Hot Cappuccino Boy - BxB (COMPLETE)

Chapter 1

June 16th

"Ethan, sweetie, would you take out the trash?"

Seriously, Elsa's lucky she's so cute. And just as efficient at covering my (pretty) arse when I still have trouble remembering the orders.

Nobody calls me "sweetie" without me telling him/her how I think and where he/she can go with their "sweetie" or any other stupid nickname. No one, except for the few exceptions, among which my co-worker.

So I sigh and obey her. This bag weighs a ton. And even though we only sell coffee and stuff, that doesn't mean this trash smells like roses.

Fuck, it's a good thing we don't sell anything else, like fruit salads or even salads at all. Can you imagine the smell after 12 hours? It's enough to make me nauseous.

And yet, I'm not "sensitive" or any other shit name. Some people have had the brilliant idea to tell me this in the past, usually when I refused to do what they wanted. I was able to tell them at that time all the good I thought of their "sensitive" comments. With a physical demonstration, when the message didn't seem to hit home.

Yeah, I tend to bite. So what? Better to get back at someone than get stepped on, that's my motto. Mummy Dearest - yeah, that's sarcastic - always (half)jokingly told me that I looked like a little barking dog when I did it.

The last time she said it, a few days after my 18th birthday, I replied that I'd rather be a barking dog than a doormat, like my big brother, Reggie.

Is it a coincidence that a month later, I waltzed out the door with only my hastily packed suitcase in hand? Yeah, I don't think so, either.

I don't care. I'd rather be a free dog than a doormat, a valet who always has to smile, bow and giggle in order to please everyone.

I say "shit" if I feel like it and to whoever deserves it. And wow, what a surprise, there's no shortage of candidates!

So I drag this miserable bag of trash around in the shabby, sweaty, pissy backyard. It's over 25 degrees, which, in London, is the equivalent of a real heat wave. The threatening clouds are low, the wind is picking up, we could be in for a thunderstorm at the end of the day.

Cool. I can already imagine opening wide the windows of my tiny apartment, closing my eyes and feeling the wind on my (preferably naked) skin. It would be even better if I had a candidate to get laid with. I love it, making love in the middle of a thunderstorm. Fucking someone is already an animal gesture, where our instincts and reflexes take over. The fact that nature unleashes itself around me at that moment makes me feel even more part of a whole, of finally belonging to this world. To have found a place in it, even if only temporarily. I shiver with pleasure.

I can finally put the bag on the ground, wipe my forehead with my arm. I look at my watch - only an hour to go. Count half an hour for storage and final cleaning.  Plus a good three-quarters of an hour for the bus ride to my home sweet home. Yeah, that day is just not over.

I'm about to go back to work when I hear behind me:

"Hello!"

☕️☕️☕️

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