Working Men Box Set

by J. M. Snyder

  If it’s possible, I’d swear Catherine’s smile widens until it threatens to crack her face in two. “Dodson?”

  At Jen’s nod, Catherine looks up and frowns. “I’ve got to go. Back to work. It was great seeing you.” Another quick hug and she’s telling Jen to call her sometime, they should get together, but as she walks away, I already know that isn’t going to happen.

  I shove another potato skin into my mouth. It’s hot and dripping with cheese, but at least it takes my mind off the waiter for a little while. “What was that all about?”

  Jen laughs at me.

  “What?”

  “She was checking you out.”

  I roll my eyes. “Great.” I frown. “Just what I need…”

  But Jen shakes her head. “Not for herself, silly.”

  My frown deepens and she sighs, exasperated. “She just came over here to make sure we weren’t a couple. Don’t you get it?”

  Apparently not.

  When I don’t say anything, she sighs again. “Someone,” she explains, “wants to know if we’re together. Like that. Since she went to school with me, she offered to come over and find out.”

  Another sigh as she realizes it’s still not connecting for me. “Jesus, Danny! He sent her over here to see if we’re dating or not!”

  “Who?” I ask, though I already know. “Todd? The waiter?”

  She nods.

  “How do you know?”

  With a satisfied smirk, she replies, “I just do.”

  * * * *

  Two different servers bring our food, but this time Todd is right behind them, a smile on his lips that I fancy is just for me. “You’re lucky I didn’t carry it,” he jokes, replacing our empty glasses with refills. “I’m clumsy.”

  “You?” He’s got a dancer’s grace when he walks, and I wonder how well he moves in bed. I blush thinking that, but now I can’t get the image out of my mind—the two of us lying on my narrow futon, him beneath me as his hips wriggle in maddening ways. “I wouldn’t have thought—”

  He trips against the table and for a frightening moment the glasses in his hands threaten to slip free to dump melted ice into my lap.

  Jen lets out a tiny squeal and I slide back against the far side of the booth, but then he laughs and catches himself. “I’m just teasing.”

  Now Jen’s laughing, too, and when I look at him, I’m drowning in his gaze, scarcely able to breathe because he’s so close, watching me like he’s trying to memorize my face so he’ll never forget what I look like once I leave.

  Suddenly I wish Jen wasn’t here with us. I wonder if he’d dare to sit down across from me if she wasn’t already there. I wonder if he’d talk more, maybe ask my name or give me his number like he hinted at before when I couldn’t decide what to eat.

  Because I don’t know what to say, I pick up the fork and knife and cut into the chicken I ordered. “Thank you,” I say softly.

  “You’re welcome.” He stands there a moment longer before moving away.

  Once he’s gone, Jen winks at me. “See?” she says, as if proving a point. “What did I tell you? He likes you.”

  “Maybe.”

  I’m not going to get my hopes up, no matter how cute he is or how irresistible his smile. What if he’s just being friendly? What if I give him my number—heaven forbid, I could never do that—but just saying I did give it to him, or Jen gave it to him… what if he never called? I’d feel like an idiot.

  But right now I’m high on his smile, so lost in the thought of him and the images of the two of us pressed together that I devour my food without even realizing I’m eating. When the plate is empty, I stare at it for a long time. Something’s stirring inside me, something akin to hunger that has nothing to do with second helpings and dessert, something that makes me feel flushed and eager and a little clumsy myself.

  He likes you…

  God, I hope she’s not just saying that.

  When Jen’s finished, she pushes her plate away and slides out of the booth. “Be right back,” she tells me, then disappears in the direction of the restrooms.

  I pick at the remaining vegetables on her plate and wonder if I should ask for his number when he comes to clear our table. Can I sound casual about it? I don’t know. If he asks me what I want for dessert maybe I can say—

  “You finished?”

  I look up and Todd’s there, standing by my side again. Without Jen here, he’s got one arm draped around the back of the booth, the other resting on the table near my hand. His fingers brush against my wrist like live wires, his touch electric on my skin. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

  “She’s not.” I choke down a green bean lodged in my throat. I’m intensely aware of him and can’t take my gaze from his hand where it touches mine.

  “Not what?”

  I jump when his other hand smoothes across my shoulders with the softest caress. “Not my girl.” Daring to meet his eyes, I look into their oceanic depths and breathe, “But you already know that, don’t you?”

  He laughs, and his hand moves across my back again as he leans closer. “I want to ask you something.”

  “What?”

  Ask for my number.

  Would I give it to him? Hell, yes.

  But he doesn’t ask for that. Instead, he stares at me until it’s just us. The restaurant around us is gone, and I strain to hear his low words. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

  I swallow hard, not trusting myself to speak.

  With a wink, he adds, “Or should I walk by again?”

  I’m struck dumb. Before I can figure out if he’s joking or not, if he expects an answer, if he wants one, Jen’s sliding into the booth across from us, that ‘I told you so’ look of hers already in place.

  With fluid grace, Todd takes our plates and hands us a dessert menu, professional waiter once again. “You guys want something sweet?”

  I feel as if he’s only talking to me. I take the small dessert menu, which is still warm from where he had it stuck in his back pocket. I do, but I guarantee what I want isn’t on these glossy pages.

  I wish I had the guts to say that out loud.

  * * * *

  Jen wants dessert. She picks out something decadent and says we’ll share, and when Todd walks away with our order, she says casually, “I have his number.”

  My hand jerks, knocking over the salt shaker and spilling salt in a white fan across the table. “What?” I scoop up the salt and drop it into my empty glass. “Who’s number? How? You went to the bathroom, Jen—”

  “And ran into Cathy.”

  So it’s Cathy now, is it?

  Jen leans across the table, excited. “She said he likes you—told you, didn’t I? He wanted to give you his number but he’s shy.”

  I laugh. “You’re joking,”

  We must be talking about two different Todds here, because the guy who leaned over me and asked if he should walk by again was anything but shy; he’s raw sensuality pouring out of every pore and he was practically in my lap. I can still feel his hand on my back… that boy is not shy. “She gave it to you?”

  Jen nods. “His pager number.”

  “Give it to me.” I hold out my hand. I can’t believe it. I have his number.

  To my surprise, Jen shakes her head. “No. I know you, Danny. You’ll stick it in your pocket and forget all about it. It’ll go through the wash and when you find it again, it’ll be all smeared and torn apart and impossible to read.”

  “Please, Jen.”

  I’m afraid I sound like I’m begging but I want that number and she has it. Didn’t Cathy say to give it to me? So it’s mine. I want it now.

  She shakes her head again. “Or you’ll never call him. I know you too well. Tonight you’ll think about it, but you won’t call because it’ll be late and you won’t know when he gets off work. And by tomorrow you’ll have talked yourself out of calling him and just throw his number away. So I’ll keep it for you. I’ll remind you to call him.”


  “Jen….”

  Right now I hate her because she’s right—that’s exactly what I would do. Or rather, what I used to do.

  It’s different this time. Todd is different. I can’t not call him. With or without that number, I’m going to think about him all night long. If I’m lucky, I’ll dream about him, too, so he’ll still be fresh in my mind tomorrow. “Give me his number. I’ll call him, I swear it.”

  “Here you go, guys,” Todd says, coming up behind me.

  I duck at the way he grins like a damn cat because he heard that last bit, I know he did, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who I’m talking about.

  “Thanks,” I mumble.

  Jen laughs as he walks away. Of course she’d find this funny.

  * * * *

  When Todd brings the check, Jen asks if he has a pen.

  “What for?” I want to know.

  “You’ll see.”

  Todd grins faintly, hovering to one side as I pull out my wallet to pay the bill. We both watch Jen scribble on a napkin, but she has her head down over the table and her hand up to hide whatever it is she’s writing so we can’t see it. Pointing at the money, I tell Todd, “Keep the change.”

  “Thanks,” he says, picking up the bill. He looks like he wants to say something more, but Jen’s here and he doesn’t.

  Maybe she was right; maybe he is shy. I force a tight smile, more than a little shy myself, and when he smiles back, I almost melt. He doesn’t have to talk—just keep smiling like that and he’s got my full attention.

  But Jen is here, and she’s still writing. I have a pretty good idea what she’s doing so I clear my throat. “Jen?”

  I say it like we’re in a hurry and have to get moving because I’m going to die from embarrassment if she gives him my cell phone number while I’m sitting right here.

  Finally she hands Todd back his pen, but she holds the napkin against her chest so we can’t read it. “Thank you,” she tells him, smiling at me until he takes our money and leaves. Then she snatches up her purse and slides out of the booth. “Let’s go.”

  I follow behind her. “Can’t we wait for him to come back?”

  Then I remember I told him to keep the change, so why would he bother? He’s working and I already tipped him with the bill. He has no reason to return. From the corner of my eye I see Jen drop the napkin onto the table. I turn to read it but she pushes me towards the door.

  “Jen…”

  Then I see Todd heading back to our table, and I don’t want to go home now—I want to stay here and get to know him better and see that smile again. “Hey,” I call out. “Thanks.”

  Todd looks up and smiles at me. “No problem.”

  Before either of us can say anything else, Jen pulls me away.

  Outside it’s getting dark, and I sigh in this pathetic, lovesick way that makes Jen laugh. “He was cute,” I announce.

  Now that he’s not around, I feel like I should’ve said something more. I think of a dozen ways to say goodbye, and I should’ve given him my number but Jen has his, doesn’t she? That’s something. Even if I didn’t get it myself, at least she has it.

  Opening her car door, Jen sinks down into the driver’s seat. “He likes you.”

  It’s too late to tell her I wanted to drive home. I totally forgot about that—the only thing on my mind right now is Todd. Climbing into the passenger side, I fasten the seat belt as tight as I can to make sure I get home alive. “What did you write on that napkin?”

  The engine purrs to life and she giggles as she backs out of the parking space. “You’ll see.”

  What the hell is that supposed to mean?

  We’re almost a mile away when my cell phone rings. She laughs again, and I look at her as I dig the phone out of my pocket. “Tell me you didn’t.”

  She just shrugs.

  The phone rings again, insistent in my hand. “Jen—”

  “Aren’t you going to answer it?” she asks sweetly.

  Glaring at her, I thumb open the phone. “Hello?”

  From the smirk on Jen’s face, I know she wrote my number on that napkin, and she probably told him to call me—it’s been ten minutes since we left the restaurant and that’s something she would do, give him an exact time to call, just so she could be there to make sure he did.

  Light breathing fills my ear. It is him. “Hey.” His voice is so much softer than it had been at the restaurant.

  “Hi.” I’m grinning like an idiot. Jen’s watching so I turn and look out the window, away from her prying eyes. “Todd, right?”

  “Yeah.” He laughs, and when I close my eyes, I see that sexy smile of his. “Danny. Your girlfriend gave me your number. Do you mind?”

  “No,” I say, a little too quickly. “Not as long as you’re going to use it. And I told you, she’s not my girlfriend.”

  “I’m on break,” he says. “I get off at eight. I know this is sudden—”

  “It’s not,” I assure him. God, it’s not.

  He laughs again. I love the sound. “Are you busy tonight?”

  Am I busy? Does he even need to ask? “Are you asking me out?”

  “If you’re interested.”

  I wonder if he’s holding his breath, waiting for my answer. I know I stopped breathing when he said my name.

  “Oh yeah,” I say with a grin, “I’m interested.”

  THE END

  Café de l’Amour

  From the moment he walks up to the counter and turns those pale blue eyes my way, I know I’m lost. He wears a meticulous suit, crisp and freshly pressed, cut to accentuate his narrow waist and the swell of his butt. When he smiles shyly at me, I grin foolishly back. Suddenly I’m all too aware of the dingy white apron I wear, the ground coffee under my nails, the new, too short haircut exposing my ears. I smooth my hand across the shorn top of my head, then wipe both hands on my apron. “Good morning,” I say, stepping to the counter.

  “Good morning, Austin.” His voice is deeper than I expect.

  A grin threatens to split my face. “How do you know my name?” I want to hear him say it again.

  He points at my chest, where the nametag I wear proudly proclaims I’m Austin, manager-in-training for the Lakeside Café. I roll my eyes and try not to blush. Ducking my head, I toy with a tear in the countertop and notice the initial ring he wears—SBJ. I want to know what each letter stands for, but I’m not the type to ask. But he holds out a hand and, as if he can read my mind, says, “I’m Seth.”

  I’m too startled to do anything but shake his hand. His touch is warm and strong, and almost reluctantly I let go. “What can I get you this morning, Seth?”

  When I glance up, those baby blues gaze back. Damn, he’s hot. I know I’m staring but I can’t help it. For a long moment he doesn’t say anything, just watches me, and I want to say something witty but nothing comes to mind. Great time to choke up, Austin, I chastise silently.

  Just as I’m about to ask again, he nods at the small clapboard on the counter, where today’s special is written in my sloppy handwriting. “What’s a Mocha Locha Latté?”

  Though the ingredients are written on the board, I like talking to him, so I lean over the counter to read the board, all too aware he doesn’t step away from me. His hand rests on the counter by my arm, and I want to touch him again but I don’t. “Chocolate and amarillo and—”

  “Amaretto,” he says, laughing. When I look up at him, he’s so close I can smell the warm musk cologne he wears. “Amarillo is a city in Texas.”

  “I’ve never been there,” I say, smiling.

  He smiles back. “Why not?” His fingers brush against my arm accidentally, causing the hairs to stand up at the touch.

  Are we flirting? God, I hope so. But I hear a clatter in the back room and remember I’m not alone—my manager Mandy will probably be out at any moment, and if she sees me hanging all over this hot guy, I’ll never hear the end of it.

  So as much as I hate to do it, I stand
back quickly and point at the board. “You want to try one of those?”

  “Are they any good?” The smile lingers on his lips.

  I shrug and busy myself with picking at the countertop again. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m not big on coffee.”

  He laughs. “And you work here?”

  I shrug again. “It’s a job. It pays the bills.” I dare to look up and almost lose my train of thought. I could get lost in those light eyes. “Do you like coffee?”

  “I like some of the specialty drinks,” he says. “Mostly the chocolate ones. I like sweet things.” I feel my cheeks heat up at the intense way he’s watching me. “With lots of whipped cream.”

  I imagine him naked, white foamy cream covering his nipples and cock, and I hope to God I’m not blushing as much as I think I am. “Well,” I sigh, turning away. I look up at the menu above me, trying to focus on the words written there. “How about a Chocolate Caramel Latté? Those are sweet, and I can use lots of whipped cream for you—”

  “Just for me?” he purrs.

  I jump—suddenly he’s very close, his voice curling into my ear like a secret.

  “Well, most people like it that way,” I stammer. I’m blushing again, damn it. “It’s very sweet. I’m sure you’ll like it…” Please, I pray. God, you already think I’m an idiot. Please just order something and let me crawl into the nearest hole. Please.

  “Do you like it?” he asks. Numbly I nod, not trusting myself to speak. “Then I’ll take one.”

  I busy myself making the drink. I try not to look at him while I work, but every time I glance his way those eyes are watching me, making my hands clumsy.

  When it’s ready, I hand him the tall glass. “Here you go.” The drink is hot and the whipped cream is piled up on top of it like a promise. I even sprinkled chocolate jimmies and cinnamon on it. I’m trying too hard. “I hope you like it.”

  He hands me his credit card, that smile still on his face, and I roll my eyes—I forgot to ring up the drink. “I’m sure I will.” He sips at the hot liquid and, when he sets the glass down, he has a thin mustache of whipped cream along his upper lip. As I watch, his tongue licks it away, and I fight the urge to lick my own lips.