With much gratitude to GaiusPetronius for editing my work. The final product is always more readable!
I leaned over the counter, putting all my weight on my hands. Deep breaths, girl. Deeeep breaths. I looked down and saw the plate I had been carrying: thank God I hadn't dropped it. With one more deep breath, I picked up the plate, set it on the ledge and shouted, "Moira! Special 58!"
From off in the distance I heard a faint "Thank you!" Turning around I walked back into the heart of the kitchen. I walked over to the array of sauce pans where Steve was mixing up a few different concoctions at the same time.
"What the hell just happened?" I mumbled, stirring a few of the sauces to check their consistency.
"Busboy dropped a whole tray full of silverware on his way to the dishwasher," Steve muttered back.
"Was I out long?"
"Didn't notice, so probably not," he said, giving me a weak smile. "Where's you go, anyway?"
Looking up at the scribbled notes from servers, I tried to decipher the next one. Sooner or later we'd have to get a digital system – most customer complaints could be traced back to an illegible word that the cook tried to guess. "Nowhere, really," I answered, squinting at something Gina had written. "Just spaced out." How do you explain to someone who's never been there what it's like to suddenly find yourself in the middle of a gunfight in the desert? I wasn't
really
there, of course, but for a few seconds my mind was there, and my emotions. All it took was a loud noise from behind.
"Mona, you're not the spacing out type," Steve objected. "But whatever. It's your business what you tell people." Then he grabbed some mitts and moved one of the sauces to the side.
Glad for the chance to move away from the topic, I took an interest in saucepans. "What is that orange one?" I asked. "I don't think I've ever seen that before. You're not getting all creative on me, are you?"
"I don't get creative in the kitchen, Mona, you know that," he said distantly. Then looking up he explained, "Macy wants to make this a special for the next month, sort of a fall harvest theme. She hasn't told you yet?"
"I haven't seen her in a week; we're working opposite shifts right now. Set aside a bite or two for me, OK?"
"Ten-four, sarge," Steve said with a mock salute.
"You OK for a few minutes?" I asked, halfway to the back door.
"Yeah, yeah... I got it," he said, waving me off.
I walked out the back door, stepped to the side to let the door shut, and leaned back against the stone wall. It was cold out, but the chill felt refreshing after a few hours in the kitchen. My fingers twitched and fidgeted. I tapped my foot and bit my lip.
Damn
, I wanted a smoke so bad! The doc had actually said smoking was probably
helpful
for dealing with the memories. The flashbacks. The short blackouts. The panic.
But I only smoked in the army. That's when I started and that's when it ended. I had felt like an outsider not grabbing one whenever they passed around a pack. That was probably my one big regret. The tattoos I had chosen for myself. Enlisting was my choice, too. The three guys I had taken to bed over the past eight years had all been
my
choice. But the cigarettes... That was a time I had caved in to someone else's opinion of what I should do, and I despised it.
And yet I still wanted a smoke.
After a few minutes, it got better. Lizzy, the front manager, came out for her smoke break. She was considerate enough to stand about ten yards away as she lit up. After a few puffs, and just as I pushed away from the wall to head in, she said, "Got a new server... Starts tomorrow." Lizzy smiled at me in a way that meant there was more to her statement than what she'd said.
"So?" Lizzy didn't bother me. We couldn't be more different, but she didn't bother me. I worked had at keeping my army body – solid, toned, and lean. Lizzy was tall and heavy and avoided activity. I was black, single, and in my late 20's. Lizzy was white, married, and in her 40's. But what made Lizzy OK in my book was that she was straightforward. She didn't give or take any bullshit. What you saw was what you got.
"He's hot. Young, built, sexy, and
hot
." She was practically drooling.
"What's it to you?" I chuckled. "You make sure we know how happy Hudson keeps you. Shit, girl, I could make money selling your stories."
"Not for me, Mona... For
you
. Or
some
body. I wanna have him vicariously through one of you." Her eyes gazed dreamily into space.
I looked down the alley and crossed my arms. The cold wasn't feeling so good anymore. "Moira needs to get laid," I said, "or Gina."
"Moira's got a boyfriend out of town. Maybe Gina..." she said, considering the idea. Then she shook her head and concluded, "but you know she doesn't really socialize."
"Well, don't look at me."
"I'm serious, Mona. He's the finest piece of sexy man meat I've seen walk through these doors. And he's got these blue-gray eyes that just...
smolder
."
I put my hand on the door and said, "I'll let you and your imagination have some time alone."
"Tristan!" She shouted after me. "His name is Tristan!"
*******
I got my head back in the game and finished up the night without incident. Macy's new dish was delicious, though I added a little cilantro to the batch I made after Steve showed me what to do. I stayed until closing, made sure the clean-up crew was all set, then headed out to the cold night air. I leaned against my car and pulled out my phone. I looked at the list of names and gave it some thought. I had too much energy to just go home, and I was antsy. I found a name and hit the call button.
"Hey Mo," a deep, friendly voice answered.
"Hey Rollo, did I wake you?"
"Nah. Can't sleep. You?"
"Same. Can I come over?"
"Of course."
"You got a girl there?"
He chuckled. "Nah."
"See you soon," I said, then hung up. I got in my car and started it up. Rollo was the only army buddy I had in the area. I felt bad using him as a booty call, but I'd always been clear it was nothing more than that. Well, we were friends, too. Rollo was the sweetest guy. Half-Samoan, half Russian, he had this round, boyish face. Under strict discipline in the military, his body shaped up into a solid mountain of warrior. But in the two years since he'd gotten out, he'd gone soft and a little chubby. Genetics, I knew. He'd have to be running five miles a day to keep the weight off. But we didn't call him Rollo because of his roundness. We called him Rollo because, like the ad said, he was a whole roll of smiles. It worked out well that his real name was Roland. But I couldn't see anyone ever calling him that.
We'd hooked up shortly after we got back to the States. Both of us were hurting, both us of had no community, and both of us needed to get laid. We'd met up again a few times since then, usually when I was stressed out and wanted to blow off some steam. And having a couple of flashbacks over the past few days was enough to stress me out. It was either cigarettes or sex. I wasn't going to pick up a nasty habit again just to numb myself, so off to Rollo's I went.
*******
What bothered me about Rollo was that he just did whatever he was told. It made for a good vigorous fucking every now and then, as long as I asked for that specifically, but there was no heart behind it. He was made for the military, really. He just went along with whatever he was supposed to do. In bed, I could tell him just what to do, just what would get me off, and he would do it. But a girl doesn't want that every time. A girl wants a guy who
wants
her and who sometimes needs to tell
her
what to do. At least that's what
this
girl wanted. A partner, not a plaything.
But until something better came along, I was content to use Rollo's body every other month or so, and he never complained. He wasn't complaining while he lay back and watched me ride him. I tried not to look at his face. He wasn't ugly or anything, but he would usually get this silly grin just watching my breasts bounce around. His thick hands gripped my waist but didn't guide my movements. He just wanted to touch something while I was working. I liked the feeling of calloused, heavy hands holding my body, and I wanted him to start pulling me down onto him. I wanted his strength to take over and guide me to my peak, knowing that he was delighting in my body.
But that wasn't Rollo. He relaxed and enjoyed the show. I closed my eyes and imagined someone different. Maybe a spicy Latino lover, a passionate, sexy, aggressive man who would smile confidently, knowing what he was doing to me. Oh yeah, that would be nice. I kept my eyes closed and leaned over, shivering when I felt my nipples press against the chest of the man beneath me. I moved my shoulders, rubbing my breasts into the patch of hair on his chest. The light tickles and scratches gave me the chills and I sped up my hips.
Rollo couldn't go deep, but he was thick. And with just the right angle, I could rub my clit around the mound of his pubic bone. I heard his breathing speed up – he didn't have much time left. Didn't matter: my imaginary lover was pushing me up to the edge. I pictured him liftinging his head up to my ear and whispering, "
Cum for me, baby.
" I must have whispered it out loud as I imagined it, because Rollo grunted, "OK," and started thrusting up vigorously.
I whimpered... So close... so ready... so close...
Rollo grunted and pushed as far up into me as he could. He groaned, filling the condom with pulse after pulse of his cum. Thankfully, when he held himself up like that, it gave me just the right position to grind myself to the end. He was just relaxing when I started clenching around his cock. I smacked a hand onto the bed and shouted.
"
Fuuuuaaaahhhhhhk!
" I dropped my weight onto Rollo, knowing he would barely notice it. The sound of his heavy breathing distantly registered in my ears past the ringing and throbbing of my own release. "Touch me," I managed to gasp, urging Rollo to do
something
. He moved his hands onto my back, slowly tracing them along my spine. I shivered and groaned in appreciation. This was
way
