Cream of the Crop Read Free Page A

escaping. Bottle-green eyes that met mine in the mirror behind the case. I let the tiniest smile creep over my face as I checked out a display just to his left, making sure to make eye contact once more.
    Good boy, come this way. He grinned at me in the mirror, and I pretended to not see it. I played with the edge of my coat, letting my fingers do their lingering along my collarbone. He put down his Gouda, picked up a cheese log, and from the way he was holding it, I knew I’d hit pay dirt.
    Mmm, start out the weekend with a quickie? Good goddamn I’m good.
    Knowing that I had the pup right where I wanted him, I headed over to the counter where Philippe was still going on and on about how well he knew me and how I alone appreciated his perfect palate. I paid attention, but mostly my eyes were on the Cheese Mecca that beckoned.
    Philippe prided himself not only on having one of the most complete selections of French cheeses, of course, but on finding the most interesting and wonderful local cheeses from all over the Northeast. He knew my favorites, he knew what I liked, and he knew what I loved .
    â€œNow then, you must try this. I’ve been sold out of it all week, but I just got more in for the weekend business. Taste this!”
    I tasted this and that, a little here and a little there, my toes curling inside my shoes as he placed slice after slice of heaven in my hand, where it quickly disappeared into my nearly panting mouth.
    â€œNow then, this one is really going to knock your shoes off,” he cried, pulling a new round from the case with a look of delight.
    â€œSocks, not shoes.”
    â€œ Oui, of course.” He leaned across the counter with a spoonful of something rich and dense.
    I opened my mouth, he slid it in, and the second it hit my tongue, I moaned.
    I knew that taste. I dreamed of that taste. I moaned again.
    I heard a small cough from behind me, and I knew Knit Cap Quickie Guy was very aware of the sounds I was making. Ididn’t even bother blushing; I was enjoying this too much. To be clear, I was enjoying what was in my mouth.
    I opened my eyes to find Philippe standing there, grinning widely, delighted that he’d picked exactly the right one. This cheese was killing me.
    â€œWhere did that come from?” I asked, delicately licking my lips, already knowing the answer.
    â€œIt’s brand-new, from a small dairy in the Hudson Valley. Bailey Falls—”
    â€œâ€”Creamery,” I said, the word creamery falling from my lips like a caress.
    I knew the man who had made this. Strike that. I was aching to know the man who had made this. Know him, and know him.
    â€œI’ll take it,” I told Philippe, my voice breathy. I looked left and saw the other customer, the guy who just moments ago I was considering bringing home for a Friday Night Special. He now paled in comparison to—
    Long tanned fingers
    Beautiful strong hands
    No no. Save it until you get home and can enjoy. No mental pictures right now, get home before you —
    Ink. Up one forearm and down the other. At least as far as one could tell—the ink disappeared via biceps covered by a thin cotton tee. Did the ink go all the way up? Circle around his neck and back? Did the ink go all the way down? Cutting along his torso, snaking around his hip to—
    Get. Out.
    â€œI’ll take all three, Philippe. Can you wrap those up for me?” I said, dabbing at my brow. Pulse racing, I handed over my money, collected my delectables, bestowed a “sorry, it’s not happening tonight” smile on Former Mr. Wonderful, who was looking so hopeful it was almost pitiful.
    I hurried out of the shop, fifty dollars’ worth of cheese under my arm, and headed home. Needing something to change the images in my head, I turned on the mental soundtrack that I almost always had playing.
    Cue “Fireball” by Dev.
    What, you don’t have a running mental soundtrack?
    As I walked