“Oh, yeah?” I lean into her space, and she smells of strawberries and cinnamon, and I can’t help but soak it in. “Give me the Sharpie.”
“No, stop! Stop!” Laughter bubbles out of her mouth, and she starts heaving in sharp breaths as I find that sweet spot. She’s curling up, doubling over, writhing as she tries to escape, but she asked for it.
With one quick motion, I grasp her wrist. “Don’t you think you’ve tortured me enough?” I struggle as she tries twisting and wiggling her wrist from my grip.
“You didn’t send me any good-morning messages.
No funny memes, no reels. Nothing.” She finally lets go of the marker and it hits the tile with a sharp clack.
Her grey eyes lock on mine, and I’m close enough to see the silver daisy shapes in them, the golden shine of the blush she wore, her lips plump with a light nude lipstick.
My heart thumps in my eardrums as she bites her bottom lip.
Fuck, I’d bite it too. My blood races down to my groin, and I release her wrist.
Her eyes stray over to the stall door and I glance at it too. She reaches over, closing the squeaky door and twisting the flimsy lock.
“You don’t want a guy like me.”
“Why?” she asks, grabbing the fabric of my shirt, tugging me closer to her until I can feel the tremor in her hand. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Everything,” the word catches in my throat – a half laugh, half truth.
“I don’t care...” she whispers, and those words sink right under my ribs. I don’t know how my Wednesday night of cleaning a bathroom became me locked in the stall with one girl giving me the hardest time in my life.
“I have no future other than singing,” I admit with my pulse hammering in my throat. “and there's no guarantee I’ll make it.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She’s inches closer, her nose centimeters from mine.
“I’m not a football player,” I say.
“I don’t care,” her breath brushing against my lips.
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough that you won’t hurt me.” Her words hit something deep, my chest tightens.
“I’m sorry I told you I’d text you first, and I didn’t.”
“You can make it up to me right now.”
“I didn’t let the groupie have me... I’ve only thought about you.
” Then I stop thinking all together. I groan before cupping the back of her head and crushing my lips to hers.
She breaks for a mere second with a gasp and doesn’t hesitate to mold her body against mine, kissing me back.
Her nails dig into my shoulders as we back up into the stall wall with a loud thud.
I taste the cinnamon on her tongue as I suck on it, biting her bottom lip.
She doesn’t hesitate to open her mouth wider, and with each brush of her lips against mine, she lets out a heavy breath.
I’m blinded by a white-hot adrenaline rush.
My brain turns fuzzy, and I’m not sure if I know how to breathe anymore as my lungs seize.
Something takes over my nervous system, and I have no control over my hands as I touch her everywhere.
Her soft cheek was in my palm, then suddenly my hand was wrapping around her neck where I put light pressure around her windpipe.
She made her thighs grind against my shaft, as if we were dancing together.
The fabric of her shirt is smooth and soft, and I fill my palms with her breasts.
She gasps in my mouth, and the sound resounds off the wall.
I cover it up with my lips and grab her thighs, her skirt pushing up on its own.
I squeeze her ass, and the skirt has risen up so high it dawns on me.
She isn’t wearing any undergarments. It’s her petal-soft flesh I squeeze. I’m dead. So dead.
My brain goes haywire as I pick her up, slamming her against the wall, and the metal rattles.
She stops kissing me for a brief second and giggles before she recaptures my mouth with the sweetest moan I’ve heard in a while.
Her legs wrap around my waist, grinding the most beautiful part of a woman’s body on me, and all I want is to taste every inch of her.
I stray away from her lips, finding the crease of her neck and nibbling as she gasps.
I suck and bite, and her hands dig into my hair, yanking hard enough that I wonder if she pulled out a chunk.
I bite down a bit harder to see what she can take, and I get a whimper, her legs shivering in my grip.
I sink my teeth in, digging into her skin.
“Can we?” she asks.
I shower her with kisses back up her neck to her cheeks, to her mouth. “Can we what?”
“Have sex with me. I just want to finally lose it. Make me feel good because it’s all I can think about.”
I breathe hard as I kiss her, nibbling on her bottom lip.
She hums as I dip my tongue into her mouth, rolling it against hers.
“I don’t want to be a virgin anymore,” she moans.
And I would. I want to taste every inch of her, feel myself inside her, but I pull away, her lips swollen and moist, begging me to continue.
“I...”
“Charlotte!” Heels click as someone else walks into the bathroom.
I snap back into reality, and Charlie’s eyes widen.
Her flushed cheeks turn into horror as she mouths fuck and pats my chest for me to put her down.
I do, her feet hitting the tile with little to no noise.
Her eyes dart across the stall. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and I glance down at her perfect slice of heaven.
I eat my fist and suppress my groans as that pussy is trimmed with only a light coat of dark hair before she fully straightens out her skirt.
Damn, I’m hungry. I guess the gum she shoved in my mouth will have to do.
I curse and bite my bottom lip as my dick is rock hard.
Twitching and irritating me. I need something to smack the tip with and tell it to calm down.
I adjust myself in my trousers. Charlie tries to apologize again, but I cup her cheeks and peck her on the lips, before she unlocks the door and ruffles her hair.
“Is there someone here with you?” the lady asks.
“No,” Charlie says, out of breath.
“Why is everything poured out of your purse?”
“I was looking for a tampon.”
“You know how I feel about using those. You should use a pad.”
Oh, dear god that sounds like her mother. “I can use whatever I want. You don’t need to mother me.” I stand perfectly still, hoping she doesn’t pay any mind to my shoes and the shadow. I hear snuffles and Charlie’s sandals slap as their voices fade in the distance.
When the coast is clear, I step out of the stall, wiping my lips. I head over to the mirror and spot the glitter smudges on the bridge of my nose and chin. She marked her territory with makeup all over me.
It takes me a few moments to calm my racing heart and stop the massive amount of blood flowing to my dick.
I slap myself in the mirror a couple of times.
Splash cold water on my face. Talk myself down.
I’m not a horny douchebag, I tell myself.
She’s too pretty for you. I let the thought sink into my brain. She’s gonna break your heart.
My dick takes forever to settle down, but once the pain in my balls subsides, I sweep and mop the floors, making sure there are enough paper towels to last until I come back in again.
When I’m putting away the cleaning supplies and tossing that last bag into the dumpster, my cellphone chimes in my pocket.
My feet crunch against the gravel as I head to my truck in the lonely parking lot.
When I sit in the driver’s seat and start the engine, I realize I’m still chewing on her gum.
It still has flavor to it. Shit I should text her.
I glance down at my phone, but it looks like she beat me to it.
Trouble: You’re a really good kisser
Noah: Oh yeah?
Trouble: I bet you’re good at kissing other places too.
Noah: Hmm... that’s tempting... the guys are having a get together tonight. Wanna come over?
Trouble: Maybe...
Noah: I’ll shoot you the address