Free Sidecar by Amy Lane

trying to explain why the kid should stay with him.
    “See, the thing is,” Joe said, smiling apologetically, “he doesn’t want to go home, and I don’t want him back out on the street. He almost didn’t survive last time.”
    The woman had no eyebrows. Or she did, but they were penciled in, and those little pencil lines formed perfect semicircles when she made a little “oooh” movement with her red-lipsticked mouth.
    “Oh, that’s just so sad ! And you brought him here and took care of him? Without a woman here? Oh, Mr. Daniels, that’s just so kind of you.”
    Mrs. Cahill put a perfectly manicured set of bright red nails on Joe’s sleeve. He looked at the hand, to her suddenly predatory eyes, to her hand again. He closed his eyes for a second and then looked at Casey, who was sitting across the table from him.
    Casey scowled at the hand, and then met Joe’s eyes, and then looked at Mrs. Cahill, who had told them straight off that they were probably going to have to change this living arrangement immediately.
    Casey swallowed—Joe could see it from across the table. Joe pulled up a smile to cover the silence. “Well, ma’am, I do like helping people out.”
    “Oh, you do ?” she cooed, leaning in further so Joe could see how low-cut her sweater really was and how very firm her recently purchased breasts were too. “Now, see, that’s nice.” She leaned even further forward, so those hard breasts were butting up against his arm. The nipples were very, very pointy against the cashmere of her sweater. “There are not many men who would do that for… for anyone , much less a young boy!”
    Joe swallowed and met Casey’s eyes. Casey was looking like he’d just sucked a lemon, but he sighed and nodded, like he was giving Joe permission to do whatever it took.
    “Well, ma’am, I was taught to give back, you know what I mean?”
    She was practically sitting in his lap, and, well, his lap had never really objected to a curvy set of anything pressed up against it, and was responding in kind. That wicked scarlet manicure dropped down to his thigh, brushing his semierect cock in his jeans.
    “That’s really rare,” she breathed in his ear. “I think that maybe, if you were willing to demonstrate just how… how deep that commitment to giving back really was, we could see if maybe you and your young charge could continue on in peace.”
    Joe and Casey locked eyes one more time, and Joe was half-defiant—You wanted this! —and half-pleading— Save me! Casey’s beseeching look back told Joe all he needed to know.
    “Why sure, Mrs. Cahill. Whatever I can do to, uhm, deepen my commitment, right?” He turned and smiled at her, knowing that he had a nice one, with well-cared-for teeth and generous lips under his mustache and soul patch.
    She was so close he could smell her cosmetics. “For one thing, you could call me Sandy.”
    Joe licked his lips. “Well, Sandy, how ’bout we go into the other room and talk while Casey goes and does his homework.”
    He looked up at Casey and rolled his eyes, while Casey mouthed “Thank you!” with almost desperate gratitude. Sure, the little bastard would thank him now ! Where was he going to be when Joe had to ’fess up to Sharon, whom he had almost convinced to stay the night?
    But it didn’t matter. He had a condom in his pocket, and Mrs. “Call me Sandy!” the social worker was rubbing his thighs, and he had a job to do. Joe had to go take one for the team.
     
     
    J OE got out of the shower and found that Casey had made hamburgers. He’d even cut up tomatoes, lettuce, and pickles on a little plate and toasted the bread. Joe smiled tiredly and wondered if it would be overkill to take another shower before he went to bed.
    “Thank you,” Casey said quietly as Joe sat down, and Joe nodded.
    “She’s going to be back in three months.”
    Casey grimaced. “I’m so sorry.”
    “I bleached the couch.” He had a little spray bottle of Formula 409, which