Working Men Box Set

by J. M. Snyder

  What’s a guy like Kevin doing hanging around with jerks like that?

  It seems to take forever for Tahesha and Roddy to leave. I pray those damn plugs are on aisle seven because I know she’ll come back if they aren’t, and even if I do work here, I shouldn’t have to put up with her shit. God.

  I glare after them as they exit the aisle. Behind me, fabric sighs—the rustle of Kevin’s pants is loud in the sudden quiet between us. I ignore him, sure he’ll leave too, but I feel warm breath on the back of my neck and I realize he’s right behind me, right there.

  Softly, he says, “I’m sorry about that.”

  “It’s cool.”

  A glance over my shoulder shows he’s closer than I thought and I jump, knocking against the bottles in the case before me. I almost feel the rumble of his voice in his chest against my back, and this close, I can see how perfect his skin is smoothed over high cheekbones, the arch of his brows, each dark hair in place. He’s worlds more beautiful than Tahesha.

  I can’t meet his eyes. They’re almost unreal, a light hazel that reminds me of cat’s eyes—that unblinking, that intense. Those eyes watch me, measuring, sizing me up. I wish I could see behind them and into his mind, see what he’s thinking when he looks at me.

  Because I can’t think of anything to say, I clear my throat and turn away, back to the cold sodas that have numbed my fingers and the icy draft cooling my legs. The bathroom is calling; in my shorts, my dick hums like a cell phone on vibrate, eager for release. The moment he leaves, I’m taking my break.

  Only he isn’t leaving.

  With a hand on the glass door beside me, his arm stretched behind me, Kevin leans against the case on my other side, effectively trapping me between him and the refrigeration unit. He points to my name tag, his fingers tracing the raised letters, the brief touch making my heart race. “Nick,” he reads. “You work here everyday?”

  I shrug, trying to appear unaffected by his closeness and failing miserably.

  He’s practically on top of me and I’m glad we’re alone in the aisle now—he smells like clean aftershave and shampoo and he’s talking to me. To only me.

  “Mostly in the afternoons. Ten to four, part time. Just to make some money for school.”

  “You go to Tech?”

  “Yeah. What about you?” One glance at his suit and I already know he’s not in school.

  “I’m at lunch.”

  I called that one, didn’t I?

  “Teesh and I work at the firm down the street. Just came in here to get something to eat.”

  His gaze runs down my body, a look as palpable as a touch, and I blush at the hunger I see in his eyes. God. I wonder what he’s thinking right now. I’d give anything to find that out.

  Lowering his voice, he tells me, “I should come by more often.”

  I laugh but don’t say a word. Anything I say will sound stupid and overeager… what if he doesn’t mean what I hope he means? What if he’s not thinking the same sordid things I’m thinking right now?

  If he isn’t, then why’s his arm resting against my back and why’s he standing so close and why’s he now oh my God WHY is he reaching in front of me like that?

  His hand brushes across my stomach as he reaches for a soda from the case.

  I hold my breath and watch his fingers fold around the neck of the bottle. I know he’s smiling, watching me, but I can’t stop staring at that hand. Just a slight turn of the wrist and he’d touch me again, he’d touch me there, and he knows it.

  As he pulls the bottle off the shelf, he taps me with the bottom. The plastic is cold and solid against the erection straining the front of my shorts. My dick goes from eh to OMG! in the time it takes him to extract the bottle from the case.

  Now I look at him, and he’s grinning like a damned cat. “I’ll see you around,” he says, and with a wink, he’s gone.

  I watch him walk away, my thoughts spun out in a whirl. He said he should come in here more often. Did he mean to see me?

  * * * *

  The next day, there’s a clean-up on aisle three where some dumbass kid dropped a jar of pickles, shattering the glass and spilling foul-smelling juice all over the floor. I have the Wet Floor signs up and a huge trashcan beside me as I squat down to sweep the mess into a dustpan. People can see I’m busy here, but I swear every customer wants to push a basket down the aisle anyway, knocking into my signs and trailing pickle juice everywhere. The place fucking reeks of this shit—it’s in my nose, in my eyes…I can’t even breathe because it burns my throat. Today’s not going to be a good day, I just know it.

  I hate pickles.

  I feel someone’s foot nudge mine and I whirl around, so ready to go off.

  Can’t you see I’m working here? I want to say. It’s on the tip of my tongue and I don’t care if it gets back to Mr. Weeks or not; these people are pissing the hell out of me.

  But when I look up, it’s Kevin, smiling down at me.

  Suddenly the whole day brightens. “Hey, Nick,” he says softly, his hands shoved into his pockets.

  From this angle I see the bulge at his crotch and I wonder if he’s been thinking of me. The scent of his cologne wafts down, blotting out the stench of pickles for a brief moment.

  Casting his gaze over the green juice congealing beneath my sneakers, he stifles a grin. “How are you doing today?”

  “Better,” I admit, reluctantly turning back to the mess on the floor. “You at lunch again?”

  Kevin walks around me, stepping carefully to avoid the pickle juice and broken glass. He leans against the shelf opposite me and watches as I get back to work. “Better than what?”

  “Than I was two seconds ago,” I say with a grin.

  I don’t look up at him—instead I concentrate on sweeping everything into the dustpan and I’m a little embarrassed that I’m actually saying this to him, telling him he’s made my day. My face is flushed—from him or the pickles, I don’t know—but I don’t want him to see me blushing. So I duck my head and force a nonchalant shrug. “Before you showed up.”

  He laughs. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” I glance up and flash him a quick smile before dumping the crap from the dustpan into the trashcan. “What’s on your mind?”

  “You.”

  The way he says it makes me stop and look up at him again. He’s staring at me openly with those piercing eyes. Now I realize just how close he’s standing, his legs just inches from me. It’d be so easy to just reach out and run my finger down the crease of his pant leg, but I’m sure I smell like pickles and I’m not that bold anyway.

  At least he’s thinking of me. The thought makes me grin like an idiot and he smiles back. “Are you seeing anyone?”

  “As in dating?” God, I’m a fool, of course he means as in dating. “I mean—”

  Kevin laughs. “Yeah,” he says, “as in dating.”

  Suddenly I’m dizzy and my head feels like it’s swimming, my fingers tremble and I don’t think it’s just the pickle juice anymore.

  Without looking at him I shrug again. I don’t want to get my hopes up here, but who am I kidding? My heart is already racing like an overeager puppy and any moment now I’ll roll over on the ground to wallow in the pickle juice, I’m that excited.

  Still, I’m proud that my voice sounds nonchalant when I manage to say, “Not really.”

  “As in you’d go out with me?” Kevin presses.

  I sweep the handheld broom a little too hard and pickle juice sloshes over the top of the dustpan, splashing my hand and wrist with cold liquid. Smooth one. I grimace as I shake the crap off, and Kevin laughs again.

  I could just die right now, I’m glad he thinks this is funny… but he’s asking me out, I remind myself, or at least I think he is. “Maybe,” I say, wiping my hand on my apron as I stand.

  Kevin smirks at me. “Don’t be so definite, Nick,” he jokes. “I could wait a lifetime for that maybe to turn into a yes.”

  You don’t have t
o wait that long. “Okay, yes.”

  Damn, it’s the only thing I’ve been thinking since I first saw him, the two of us together and now he’s back here asking me out and when did someone start making my dreams come true? When he smiles at me, I can’t help but grin back, and he’s asked me out, we’re going out, I don’t know when or where or why but it’s a date. I rub my hand over the short cut of my hair…

  Shit. I suppress a groan. Tell me I didn’t just smear pickle juice all over my scalp.

  I did. With a sigh, I toss the dustpan into the trashcan and mutter, “You sure you want to go out with me?”

  “I’m not just asking to hear myself speak. Do you get a lunch break?”

  Twisting my hands in my apron to clean them off a bit, I tell him, “A half hour at one.”

  I glance at my watch and see it’s almost one now, but I’m sure he has to get back to work, and I stink like pickles so there’s no way I’m going anywhere with him today, not until I get a hot shower and some fresh clothes. “But maybe this isn’t a good day.”

  I want to add that I’m free tonight but I just frown at my feet, waiting for him to tell me what he has in mind. Me, he said he’s got me on his mind, remember?

  I remember.

  “How about tomorrow, then?” he asks.

  When I look up at him, he’s smiling sweetly. “At one,” he adds. “Just a little picnic somewhere, get to know each other a bit more… what do you say?”

  What can I say? “Sure.”

  A picnic. God, I love it already. When he pushes away from the shelf to leave, I hold out one hand, sticky with pickle juice. It seems a bit formal, perhaps, but I’ve never been asked out by a customer at work and I don’t really know the proper protocol here. All I know is I want to touch him, now, here, any way I can. “See you then?”

  “Sure,” he says, taking my hand in his. Instead of shaking it, though, he pulls me closer and leans over the mess on the floor to kiss my cheek. His lips are damp and soft and warm on my skin, and his breath tickles my ear when he breathes. “See you then.”

  My hand drifts to my face, a nauseating wave of pickle juice washing over me as I touch the spot he kissed. He gives me a wink before walking away and as I watch him go, I lick my lips. Now that he’s gone, I think I should’ve turned my head a little, just enough to get that kiss on my mouth instead of my cheek.

  But there’s tomorrow.

  I can’t wait.

  * * * *

  I’m putting packages of hamburger into the meat case, glancing at my watch every three seconds to see if it’s any closer to one o’clock and trying to ignore the way my blood races at the thought that Kevin is going to be here any minute when suddenly he is here, pressing up beside me, smelling sweet and touching the small of my back. “It’s one,” he says in lieu of hello.

  I grin as he leans his head against my shoulder. Holding my wrist out so he can see my watch, I tell him, “Five more minutes.”

  With a dejected sigh, he props his chin up on my shoulder and gives me a sorrowful look I’d love to wake up to in the morning. I still can’t believe he’s here, touching me, and we’re going out. He’s right—it’s close enough to one now as it is. Setting the last of the hamburger into the case, I ask, “Where are we going?”

  He picks at the apron string around my waist, untying the knot deftly. “I thought we could get sandwiches at this deli I know.” He pulls the apron off over my head. “Maybe drive someplace quiet, just to talk.”

  He touches my back again, his fingers working the hem of my shirt up to brush against my skin, and smiles as he adds, “You smell much better today.”

  “God,” I groan. It took hours to wash away the stench of pickles last night.

  Balling up my apron, we head toward the front of the store and the time clock. Kevin catches the belt loop on the back of my jeans in his hand, letting me lead the way. He keeps touching me, me, and I’m smiling so hard my face hurts. At the time clock, I’m sure all the cashiers are watching, checking him out, noticing his hand on my waist, and when we leave together, I hear them begin to whisper behind my back. Ha, I want to crow. This one’s mine.

  Outside Kevin points to his car, something a little more high class than I can afford, and I run my hands over the leather dashboard as I slide into the passenger seat. “Nice,” I say with an approving nod. “What a sweet ride.”

  When he smiles at me, I realize I’m talking about more than just the car, and the way he’s looking at me makes me hard because he’s got more in mind for lunch than just sandwiches, I can see it in his eyes. “You work at the law firm down the street?” I ask, relaxing against the cushiony seat.

  Kevin nods as he puts the car in gear. We back out of the parking space, then his hand drifts to my knee, his fingers curving along my inner thigh and his thumb rubbing the spot where my shorts meet my skin. “Tell me about yourself,” he says.

  I shrug. “There’s not much to tell.”

  There isn’t really—I’m just a kid in college who still lives at home and can’t think of a thing to say right now because this boy’s turning me on so bad. My mind and body are flooded with lust and desire and wicked thoughts of us together, and I’m afraid if I start talking, I just might tell him how he makes me feel.

  He laughs, a deep, rich sound that makes me smile. “Nothing at all?” he asks, coy.

  Damned if his hand doesn’t move up my thigh just a little farther.

  “Um…” I try to think of something to say, anything at all that will make me sound witty and cute, like someone who works in a firm and not just a stock boy in a grocery store. Nothing comes to mind. I can’t begin to imagine what he sees in me, but I don’t want him to think I’m stupid just because I don’t wear suits or drive a car like this.

  I remember the way his friends laughed at me, the remark the woman made about me being retarded. I flush just thinking what they’d say if they saw us now, me in his car, his hand on my leg and inching closer to the erection aching at my crotch. I wonder what she’d have to say to that.

  * * * *

  Kevin stopped to get the sandwiches before he came for me. Now he drives to a quiet spot off the main turnpike, just a mile or two away from the strip malls and the cars and the businesses, but it’s in the woods and as secluded as we can get in the city. It seems as if no one else knows about the place because we’re the only ones here.

  He parks on the shoulder of the road and takes my hand as he leads me through tall sycamores that rustle in the scant summer breeze as we pass. There’s a small creek ahead, just a tiny stream of water bubbling over rocks and around fallen branches—the sound it makes drowns out the faint car horns and squeal of tires from the turnpike. I didn’t know this place was here, a little snippet of nature colored onto the edge of the city like a welcome relief from the hustle of day to day life. I wonder if he comes here often, and with whom.

  Kevin brought a blanket that he spreads out on the ground, and he motions for me to join him when he sits down on it. Our knees touch, the silk of his trousers supple along my skin, and he smoothes down the hairs on my thigh with one hand in an absent gesture I find intoxicating. When we finish eating, I stretch out along the blanket and watch the clouds scuttle through the trees.

  “I don’t want to go back to work.” I want to stay here forever. It’s so peaceful, so quiet, just the two of us all alone. The only thing that would make it better is if he kisses me. I’d ask him to but I don’t know how.

  So I’m pleasantly surprised when he lies down beside me, head propped up in one hand as his other trails across my stomach. He’s staring down at me, a faint smile on his lips, and I don’t know what he’s thinking but I’d give the world to find out what’s going on behind those warm, deep eyes.

  I want to know why he likes me, why he’s here with me instead of at the office laughing it up with his friends, why he thinks I’m someone who might interest him.

  God, I pray, swallowing hard against the feelings he rises in me,
the desire, the want, the need. Please let me be someone who interests him.

  “Smile, Nick,” he says with a grin as if showing me how. “You’re so serious all of a sudden.” When I comply, he adds, “Talk to me.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” I look past him at the trees. “I don’t want you to think I’m an idiot—”

  “I won’t,” he promises.

  “So I’ll just keep my mouth shut,” I finish. “And look at you. You’re so damn beautiful.”

  I wince and squeeze my eyes shut. See? I want to say. I told you, I’d open my mouth and something stupid would come out. Who calls a guy beautiful? Sexy, fine, hot, yes. But beautiful? What the fuck?

  But he laughs and then I feel his lips on mine, velvet skin that tastes spicy and slightly greased like the pastrami he ate for lunch. As he rolls onto me, his body is a welcome weight pressing me back to the blanket. Beneath the worsted fabric, I hear tiny twigs snap, and small stones crunch under us as his hands cradle my head, his mouth crushing mine. When he trails his tongue over my lips, savoring me, I moan against him. “Yes.”

  His breath is feathery along my cheek and I dare to wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him closer, hugging him to me. He licks my mouth before tracing the curve of my chin, kissing along my jaw until he catches my earlobe in between his teeth, and when he nips playfully lust floods through me. I gasp his name and thrust against him—he knows I’m hard, he has to know; my erection throbs between us, and I feel his own stiffening cock through his slacks, hard against my thigh.

  “Kevin.” I sigh.

  He murmurs my name against my neck. I love the way it sounds in his deep voice. I so don’t want to go back to work right now.

  Then he’s kissing down my throat, his hands rubbing through my short hair like a gentle massage, and when he licks one of my nipples through my T-shirt, dampening the fabric before his lips close over the bud, I can’t remember how to breathe.

  My own hands smooth across his back—he’s taken off his blazer and his skin warms mine through the thin shirt he wears. He moves lower, picking the hem of my shirt up to expose my stomach, and his mouth tickles across my skin like butterflies, that soft, that flighty.