Steven's leaning against the far wall now, hands tucked into his pockets, expression unreadable.

"The floor's clean," he says. "I want you to feel it."

I look down at my shoes. Practical. Worn. Not exactly erotic.

But then I look at the mirrors.

There's a strange thrill in the idea that someone--maybe everyone--is watching. Or maybe no one. Which might be worse.

I lean down and untie my high-tops, setting the coffee on the floor. I fold my socks and tuck them into the shoes. He's watching me, all the while. I can make out a bulge in his pants. I feel hot. My nipples hard. There's a deep ache...