Hot Cappuccino Boy - BxB (COMPLETE)

Chapter 3

"So, pretty boy, did you meet someone interesting back there?"

Elsa's light tone halts me in my tracks as I prepare to clean our old espresso machine.

"Ah. So it was you who sent him," I mention without looking at my colleague. "What prompted this? Did you think that by chance you will find me in a..."

I turn to her with a raised eyebrow.

"Compromising position?"

Without missing a beat, Elsa replies:

"Why, would that be possible, Mr I'm-eating-pretty-boys-heart?"

I love this girl - it's so easy to joke with her, knowing that certain boundaries will never be crossed - thank God! With her, there's no embarrassment, no discomfort, no unhealthy tendency to fetishism, as some straight women can inflict on gay men like me. I've already seen it in my previous jobs, when I did mention my sexual identity or they noticed it. Some of them would got that look in their eyes, the look that says "well, you fucking machines".

Because that's exactly how they see us - not as human beings, but convenient tools to satisfy their fantasies.

That makes me sick.

I got lucky with Elsa - she's not made of this cloth. Which is why I can retort:

"Not even in your dreams, darling."

"Honey, I don't want to disappoint you, but when I dream, I'm dreaming of something else, believe me!"

A joke about how she dares dreaming about anything else than my sexy body is on my tongue, but Elsa is quicker on the uptake:

"Listen, he came here, hesitating, believing he has missed his chance with you... I wasn't going to send him back outside like a kicked puppy!"

"You're talking about Hot Cappuccino Boy, right?"

"Because that's what you call him?" she says, laughing.

"And what do you want me to call him? It's not like he told me his name!"

"Damn, baby, what's the point of me going to all this trouble to be the matchmaker between you and the hot guys that are all over you if you don't even get their names, huh?"

"Elsa, I've already explained my tactics..." I say with a fake sigh.

"Yes, yes, playing it cool, I've heard this before! In the meantime, tell me - don't you have too many cramps in your right hand?"

"Nah, ma'am, that's what the lube is for, you see!"

Not to mention the sex toys. But I'm keeping that to myself. No need to tell even more details on my sex life to Elsa.

Elsa shoots me a fake pout.

"So, I was saying that this poor boy..."

"Hot Cappuccino Boy."

"I'd have called him Cute Ass, but everyone has their own preferences..."

"Elsa!"

"So," she carries on, ignoring me. "I didn't have the heart to tell him that you weren't available at the moment, so I kindly informed him that my dear, esteemed colleague was just taking a break in the backyard."

"Taking a break? Getting me to carry off the garbage bag, rather!"

"That keeps you in shape, bunny ears!"

Half an hour after this brilliant discussion, I say a final "goodbye" to my colleague, not without sticking my tongue out at her one last time in a gesture not very appropriate for my age, and I run to the nearest bus stop, barely managing to catch number 25.

I know that many people complain about public transport, especially in London, and I understand why. But personally, I find that they contribute to the energy of this city. I like to stand or sit, depending on how crowded the vehicle is, and let myself be lulled by the rhythm of the traffic, which is always congested at this hour.

With my headphones on my ears, I like trying to guess the life of the people around me, I have the image without the sound, guessing on their faces what happened during this day. It's my little resting break - socialising at a distance, something I can't do at work, where I'm forced to talk to the clients and endure their moods, even briefly.

When I finally land at my stop, I'm only 200 meters away from the apartment I'm sharing with Sam and Ben. Just the square to cross, with its pigeons, its flowers in mourning at this time of the year and its forgotten statue, and there I am.

A nice smell of boiling pasta and bolo sauce floating in the air reminds me that I'm starving.

"Hello, it's me!"

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