Working Men Box Set

At Your ServiceJen drives like she’s looking to hurt someone, but I haven’t decided yet if it’s herself or me she’s trying to kill today. She’s off from work and because her boyfriend Greg isn’t, she called and asked if I’d take her to the movies, though we both paid our own way and she drove. But sure, why not? We caught a late matinee, one of those shows that starts a few minutes before six so we only had to pay the cheaper afternoon price. Now we’re cruising down the boulevard, looking for a place to eat, because she’s hungry and she’s got some money left to burn. I point to Taco Bell. “How about there?” In all honesty, I don’t care where we eat; I just want her to stop the car. I’m already thinking I’m going to ask if I can drive home, just to make sure we get there in one piece. How she ever got a driver’s license, I’ll never know. But she shakes her head. “Something that isn’t fast food.” Though there are a dozen restaurants that fit that description up and down this whole street, she can’t seem to find one she likes. When the light in front of us turns red, she hits the gas and shoots through the intersection while the other cars around us slide to a stop. I check my seat belt to make sure it’s secure. It’s not going anywhere—I only checked it five minutes ago. Jen keeps her gaze ahead, as if she’s really concentrating on the road. “You need to get out every now and then, Danny, if you think Taco Hell is eating out.” I stifle a groan. Here it comes, her ‘you need to find someone’ speech. Before she can launch into why she’s so damn happy with Greg and how she worries about me because I don’t have anyone like that in my life, I point out the sign for TGI Fridays up ahead. “There’s a place to eat.” I see her frown, unsure, and I sigh. “Jen, I’m starving. Do we have enough money left over for Fridays?” “I got money.” She’s wavering and a few seconds more we’ll be past the restaurant. “Not much—” “I have enough.” I just want to get out of the car. “I want to eat there.” Too late, I realize I shouldn’t have said that. Without so much as a glance in the rearview mirror, she yanks the steering wheel hard to the right, throwing us across three lanes of traffic to glide into the turning lane, so fast I’m sure we take the corner on two wheels. She flashes her sweet smile at the drivers who lay on their horns as we pull into the parking lot. “Damn assholes,” she mutters, slamming on the brakes into the first empty spot she finds. I’m not even sure it’s a legit parking space—yellow lines run through it—but right now I don’t care. “They give anyone a license nowadays, don’t they?” They gave you one. At least the car’s finally stopped. When she turns off the engine, I jump out so she doesn’t see my hands shake. I’m definitely driving home. Even though it’s Saturday, it’s still early enough that we’re seated as soon as we walk into the restaurant, and when I slide into the booth across from her, she starts up where she left off back in the car. She looks at the menu like she’s going to order up a boy, made special just for me. “You really need someone, Danny.” Make him cute, that’s all I ask. With a body to die for and eyes that shine like stars, and while we’re at it, make him madly in love with me. That’s what I want. Is that asking too much? I don’t think so, but then again, I haven’t dated anyone in a long time so maybe I’m too picky. It’s that madly in love part I stumble over every time. I’ve met guys I like and guys who like me, but they all seem to be looking for nothing more than a good time and a few kisses, a grope in the back seat of the car, maybe a quick f**k. That’s not what I want. Is it too much to ask for someone who will still be there the morning after? Someone who wants more than a warm body, someone who wants me? Specifically me? I glance over the appetizers. “I don’t need anyone,” I lie. “What do you feel like eating?” She shrugs. “I don’t know. You’re trying to change the subject.” “I am.” I don’t want to talk about how alone I am, or how I stay awake some nights and ache for someone to hold me. She has Greg, and the three of us are best friends but she doesn’t need to know that much about me. “You think we should go for the potato skins?” Without looking up, I see her mouth pull into a tight little bow of consternation, and I add, “Don’t start with me, Jen. I’m not in the mood to argue with you about guys. I barely got here alive—” “Hey!” she cries, indignant, as our waiter approaches the table. He’s around my age, with dark hair and a bored expression in his eyes that says he’d rather be anywhere but here. His nametag reads Evan. Barely glancing at him, Jen says, “We’re not ready yet.” He turns and walks away without another word. “Nice guy,” I mutter. “Do you think it would look bad if we move to another table?” Jen laughs. “Stop it. Find something to eat.” * * * * The waiter comes back a few minutes later, glaring at us as if he thought we were going to leave and he’s mad we didn’t. With a sigh, he sets out silverware. “I’ll be your waiter tonight. My name is—” “Todd,” someone behind him says. I look up to find another waiter pushing Evan aside. Now this one is cute, with wispy blonde curls and tan skin and dark eyes that light up the room when he smiles. And he’s smiling now, smiling at me, as he takes our napkins from Evan. “Todd, at your service. I’ll be your waiter tonight.” “This is my table,” Evan starts, but Todd kicks him in the shin and he bends down to rub his leg. “Ow! f**k, Todd.” When Jen giggles, he frowns at us. “You’re working the other side of the room, remember?” Todd lowers his voice and turns away as if he doesn’t want us to overhear. “Take one of my tables.” Evan’s still frowning like he thinks it’s a bad idea to switch. Do it, I want to say, because Todd’s a cutie and he smiled at me. I want him to smile again. He’s so close, my menu brushes his wrist, and I watch the way the fine hairs on his arm stand up beneath the laminated paper when I move my hands. In a heated whisper, Todd says, “Just this once, Evan. Please.” “Fine.” Evan glares at us one last time like we’re to blame, then stalks away. When Todd turns to us again, that smile is back, and I can’t help but grin at him. He’s got a sexy way about him, and me, I’m glad Evan is gone. Rolling his eyes, Todd leans down over the table and says, “Sorry about that, folks. You two ready to order?” Jen points at the Jack Daniels chicken. “Can I have this?” “We’re out,” Todd deadpans. Jen’s eyes widen and I think, Great. Out of chicken. There goes half the s**t on the menu. Then, in the same voice, Todd tells her, “I’m just kidding.” “What?” I laugh at the confusion on her face and Todd smiles again. He waves the question away. “Nothing.” Still grinning, he winks my way. “You want the JD chicken?” She nods and he turns to me. “What about you, handsome?” My face heats at his words and I stare at the menu, unsure what it is I want. Him, I think, but he’s not on the menu. “You had me for a minute there about the chicken. That was a good one.” “I can be better,” he says, coy. Clearing my throat, I glance at Jen, who’s got this goofy grin on her face and I already know what she’s thinking. It’s her ‘I’m going to hook you two up’ grin, the one I hate to see. She means well, but God, I don’t need her to find me a boy. So I look at Todd and almost drown in his blue gaze. “What do you recommend?” My voice is throaty and low—there’s something about him that makes me want to gawk. He probably thinks I’m an i***t, sitting here staring up at him. “I mean, what do you think I’d like?” His grin says he knows exactly what I’d like and he thinks he’s got it, he wants to serve it up and see if it’s what I’m looking for, and part of me wants to taste whatever it is he wants to give me. In that deadpan delivery of his, he asks, “My phone number?” I feel my cheeks heat up and I bury my head in the menu. “Oh, is that on here?” I ask innocently, hoping he doesn’t see how flustered he’s making me. Did I mention he was cute? And sexy, so damn sexy. I can almost imagine what he’d feel like in my arms, his body tight against mine, that striped shirt and those stupid suspenders he’s wearing on the floor and our flesh pressed together like the pages of a love letter, folded into each other between the sheets of my bed. Stop it. I know when I look at him again, he’ll see these thoughts in my eyes, he’ll know I’m not interested in the food anymore. Wasn’t I just saying I don’t need anyone? I don’t. I don’t. But I know I’m crushing and I can’t even stop myself. It’s his smile and his eyes and those curls… I want to just fist my hand in them and pull him down for a kiss. I already know those ruddy lips would be sweeter than any dessert they have on the menu, more intoxicating than any of the mixed drinks on the list. I don’t know why he switched tables with Evan but I’m glad he did, though now I’ll be thinking about him all night. Did I mention those curls? * * * * “He likes you,” Jen announces once he leaves. I watch him walk away—there’s a certain lope in his hips that turns me on. Toying with the straw in my soda, I wait until he disappears into the kitchen before I say, “He’s probably married or seeing someone. They always are.” “No wedding ring.” Leave it to her to be looking. “And if he’s got a girlfriend, then honey, my gaydar is way off tonight.” I laugh at that. She’s a self-proclaimed fag hag—all the guys she knows are gay, and sometimes she even jokes that Greg must go both ways because he’s with her, isn’t he? So he has to have homosexual tendencies. She thinks it’s something in her genes that makes her attractive to gay men. I tell her it’s her bubbly personality and the fact that she’s fun to be around—that’s why I like her. You need a girl to talk to? Call Jen. Someone to tag along with you, shopping or a show or dinner? Jen’s there. A shoulder to cry on when you wake up alone and you don’t even have his number… she’ll hug you and tell you it’ll be okay, and when you’re all cried out and sniffling, she’ll bring out a tube of ready-made cookie dough and two spoons, and you’ll sit in front of the TV eating raw dough until she gets you laughing again. I know—been there, done that. That’s why I like her. She rolls her straw wrapper up between her fingers and grins. “He’s cute.” Leaning across the table, she lowers her voice to a loud stage whisper. “Why did he switch tables?” “I don’t know.” My heart hammers in my chest—damn her for getting my hopes up. “The other guy wasn’t exactly Mr. Personality.” “They don’t switch tables because one guy doesn’t know how to smile.” She sits up straight so she can look around the room. Her gaze wanders over to the bar and then behind it, where the computer is, and a handful of employees huddle around the terminal, waiting to enter orders and print receipts. I follow her gaze and see Todd at the screen. A short woman with long blonde hair and too much glitter on her face pushes him playfully aside. Her ruby lips sparkle in the dim lighting and she says something that sets everyone laughing, even Todd, who ducks his head as if embarrassed. Then he glances over at our table, at me, and his smile stays in place when our eyes meet. I know they’re talking about me. I turn back to Jen and sigh. “God.” Why do I feel like I’m back in high school and someone just told the guy I liked all year that I have the hots for him? The same dread curls in my stomach, the same sweat makes my hands clammy when I rub them together. Maybe eating here wasn’t such a good idea after all.