The minute I hear the car door slam, my skin begins to crawl. Great, he’s home. Maybe if I keep quiet and make myself small, he won’t pay any attention to me. “Please, God. Don’t let him notice me. Just have him continue acting like I’m dead too. Please, God.”

I wish that I could blend into the background, that I could simply disappear. Purely vanish from existence.

Hearing his footsteps as he crosses the room to me, I pretend I don’t know that he’s here. I merely keep washing the same plate over and over again. “God, please!” I beg.

The smell of alcohol, cigarettes, and cheap perfume permeates from him, filling my nose, making me want to puke. I have no doubt that he’s spent the entire day at the bar trying to drown out my mom and sister’s memory with poison of choice— Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker, or Jim Bean.

For the first few months, after their deaths, he would at least pretend as though he was trying. Endeavoring to go to work, striving to act as if he had his shit together. What he didn’t attempt to do was hide the fact that he hated me and blamed me for everything that had happened. Our relationship quickly got to the point that I really didn’t give a shit anymore. I didn’t care where he went or what he was doing; as long as he wasn’t around me and was doing something…anything to help keep us afloat financially.

As time passed, I was sure he no longer held a job. He would disappear every day, but there wasn’t any money coming in to substantiate his actually working. The fact is, the money that I stashed away had begun to disappear. I’d come home, my room would be trashed, and anything I had saved would be gone. Past due and disconnect notices were lining up as well as the bill collectors who were calling at all hours of the day and night. The reality was, we were going under. No, going under was an understatement, we were nearly past that. We were swimming in debt.

One night, when he didn’t pass out within five minutes of arriving home, he told me that he had decided that he didn’t want to be a manager for the power plant anymore. He thought that working at Paul’s Pump Station was a better, more suitable job.

What the fuck? Paul’s Pump and Pimp! As everyone in town calls it and that’s if they are being nice. It’s a hole in the wall, drug and hooker infested cesspool. One night, when my friends and I were out driving around, we saw some sleaze ball fucking some whore in the ass while she sucked on some other gross fucker’s cock. Just driving by the place makes me want to take a shower using steel wool and get a tetanus shot.

I was ready to voice my opinion on what a dick decision that was when an overwhelming feeling of defeat washed over me. I didn’t even want to know the details; at least maybe it would mean him contributing to the household.

The house is literally falling down around us. Our home used to be beautiful. In the summer there were always potted flowers and plants all over the place. In the winter stunning lights would be hanging from anything that mom could hang them from. Now it’s just a dump. I do what I can to try and help keep it up. I mow the yard, keep things tidy and clean, but me trying to fix something is just comical. Do not, I repeat do not put a hammer in this girl’s hand. Nothing good can come from that. One time, I missed the nail and ended up putting a huge hole in the wall. That didn’t go over well at all. If I remember correctly, I had a few bruises from good old dad after that one.

Suddenly, he grabs a handful of my hair, pulling hard. Bringing me back to the here and now. “About time you did something around here, you worthless, life-wrecking fucking bitch. Letting go of me, he slams me into the counter, crushing my ribs. Then he mumbles a few more cuss words under his putrid breath before stumbling into the living room and flopping down on the couch.

My dad hasn’t been the same since the day we buried my mom and sister. The night that they were hit, that fucker killed more than just them. I’m positive that my dad died that night too.

We were all supposed to go to the movies, but I had come down with a stomach bug. Mom decided that she would take Stella and dad could stay home with me.

Mom and Stella were walking across the street when a Jeep came speeding around the corner and hit them. We were told that the driver probably wouldn’t have even stopped if it hadn’t been for the brick wall that he smashed into. When he exited the vehicle, he simply stood there looking at the slaughter for a second or two, only to take a gun out of his jacket, put it to his head, and pulled the trigger. I wish so much that if that bastard was merely going to eat a fucking bullet, he would have just done it. Why did he have to destroy my world too?

I could never comprehend that a parent might have a favorite child, but Stella was dad’s favorite. He had no problem showing it. Maybe it was because she was the baby. But if Stella could keep dad happy and off my ass then I was happy. Mom, she never showed favoritism. There were always kisses for both of us in the morning when we woke up, and before bed. Sweet notes were placed in our lunch boxes and she would run interference between dad and me when necessary. She would always take extra time for either one of us girls no matter what, it was purely the way she was.

Dad used to be a loving and caring husband and father, he was. It’s not a secret that we didn’t always see eye to eye. However, what teenager and their father ever do. I remember him and mom dancing around the living room, even if there wasn’t any music, sitting on the couch, wrapped in each other’s arms, snuggled under a blanket watching an old black and white movie.

Every Saturday afternoon, like clockwork, they would take Stella and me for ice cream, even in the dead of winter. Every time, dad and Stella would get chocolate with marshmallow topping, while mom and I would get chocolate chip mint.

The accident was almost ten years ago, yet sometimes, it seems like it was only yesterday. I miss them so much. The massive hole their death left inside me seems to be too deep to bear sometimes.

 I miss my dad too, at least the dad I used to have. I always hope that he will come back to me someday, that I won’t be left alone in this world. I don’t know if that is ever meant to happen. I guess that’s why I keep sticking around though, hoping someday maybe we can be some kind of a family again.

The toxic voices in my head start screaming at me. “It should’ve been you, Sarah! It should’ve been you! Everyone would of have lived happily ever after if it would have just been you. No wonder he fucking hates you! It should’ve been you!”

Tears run down my cheeks, and I wipe them away with the sleeve of my flannel shirt. Fuck these feelings—what’s gone is gone, never to be had again.

After finishing the dishes, I slap together a turkey sandwich in case the drunk bastard wakes up from his alcohol induced coma. If I don’t do it now, he will end up yelling until I come back downstairs, or until the neighbors call the cops again.  So, I might as well just do it.  

Standing above him, I gaze down at this person I don’t even recognize anymore. He looks like the man that’s my dad. But he’s damaged. He’s broken. I fight the urge to drop the plate right on top of his head; instead I drop it on the end table making a loud thud. He doesn’t even flinch at the sound.

All I want to do now is wash the grease from work off my face, crawl in bed with a good book, and live in someone else’s world for a while. Books have been my escape, my savior from all this crap. I can j vanish from my life. At least for a little while.

Grabbing my bag off the table, I slowly trudge upstairs. My ass is dragging. I’ve been working double shifts at the diner to stay out of the house, and the extra money isn’t bad. Now that I’ve figured out that I can’t keep any spare cash in the house, I pay what bills I can, but hide away every extra cent, trying to save up enough money to get out, when I’m ready. I don’t know why I stay. Perhaps guilt, or hope. Hope that one day my circumstances will change. Maybe I’m just scared of the real world.

I found out very quickly that you can only party every night and crash on some stranger’s couch for so long until bad shit happens.

One night, at a party (at a house that I still have no idea who it belonged to) after hours of smoking, I don’t know what, I passed out on a couch that felt like it was covered in grease and smelled of dirty gym socks. Shit, I didn’t care, it was a place to be that wasn’t home.

I remember it like it was days ago.

The feel of my pants followed by my panties being tugged off pulled me out of my alcohol and drug induced stupor. My legs were being pulled so far apart it felt as if I were going to snap like a wishbone. I don’t know how many of them there were. Some were pinching and biting my tits while others took turns slamming into me over and over. The foul smell of cum, sweat, and blood filled the air. I didn’t know what it was, but I know that they used some kind of foreign object to rape me. I remember the unbelievable pain and burning the tearing caused. I could hear laughter and repulsive fucking comments all around me. I tried to open my eyes, but there was something tied around my head so tight that I couldn’t. I tried to scream, but someone had their hand clamped over my mouth so no sound could escape. No matter how hard I tried to fight back, it was useless. They were holding me down. I had no chance of getting away. Then the thought crossed my mind that it was what I deserved. So, I stopped struggling and simply laid there accepting my punishment. I kept repeating in my head, ‘You deserve this.’

That’s when this voice woke me from my trance. It was booming and angry as fuck. It yelled things like, “What the fuck are you doing? I will fucking kill you! You dirty son of a bitch, get the fuck off her!”

Even though it was a seriously messed up situation, there was something about the voice that made me feel like everything was going to be ok. That I was somehow safe at that moment.  

There were loud thuds, like baseballs being thrown hard at a brick wall, and the sound of furniture breaking all around me.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hospital room with my best friend Amie sitting at my side. She was the only one there when the doctors gave me the news. And is the only one who knows to this day. They had caused so much damage that chances of me ever being able to have children were pretty much gone. At the time, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal. I mean really, as fucked up as I am like I would ever have anything to offer a child.

I have no idea who my savior was that night. I guess it will forever be a mystery. I ended up on the doorstep of my best friend Amie’s apartment building in the middle of the night. When I asked her what happened, she said, “Someone called and said that you were at a party and had drank too much and they were giving you a ride here.” When she arrived downstairs and opened the door, the only thing she saw was me, lying on the steps, wrapped in a blanket. What clothes I did have on were ripped to shreds. My hair looked like a rat’s nest, and my makeup had run all down my face. When she looked around, there was no one in sight. So, she loaded me into her car and took me straight to the hospital. The rest is just another ugly monster of what I’ve come to accept is my life. 

Closing the door to the bathroom, I try and put the ghosts of the past to rest, but just like always, they continue to torment me. Digging around in the drawer, I find a rubber band and pull my fire red curly hair back into a ponytail. The cool water feels refreshing as I splash it over my face but it does nothing for my ivory skin that looks lifeless and dull. My eyes are sunken in, and dark circles accompany the bags under my eyes. Man, I am too fucking young to look this haggard.

Back in my tiny room, I slip into my favorite sweats, turn the bedside lamp on, and curl up under the covers. Pulling out the bookmark, I escape into a world that I know will never be mine. A world where the hero would move heaven and earth to make sure his love knew how much he cherished and loved her. When just being close to each other makes them feel complete. Like two souls who belonged together.

I read until my eyes are so heavy that I can’t read another page. I set my book on the night stand and shut off the light. Pulling the blankets over me and close my eyes.

The sunlight pours through my window, blinding me. When I roll over and see six o’clock in bright red, my heart nearly jumps out of my chest. Shit, I’m late! My shift at the diner starts at six-thirty; if I haul serious ass, I can still make it on time.

I’ve worked at Delish for the past couple of years. It may not look like more than a little two story house, but it’s one of the best-kept secrets in the Denver area. Leila took an old run down house, and single-handedly turned it into a successful business. I joke with her about running a brothel out of the upstairs. She always says it would only make things busier than she could handle.

Delish’s menu is vast, to say the least. We serve anything from a green river, burgers, and fries to iced

When I walk through the doors, the blissful aroma of fresh baked cinnamon rolls assaults my senses. To no surprise, we are hopping busy. I throw my bag under the counter and grab an apron along with an order pad. Leila starts calling out table numbers, so I know where to start. It doesn’t take long, and we mostly have everything caught up. Customers are happy. They are talking, drinking coffee, and filling their stomachs with yummy deliciousness.

Leila bumps my shoulder, grabbing my attention away from the old couple that has been telling me about a rascally old squirrel that likes to steal the bird seed out of their feeder. They don’t understand why he does that when he has his very own feeder hanging from the next tree.

I excuse myself and take the steaming cup of coffee that Leila hands me. “Thank you!”

“For what? Saving you from hearing about the bird seed bandit again or for the coffee?”

With a smile on my face, I reply, “Both.”

Leila is a beautiful person both inside and out. She tall, with a beautiful curvy figure. Her hair is short and spikey and as black as night. She’s a huge Hello Kitty fan. She has tattoos of the cartoon character all over her arms and the most elegant angel across her chest. She is definitely a very special person.

Taking a long much overdue drink of my coffee I instantly feel better. If I could, I would drink coffee twenty-four hours a day. Flavored, black, hot or cold it doesn’t matter to me as long as there’s coffee in my cup, I’m happy. Amie says that she thinks there’s coffee running through my veins instead of blood. Anyone who knows me wouldn’t argue with that.

Several hours later, Leila and I are wrapping silverware into bundles at the front counter when the bell dings as the door opens. In walks a group of the hottest guys I think I have ever seen. They all have that bad ass look to them, but there is one that immediately catches my eye. He gives me that feeling like there are butterflies fluttering around in the pit of my stomach. If someone offered me a hundred bucks, chances are I couldn’t form a coherent thought at this very moment.

He’s tall, very muscular. I swear his chest is the size of a fucking billboard. His eyes are a rich caramel brown with flecks of gold. Just a little bit of dark hair is poking out from under the bandana he’s wearing. There are gauges in his ears, his lip and eyebrow are pierced, and while both arms are sleeved with tattoos.  He’s wearing your typical bad boy clothes. A T-shirt that fits to show off every muscle, jeans with rips in the knees that hang just perfectly from his waist, paired with black motorcycle boots. He flashes me a sweet grin and a wink, pulling me out of my little daydream. Shit! I’ve been fucking busted.

Leila leans over toward me. “Hey, once they’ve settled in and you’ve closed your mouth do you want to go get their order?”

I know my voice is about ten octaves louder than normal “What! Me?” 

Tossing my order pad at me, she says, “No, the other waitress that’s working right now. Yes, you!” She smirks at me. “What? Can’t you handle that table of delectable dicks?”

She makes this cat clawing motion as she starts to chuckle.

I know that Leila is just trying to get me, so I play it nice and cool. In the dullest and unenthused voice I can muster, I reply, “Really Leila, delectable dicks? Could you be any cruder?”

With a shit eating grin on her face, she admits, “Yeah, I probably could be. Would you like me to try?”

Knowing that she is serious as a fucking heart attack about it, I quickly shake my head no. “Alrighty then, go get ‘em Ms. Cool.”

Rolling my eyes at her, I scoff, “Pffft, I got this. No problem!” Anyway, the last thing I need right now is some guy swimming around in the cesspool that is my head.

I square my shoulders and walk with confidence toward the table of amazing looking guys. “Play it cool Sarah, play it cool,” I tell myself mentally.

“Hi, guys! Is everyone ready to order?” I try not to make eye contact with anyone specific. I am dying to look at the brown eyed, tattooed God sitting at the far end of the table but don’t dare.

The shorter, stockier, guy who just oozes cockiness closest to me spouts out “Ginger!”

I try to laugh it off. “Yeah, don’t call me that. My name’s Sarah, and I’ll be your server today.”

“Oh, come on, Ginger. Don’t be such a bitch. Oh, wait! You’re a Ginger, so I guess it just comes naturally,” he chides. He acts so damn proud and smug as if he had just found the answer to world hunger. The group of guys just look at him with annoyance and irritation.

I want to punch him in the throat so bad. I hate being called a ‘Ginger.’ The last ass that kept calling me that, I kicked in the balls so hard that he fell to his knees. Needless to say, he didn’t do it again. I may be small, but he’s right, I do have a red head’s temper that can rear its feisty head when you’ve pushed me too far.

From the other end of the table, I hear a voice say, “Duke, knock your shit off.”

When I look to see who it was that was coming to my rescue, I have to immediately look back down because it’s him. He has a very stern look on his face. Staring back at the fucking jackass that is sitting right in front of me. I look him square in the eye with the sweetest smile on my face. “Duke, was it?”

Rocking back on his chair he says. That’s right, Ginger. I’m the Duke.”

“Well, Duke. I’m Sarah, and I will be taking your order today. May I suggest our asshole sandwich, it’s called ‘The Douchebag’ and it comes with a side of toilet water. I think that’s right up your ally. Can I interest you in that?”

My smartass remark gets all the other guys rolling with laughter and it sure does shut him up right away. His face turns a dark shade of red, and he says a few not so friendly words under his breath.

I make my way around the table, taking each order with ease. Then, I come to him. I look directly at my order pad, attempting to write down everything he’s saying, but I’m distracted by his voice. It’s deep, smooth, and the most sensual thing I have heard. It surrounds me like a blanket made of cashmere. Making me feel safe, secure, and comforted. All the sudden, I realize that all I have written down of his order is a bacon cheeseburger. I feel the heat rushing to my face, and I know it’s as red as my hair. Damn it! There goes my cool and confident facade I had going on. I never act like this because of some guy, no matter how breathtaking he might be.

“Hey, Kitten. Did you get all that?”

I have no choice but to look into those striking brown eyes. “Umm… I think so.” I have no fucking idea what he said. But what am I going to say ‘No, I’m sorry I was too busy being caressed by your voice to hear anything you said.’ Shit! My brain starts going into overdrive. OK, bacon cheeseburger, most people want fries. Yeah, fries that’s a safe bet. Coke, yeah that’s a safe one too. “I think so, bacon cheeseburger, fries, and a coke.”

Trying to move on to the next person so I can get the hell out of here until he stops me. “Would you mind swapping those fries to onion rings, and the Coke to a chocolate milkshake?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean absolutely, no problem I can do that.” For fuck's sake, what a disaster.

I get the rest of the orders as fast as I can and get the hell away from that table. I feel like a complete idiot. When I get back to where Leila is finishing up wrapping silverware, she has the smuggest smile on her face. “Smooth Sarah, real smooth! Yep, you played it cool, not flustered at all.”

I smack her with the order pad. “Well, we shall see how calm, cool, and collected you stay when you deliver their food. Because I’m sure, the fuck not doing it!”

With one eyebrow lifted, she says, “Oh, you’re taking their order out.”

I know my voice is way too loud. “What? Why? You got your laugh. I’m not fucking doing it!”

Leila looks over at the table, grinning. “I think there might be an unhappy customer if you don’t. You know the saying. The customer is always right.”

“You are so full of shit, Leila. Who exactly do you think would be upset if I didn’t deliver their food personally? The cocky ass that put his life in danger by calling me, Ginger? I doubt that he will lose any sleep over not seeing me ever again.”

“Yeah, smartass, him! No, the unbelievably gorgeous one at the end of the table. The one who hasn’t taken his eyes off you the entire time. The one whose order you didn’t even hear because you took a little visit to fantasy land.”

Trying to be discreet, I look back over my shoulder at the table. Holy shit! Mr. Drop Dead Fucking Gorgeous is looking right at me. He does this little smirk and head nod. I swear Niagara Falls just let loose in my panties. I don’t even know who he is. Damn, there is something about that man that makes me want to offer my body, heart, and soul to him.

“Damn it, Sarah, focus!” I keep chanting inside my head.

Amie comes strolling in with a couple of our friends Addy and Kristi. They are laughing out of control about God only knows what.

Amie has been there for me no matter what I’ve needed. Through the nights when I cried so much that I didn’t think I had any more tears left only to be proven wrong. We have laughed until I have almost peed my pants, spent hours at the coffee shop just chatting about anything and everything. She’s helped me when I was going through my self-destruct stage. When I was certain that any fate would be better than what I was going through at the time.

She knows I’m fucked up but doesn’t judge me.  When she found out what was going on at home, she begged me to move into her one room apartment with her. I told her that if I did that, I would feel like I was letting go of mom and Stella. I just wasn’t ready to take that step yet. Being the awesome person that she is she totally understood and told me that the invite was always there. She is one of the strongest people I have ever met in my life. If life knocks her down, she bounces right back up and asks, ‘Bitch, is that all you got?’ I could learn a thing or two from her outlook on life.

Now, Addy and Kristy, those two are as crazy as the day is long. We don’t hang out that often anymore, but when we do it’s a blast. I’m not as close to them as I am Amie, but they’re pretty fucking cool. Throughout high school, they were the ones you wanted to have your back. That’s what they did. They had my back.

One night, after a football game, a group of girls who had been giving me a hard time for a few weeks had me pinned against the concession stand. It was your typical fucking stupid high school shit. One of them thought that I was after her boyfriend just because we had partied together. It wasn’t my fault that she was a stuck up bitch. That’s exactly what got me in trouble, telling her just that. Back in the day, I wasn’t exactly good at keeping my mouth shut. I didn’t have that filter that most people have that tells them when to shut the fuck up.

They each take a seat on a bar stool by the counter that Leila and I are standing at arguing about who’s taking the food to the table.

Finally, letting out a huge sigh and rolling my eyes “Fine I’ll take it! There are you happy now?”

It’s no secret what we’re arguing about. First of all, Leila is by no means being quiet. Two, I keep looking over at the table to see if any of them are paying attention to our conversation.

Addy leans across the counter. “Hey, I don’t give a shit who does it as long as I can help.”

Amie and Kristi chime in at the same time, “Yeah, we’ll help too!” 

Amie holds her hand up in the air like she’s carrying a tray and Kristi throws a dish towel across her arm.

Oscar, the lead cook, yells out the little kitchen window, “Hey! If you lovely, delicate flowers are done fighting as to who is going to take the orders over to the table of what did you call them? Delectable dicks? Yeah, that’s it. Delectable dicks. Their orders are up.”

Thank God, the place has cleared out and there aren’t any other customers in here to be offended by his comments. Because good fucking hell, it’s not like he used an inside voice. I’m sure everyone at that table heard him. Because when I say yell, I mean even the people in the next building could probably hear him. I so wish I could crawl into a hole and die.

“Really, Oscar?” I say, giving him my best you’re such an ass look that I can.

While the others are enjoying my embarrassment, I straighten my shoulders and grab the huge tray of food.

“Christ, Oscar! This thing weighs more than I do. Ever thought of using more than one tray?”

He grabs the towel from his shoulder and wipes the sweat from his forehead, then gives me a wink. “Nope.”

Oscar looks like one of those cooks that used to be on that old time TV show Mel’s Diner. White T-shirt, bald with a bit of a pot belly. Even though at this very moment I want to kick him in the balls, he’s always there for all of us girls. He’s like the cool uncle everyone wishes they had.

I balance the tray on my shoulder as I walk by the girls; they are standing there with tears in their eyes from laughing so hard.

“You need some help? Leila asks, as she tries to control her boisterous laugh and doing a horrid job at it. Her short black and pink hair bounces as she lets out a snort that makes them start laughing even harder.

Looking straight ahead, trying not to laugh myself, I tell them, “Keep laughing bitches, I hope you all piss yourselves.”

The guys are talking about someone kicking someone’s ass in a fight as I pass out their plates. I do everything possible not to make eye contact with any of them. The entire time I am handing out the mounds of food, I keep envisioning dumping someone’s burger right in their lap. I finally get all the food successfully delivered, and do a fabulous job at not making eye contact with him. The jerk face that took his own life into his hands earlier gives me a stare down the entire time. As I walk away, I look back over my shoulder and give him a sweet smile that I’m sure he’s fully aware is laced contempt.

I keep myself busy with mindless jobs, doing my best to stay in the backroom. The girls quickly move on to some other topic. I feel sorry for whoever is their point of interest now. I’m only glad it’s not me. They’re howling even louder than what they did at me.  

I stock the supplies in the cooler and start thinking how much I love it here. The atmosphere is exactly what I need. The customers are great, well most the time. My coworkers are fabulous, even though I know that I can be like talking to a wall when it comes to certain topics. They try to help in any way that they can. What they don’t realize is that being here is therapeutic for me. For the most part, it is fun and light-hearted, even when we are busting our asses, we all still have a good time. I feel more than the pure evil that has ruined everything when I’m here. 

I only have to revisit their table a couple of times for refills and the bill. Once again, avoiding eye contact with him at all cost. Every time I get near him though, I feel this ‘Zing’ shoot through my body. No, more than my body, it makes its way all the way down to my soul.  I’ve never felt this before. It’s like an electric shock that runs from my head to the tips of my toes. Every single sense in me is heightened to unbelievable levels.

When they leave, Leila is kind enough to ring the guys up at the register. To be honest, I can’t believe that she didn’t take me from the customers I was helping to do that too. Man, I adore that woman, but she sure does love to see how riled up she can get me.

I watch every move tall, dark and hotter than holy hell makes as he walks out. When he reaches the door, he glances over his shoulder, gives me a wink and flashes me the sweetest smile I have ever seen. I can feel my face start to burn and then when Leila bumps me with her hip it gets even worse.

Grabbing the dish pan, I head over to their table. Man, I feel like some fucking love struck teenager. When I get to the spot that will forever and a day be known as ’his spot,’ I see something sticking out from under the plate. They had already left my tip when they paid the bill. I lift the plate carefully, like there is something underneath it that will jump out and bite me.  

Under the plate, there is a napkin with writing on it. ‘Kitten, give me a call sometime.’ There’s a phone number below it.

I feel like a school girl who just found a valentine inside her locker from a secret admirer. I look around to see if anyone is watching me, but it seems as if they have lost total interest. I guess once the opportunity to embarrass me is gone, it’s no longer entertaining to watch my every move. I take another quick glance at the note before stuffing it into the front pocket of my jeans.

For the first time in a very long time, throughout the day I catch myself smiling, thinking about what it would be like to call and talk to him. What would we talk about? What does he like to do? Would he ask me out? Where would we go on our first date? What would we name our children? I can’t help but giggle to myself. Good hell, I’m acting like a teeny-bopper with a crush. What’s next? Me writing our names inside little hearts on the cover of a notebook?  Oh, yeah that’s right I don’t even know his name. This was the first time I have ever seen him, and I’ll probably never even see him again. Hell, I bet it was just some kind of dare one of the other guys put him up to. Probably that fucker Duke at the end of the table. The phone number probably isn’t even real. Chances are it’s to some porn site or some bladder control hotline.  

I don’t deserve to belong to a guy like that. I wish that I could let all the crap that has been said about me, to me, the whispering and the looks roll off my back. The bad is much easier to accept than the good.

Over the next week, every time I hear a motorcycle pull into Delish my heart skips a beat. But no luck, my mystery man hasn’t been back. Every night when I end my shift and head out, I feel a little disappointed. The only time I’ve seen him again is in most of my thoughts and in my dreams.