Page 34 of Dirty Chorus

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.