In a corner booth, David’s already waiting. Waving when he sees me. Smiling.

I can’t help smiling back as I make my way to the table. He stands and greets me with a handshake. “You came!”

“I said I would.” I shrug out of my jacket and toss it on the bench before sitting across from David.

His gaze -- eyelids on half-mast -- travels over my body, from my face, down my shoulders and arms, lingering on my chest before returning to look into my eyes. “You clean up nice,” he says.

“Thanks. So do you.” And he does. He’s even more attractive in a casual V-neck sweater and jeans than in his fancy suit. His hair -- still a bit damp after his shower -- is tousled and falls across his forehead. He hasn’t shaved so there’s a hint of stubble, and his skin is still rosy from the hot water. He’s mouth-watering.

Before we have time to say anything else, a waitress comes to fill our glasses with water and take our orders. “Your food will be here shortly, gentlemen,” she says.

David looks at her with a smile. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, thanks.” I like a man who’s nice and polite to waitstaff and not pretending they’re not there. Or worse, below him. Another point in David’s favor.

“Mrs. Roslund says hi,” David says when the waitress hustles away. “She says if Princess likes you enough to sleep on your lap, you must be a good person. She also told me to hurry and snatch you up because handsome men like you don’t grow on trees, and I’m not getting any younger.”

I can’t help it; I burst out laughing. “I think I like Mrs. Roslund.”

“You would. She wasn’t commenting on your age. She went on and on about how nice you looked with that gray at your temples. Distinguished, she said. You get ‘distinguished’, but I get to feel like a rejected old spinster. Life isn’t fair.” His smile is wide and his eyes crinkling so I know he’s not upset with Mrs. Roslund. Another point in his favor; he keeps racking them up.

“Poor David,” I say and we both laugh. “Tell Mrs. Roslund thank you.”

“I will.”

The waitress returns with our food -- cheeseburgers for both of us -- and we dive in as though we haven’t eaten in a week. David moans after the first bite of his burger, a dirty sound that settles low between my hips and draws my gaze to him. His eyes are closed, and his head tilted slightly back, his entire body radiating happiness. I stuff a French fry in my mouth so I won’t accidentally moan along with him. A few moments later, he does it again. A long drawn out, “Mmmmmm,” when he takes a bite of his burger.

All parts of my anatomy appreciate that sound, and I shift in my seat, trying to give my plumping dick more room in my snug pants. I lean over the table. “You have to stop doing that.”

He swallows his food. “What? Eating?”

I shake my head. “Making those ...” I look around to make sure there are no sensitive ears in our vicinity and lower my voice even more. “... Porn noises.”

A slow smile blooms on his face. “Oh-ho! Am I causing you trouble?” He waggles his eyebrows, grabs a fry, dips it in ketchup, and proceeds to suck it off. His eyelids fluttering, cheeks hollowing out, sucking so hard I fear it’ll be vacuumed into his throat and he’ll choke on it. It’s ridiculous and funny -- and hot, I won’t lie -- and we both start laughing.

“Duly noted, kind sir,” he says, eyes crinkled in mirth. “I will refrain from porn noises.” The last words are delivered in a dramatic whisper and we laugh again.