even if he does hold doors. His mom probably chose the place, as it’s surely not fancy enough to be up to par with his new, expensive tastes.
For some reason, I just can’t see him enjoying a burger and fries the way he used to when we were kids, where he’d inhale two or sometimes three, eat all of his fries, and mine too, and often drink my soda as well. We weren’t often treated to eating out when our parents were married because they didn’t have a ton of extra cash or just didn’t think to take us out for dinner, but whenever we were, Raiden ate like he wanted to make up for all the times we weren’t.
My eyes flick to his back as he walks ahead of me to talk to the smiling, young hostess at the front. Maybe I just can’t imagine Raiden eating like that because he looks like he hasn’t ever touched fast food in his life. He’s way too fit. I haven’t seen him with a shirt off, but I have seen the way his t-shirts give his abs, chest, and shoulders some love. They hug those tight parts even tighter.
The hostess says something I don’t catch, and then Raiden follows her in, and I have to follow both of them. The restaurant isn’t fancy on the inside. It screams nineties family diner, and with the blonde wood on the walls, outdated purple booths and tables, scary low pile green carpet, and ancient-looking thin metal blinds, it looks like it hasn’t seen better times since it was last renovated or built.
On the other hand, there is a pie counter at the front with a ton of delicious looking goodies in there, so I immediately give this place a thumbs up for thinking about the rest of humanity—those of us who don’t look like we live in the gym and who actually eat something other than straight chicken breasts for every meal.
I spot Raiden’s mom, Gwen, as soon as Raiden slides into the booth opposite her, leaving me with a clear line of view. I manage to paste on what I hope passes as a welcoming, warm smile, and since my choices are either asking Gwen to shove over or sliding in next to Raiden, I choose to slide into the booth beside him.
Unfortunately.
As soon as I get within a few inches, I can smell the expensive, manly cologne the guy dabs on. He’s freshly shaved, so maybe it’s the aftershave. Do people still use aftershave? Thinking about Raiden shaving makes me think about how my skin burned when his jaw scraped over my more sensitive bits when he was eating me out.
That thought makes me go completely scarlet, I’m sure, especially since the rest of me feels like it’s near boiling point. I quickly grab a menu and bring it up to my face in order to hide behind it.
“Zoe! It’s so good to see you again!” Gwen says cheerfully. I can tell she means it too, so I lower my menu just a fraction. It would just be rude not to.
“I…yes. You look amazing.” I mean it too.
Gwen always was pretty. Raiden used to have to deal with constant jokes from his friends about how hot his mom was. He hated it when his mom was dubbed a MILF. She’s got to be in her mid to late fifties now, though, but she’s still smoking hot. She probably works out and can bench press a cow, just like Raiden. It’s most probably where he learned to eat all that chicken.
Okay, that’s extreme. Gwen isn’t ripped. She’s just really nicely toned, and she has the body of someone in her early thirties. Her face barely has a wrinkle, and her dark hair is tastefully dyed with blonde highlights, probably to cover up the gray, but on her, it looks tasteful. She’s wearing a dark blue tunic and yoga pants, I think. I haven’t looked under the table, but I’m guessing she went for those or leggings. She never did like wearing jeans, and I didn’t get any glimpses of bare legs peeking out from shorts or a skirt when I slid into the booth.
“Oh, geez.” Gwen laughs softly, a little embarrassed by the compliment.
Honestly, I’m not sure why my dad was dumb enough to let Gwen go. She was always so nice. She was pretty, kind, and she didn’t have any sort of ego. She was always embarrassed by compliments, and she worked