Chapter 1

There’s nothing worse than pulling down the graveyard shift at Sylvia’s Grill. By seven in the evening, the dinner crowd has thinned out. Maybe we get a few families in before nine for dessert or ice cream. But after that, it’s basically dead until the next morning, when workers from the rubber plant start to trickle in for breakfast.

During that long stretch from midnight to five it was just Chris and me, wiping down the tables or sweeping the floor, cleaning the grill, cutting veggies and meats to keep up our stock. The stoplight across the street went on the blink a little after ten p.m. We moved around the diner at a languid pace. The whole night stretched out before us, an indeterminable wait.

Chris, the night cook, was a full head shorter than me and twice as big. I wouldn’t say fat, exactly, but he could put away two twelve-inch subs over the course of our shift, and he was always nibbling on the fries. The wire glasses he wore, perched on constantly flushed cheeks, seemed too small for his round face. My first day on the job he spent half the shift going on and on about a girlfriend I suspected was made up on the spot to impress me. Chris was the type who probably hadn’t been out on a date in his entire life and was still waiting for that first real kiss. Before he got too far into his boast, I cut him off with, “Girls aren’t really my thing.”

We were between customers at the time, and Chris stared at me for a full minute, turning my words over in his head as if trying to puzzle through them. Finally, he lowered his voice and said, “You mean you’re…” Letting the sentence dangle between us, he raised his eyebrows and nodded at me, wanting me to say it, but there was a shiny interest in his face that made me think I wasn’t the only one who liked dick. Before I could answer, Chris wanted to know, “So, are you with someone right now?”

With a shrug, I replied, “Not really.”

Bad move. I should’ve made up a boy to use as a shield between us, because Chris slid a little closer and tentatively touched the counter two inches from my hand. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like,” he started. He had a way of beginning to say something and then stopping to look me over, as if seeking my approval before going on. “You know, with another guy.”

“I’ve never been with a girl, so there’s nothing for me to compare it to,” I said. “I’ve just always liked guys.”

Chris persisted. “Do you ever hook up with someone just for the hell of it?” he wanted to know. “I mean, to experiment or whatever? Nothing committed. Like, just as friends?”

I laughed and took a step back. “Friends with benefits?” I asked. When he nodded, I winked. “Don’t tell me you want to get with me. What about your girlfriend?”

“Who?” Then, realizing his mistake, he shrugged. “Oh, her. No, I’m not saying I want you to dome or anything. I’m just…” Flustered, he grabbed a nearby rag and began to wipe down the counter, avoiding my gaze. “I’m just curious, you know? I’m not gay.”

“Oh, me either,” I replied. When he gave me a quizzical look, I grinned. “My last boyfriend was, though. What an ass. And Cock-zilla, I’m telling you.” I held my hands a foot apart and almost laughed at Chris’s wide eyes. The bell above the door to the diner tinkled, signaling a customer. I nudged Chris with my elbow before heading through the swinging kitchen doors. “I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

Chris paled. “I didn’t make an offer,” he called out after me. He stood on tiptoe to see out the pass-through window above the sandwich counter and repeated, “I didn’t make you an offer.”

I leaned on the other side of the window, inches from his scared face. “You know you want to,” I whispered. In a low voice, I sang, “You think I’m sex-y. You want my bod-y.”

The damp rag flew through the window at me. “Shut up,” Chris muttered. I laughed because I knew my words had hit closer to home than he wanted to admit.

* * * *

In the back storeroom there was an old, thirteen-inch TV hidden behind industrial-sized cans of green beans. I noticed it when I went back for a sack of potatoes—the blank screen caught the light from the bare overhead bulb and threw the room back at me in reflection. “Hey,” I called out, half talking to myself. Chris stood by the grill. He probably couldn’t hear me over the sizzling burgers. Forgetting about the potatoes, I moved the beans aside to get to the TV. “There’s a TV back here.”

Chris glanced up as I came back into the kitchen. “It’s Dawn’s,” he told me. Dawn was the daytime manager, a mythical being I had never met since I worked nights. Chris flipped two burgers on the grill, pressing them flat with his spatula to make the grease spit. “I think she said it doesn’t work.”

Undeterred, I unplugged the meat slicer and plugged in the TV. It was fairly new, and without cable hooked up, the screen went from black to a pretty shade of blue when I turned it on. I flipped through the channels—they were all the same. “Damn,” I muttered.

With a laugh, Chris said, “Told you.”

I turned off the TV but didn’t bother to unplug it. “Guess we’re back to entertaining ourselves.” Leaning against the counter, I raised a leg and nudged Chris’s hip with my foot. “I do a mean strip tease. Wanna see?”

Chris jumped back, terrified. “No,” he scowled, but the way his gaze darted to my crotch made me laugh. He wanted me, I could practically taste the curiosity and need wafting off of him like the stale smell of grease that clung to us both when we clocked out at the end of our shift. But I had no intention of getting with him, and my relentless teasing kept him at bay and on guard. He was the type to try and wheedle me into a handjob in the walk-in freezer, or maybe a quick dick-licking in the back storeroom. Anything to get him off and satisfy his as-yet-unrelieved libido. But, as long as I made the moves, I could keep him off-balance and flustered. Any sexual innuendo from me was instantly shot down, thank God. It was fun to watch him get all bent out of shape when I flirted with him. And hey—it was something to do.

Turning back to the TV, I pushed the buttons along the bottom and sighed. “Too bad there’s no VCR. I have some great Bel Ami porn tapes I could bring in. Those European boys are hot.”

“I’m not—” he started.

Suddenly a thin tray slid out from underneath the TV and I cut him off. “It’s a DVD combo.” I laughed and pushed the release button again to close the tray. Over my shoulder, I winked at Chris. “What do you think of that?”

“Do you have any porn on DVD?” he asked, a little too eagerly.

“I’m sure I can come up with some,” I replied. A look of horror crossed his face at my pun, but I added anyway, “Get it? I can come—”

“I got it.” Chris turned back to the safety of the grill, where his burgers were slowly charring from inattention, but his gaze kept straying towards my butt. “I wasn’t asking,” he tried to clarify. “I mean, I don’t wantyou to bring them in or anything. I was just saying…”

The way he blundered on made me laugh again. “I know what you mean.” He sighed in relief and I said, “You want to take them home to watch. I understand. I’ll see what I can do.”

“No—”

“What kind of guys do you like?” I pressed on. Chris shook his head, his mouth moving without making a sound. “I’ve got mostly blondes because I like twinks myself. But seriously—what do you look for in a guy?”

Chris found his voice. “I don’t—”

I wouldn’t let him finish. “Young? Old? I have some about this guy, Lukas? You might like him. He looks a little like me. Tall, blue eyes, brown hair. My dick’s bigger, though. You want a porn star that looks like me?”

The spatula flew out of Chris’s hands and struck between my shoulders before falling to the floor. “Shut up!” Chris hollered—his standby response whenever I pushed him too far.

Despite the greasy smear that stuck my T-shirt to my back, I laughed as I picked up the spatula. Chris’s face had turned a dangerous shade of red, his breath hard and fast as if he’d just run a marathon. I tried to wipe the smile off my face and held the spatula out like a peace offering. When he took it, I couldn’t resist a final jab. “You might want to wash that off before you use it again.”

“Fuck you,” Chris replied.

I grinned. “So you admit you want to?”

I had to duck around the sandwich counter to avoid the spatula a second time.