Cracked

Joey's stomach growled as he pushed open the door to Shelly Benedict's. The bell chimed overhead, and for one blissful second, the place smelled like safety. Pancakes, bacon, roasted coffee beans—it was the kind of smell that reached into your brain and told it, It's okay. You’re somewhere nice.

And then his mother, walking into the restaurant ahead of him, paused, her denim-clad ass jutting out behind her. Of course his groin bumped right into her. Of course she had it planned that way.

And of course it felt far better than he wanted to admit.

With a giggle, she bounced in ahead of him, her ridiculous platform sandals clunking on the tile, hips swaying in those impossibly tiny shorts. Heads turned. Of course they did. Joey felt them, even before he looked up. The part of him that struggled with shyness wanted to crawl under a table and hide. The part that he was just getting to know, the part that enjoyed the attention given to him when a beautiful woman was sharing her affection with him, made him puff up his chest. Just a bit.

"You sure about this place?" he muttered, more than a little uncomfortable with how his mother was dressed. "Kind of feels like a family joint."

His mother grinned, lip gloss shimmering like a wet lollipop. "Exactly. Clean booths, good coffee, exactly the kind of place I want to take my son," she seemed to notice Joey's eyes dart around the room, "Let them look. Who cares if they get a show? It's a proven fact that you're my perfect guy, so let's let people know how hot you are, what kind of woman you can get."

"And quite frankly," she said before Joey could rebut her logic, "being watched turns me on more than a little."

"Come on, mom," Joey said, his face feeling hot with embarrassment.

"If you want to later," she winked, "I'd love that."

It took Joey a minute to catch her meaning, but when he did his eyes went wide.

"Stay here while I go get changed," he said, deciding to take a break, realizing that things were far out of his control.

"Yes, sir," she said obediently.

He took longer than he needed to in the restroom. Washed his face. Changed his underwear and socks, put on a clean shirt and jeans, the clothes his mom packed in the backpack for him. Since he discovered his power a few days earlier, his life had become much more chaotic than he was used to. Sudden girlfriends, last minute all-night sexual escapades, all of it added up to a life where he felt he was constantly just reacting to the needs and desires of those around him. Not that he was complaining at all. Those needs, it turned out, fit his teenage desires quite well.

But he was thankful for his mother. Having only been an adult for less than a week, having her take care of him, even in this strangely twisted new reality he accidentally created for himself, made him feel loved. She had never been overly affectionate with him. Growing up it had been painfully obvious that it was his sister, Juniper, who not only took after his parents, but was also their favourite. There had been constant celebration of Juniper's achievements, of her ambition, of her beauty. Joey had just been along for the ride.

That had all changed. Yes, Joey was sure that his father would always prefer Juniper, but Joey's mother now only had eyes for him. For the first time in his life she was going out of her way to care for his needs. When he was younger, the idea that his mother would pick him up from a sleepover without complaint was unheard of. But showing up with a change of clean clothes? It was like a fairy tale come true.

Staring at his reflection in the mirror, Joey wet his hands and tried to comb his hair with his fingers. Then, after applying the deodorant his mother had packed for him, and brushing his teeth with the toothbrush and toothpaste she had brought, he smiled his best smile. Maybe it was all the sex, maybe it was the fact that he was feeling cared for in ways he had never felt before, but Joey realized that he was holding himself differently. He was standing straighter, prouder. Maybe this was part of growing up.

Or maybe it was that half-a-dozen women were suddenly throwing themselves at him like he was some sort of sex god.

When he stepped back out into the main room, his eyes were instantly drawn to his table. There she was. Arms stretched lazily above her head, gum popping between her lips, phone in one hand taking a selfie, crop top pulled down to show an extraordinary amount of cleavage.

Her gaze flicked up to him, slow and syrupy. "Mmm," she purred. "There's my man. All fresh and clean and ready for breakfast. Ready to get buttered my little muffin?"

Joey rolled his eyes but couldn't help the ghost of a smirk. This was ridiculous. "You're impossible."

"I'm dressed like a wet dream, and I smell like strawberries. You'll crack eventually," she said, as if it were a promise. She uncrossed her legs just enough for her foot to find his under the table. Sandal against jeans, toes sneaking higher. "Might as well surrender now, handsome."

He tensed, glancing to the side. Someone—a woman alone near the back—was reading a book. Her fork hovered in the air. Great. Of course there were spectators.

"Why do you have to..." he muttered under his breath. "Do you have to put on a show? I get it, you want me, but we're in public, and you're dressed like... um..."

Donna leaned in, elbows on the table, cleavage on unapologetic display. "Like a hooker? A slut? Maybe I could be, just for today. Do you want to play? I could be someone you're paying for the day, bulk rate. Or maybe your step-mom, reconsidering her options. How about you be a rich millionaire and I'll be a ditzy bimbo you want to take on your yacht? It's the weekend! Let's have some fun!" her foot slid higher up his leg, "And what could be more fun than making you squirm in public, baby boy."

He tried not to laugh. He failed a little. "You are completely shameless."

"Completely," she said agreed brightly. "And honestly, I think it's good for you. You get all tense, all serious. You need someone to... unravel you."

Her foot slid up a little farther. Joey flinched.

"Mom..."

"Shhh," she interrupted, eyes glittering with mischief. "Just let me enjoy this moment. You, all twitchy and noble. Me, a goddess in platform sandals. I never know how deep in a rut my life had become, but when you explained things to me the other day, it showed me the way out. You're good for me, Joey. I feel more alive than I have in years."

Joey stared at her. "You're deranged."

She gave a slow, sultry smile. "And you're starting to like it."

He didn't respond.

But he didn't pull his leg away, either.

The conversation lulled into silence, not because there was nothing to say, but because the tension was saying plenty. He focused on the menu. Tried to think about pancakes. Tried to think about anything other than her foot under the table, or the way her lipstick made her mouth look something he wanted to taste.

When the food came—his plate stacked with eggs, bacon, pancakes—he felt like maybe he could wrestle back control of the moment.

Then she leaned forward.

He looked up.

Donna, impossibly close now. Hair falling forward. Lips parted. That pink gloss shimmering like sin.

"You're cute when you try to hold back, she whispered. "But we both know how this ends."

He opened his mouth to argue.

She kissed him.

It was soft at first—teasing, gentle—but there was heat behind it. It was the kiss of experience, the kiss of a woman who knew how to make a man feel exactly what she wanted him to feel. And feel it he did. How had it come to this? His own mother, in public, making him forget everything but her touch. She didn't mind an audience. She craved it. Her fingers curled in the collar of his shirt. His brain short-circuited.

When she pulled away, her smile was smug, but also satisfied. She had gotten as much out of the kiss as he had. Maybe more.

Joey exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging like he'd lost a long battle. There was no denying it. He had kissed his mother.

And he'd liked it.

Across the room, the woman with the book—American Gods, he noticed now—was watching, her fork forgotten in midair.

Joey gave a small, sheepish nod toward her.

She raised her coffee, like a toast.

He turned back to his mother, cheeks flushed.

She tilted her head. "Told you you'd crack."

Joey couldn't help it.

He laughed. She was right.