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twitched in his hand. He was close now. So close. Sliding his palm across the tip of his shaft, he gathered some pre-cum and used it to smooth his glides. From beyond the stall came the satisfied howl of a wolf in the midst of orgasm. The second man followed shortly, and Donovan’s nostrils filled with the scent of spilled cum.
    Donovan fucked his hand, driving himself harder into his closed fist. His cock swelled and the muscles of his stomach tightened as he bent over at the waist.
    And as the first strands of jizz splattered against the white porcelain bowl, Donovan closed his eyes. Roxi’s image burst to life before him. In his fantasy, it was her perfect body he painted with his cum.
    * * * * *
     
    Morning sunlight streamed through the window of the Mocha Time coffee shop, splashing its cheery yellow glow onto Roxi’s newspaper. On the other side of the glass pane, bitter, icy cold attacked New Yorkers without remorse. People walked even faster than usual, rushing as much to escape the winter chill as to get where they were going.
    But in the coffee shop, hot air blasted from the heater above Roxi’s head. Glancing outside, she could almost ignore the snow on the sidewalk and pretend, just for a moment, that it was as warm here as it would be in Greece.
    “Your father sends his love,” Roxi’s mother said, her soft voice carrying through the phone line and closing the distance between them.
    Roxi smiled. “Tell him I love him too.” She replied in fluent Greek, since neither of her parents spoke English.
    “He misses you.”
    “I know.” Guilt burrowed into Roxi’s stomach. Too much time had passed since she’d seen her parents.
    “Have you given any more thought to returning home?”
    She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, not wanting to rehash an argument she couldn’t possibly win. She’d come to New York to study psychology at Columbia University, but that had mostly been an excuse to get away from home. When she’d dropped out a few weeks into her second semester, she knew her parents had expected her to come running back to Chora.
    She’d be lying if she said she didn’t miss the tiny village situated at the edge of a cliff, or the brilliant ocean that spilled out below. But she’d dreamed of coming to America since she was a little girl, and she’d fallen in love with New York the moment her plane touched down at LaGuardia.
    She wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
    But convincing her mother she intended to make New York her permanent home would take more than a brief phone conversation. Gryta Leventis took worrying about her daughter to a whole new level. When she wasn’t busy calling Roxi to reassure herself she was okay, Gryta scoured online newspapers for articles about the horrible things that happened to single women in New York. Then she emailed those links to Roxi, so she could be fully aware of the robberies, rapes and murders that awaited her on foreign soil.
    “It’s only a matter of time until you get into trouble,” Gryta said.
    Roxi grimaced. She dreaded opening her email when she got home, fearing what new horror she’d find inside the latest message from her mother. Why couldn’t Gryta send chain letters or recipes like every other mother who’d just discovered email?
    “I’m fine, Mom. Really. Nothing bad is going to happen to me, all right?”
    “If you insist on staying where you are, at least tell me you have found yourself a man.”
    Roxi pursed her lips. She thought of Donovan’s stern demeanor, of the way he’d touched her. “No, there’s no one.”
    “Then it’s a good thing I’m looking out for you, since you won’t do it yourself.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “You remember my friend Aminta Michailidis, from Kozani?”
    “Barely. Is she the woman with seven husbands?”
    “Eight, and she wasn’t married to all of them at once.”
    Like that made much of a difference. Roxi rolled her eyes. “What about