When I exited the restroom, I spotted Mark strolling down the concourse, the large suitcase following behind him like a dog on its leash. He ran his eyes over me, and his mouth curled in a grin, but he didn’t say a word.
I walked past him, knowing he was about to enter the restroom I’d just left. There was no time to indulge in a s****l fantasy in which I turned around, followed him back into the restroom, and locked the door again; in which I’d undo the jeans he’d bought for me, let them drop, smiling at his surprise that I’d gone commando, and turn and lean against the wall while he f****d me.
Once this was over, though….
There was a Starbucks where the terminals formed a T with the main concourse of the airport, and I studied the menu board. I was tempted to order an iced caramel Fra
