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“If you use them, yes. You’re not still carrying the torch for him, are you? He was never good enough for you.”

My brows furrow. “I don’t carry any torches. For anyone. I’m just not out to screw the first thing that walks through the door.”

No sooner do the words spill from my mouth than the bell rings, signaling a new customer. Simon Jeffries takes his usual seat toward the back of the diner, wearing the bright, familiar smile the other waitresses have come to adore. He’s in his early twenties, not married, no kids from what we’ve gathered, and tips better than any other customer who comes in as regularly as he does.

Every afternoon at 1:45pm, to be exact.

A fairly shy guy who loves talking about technology and robotics, all the shit I don’t care to talk about.

“Dibs on Simon!” Bethany shuffles toward his table, drawing a pad and pen from her apron.

Once settled, Simon flashes Bethany a crooked set of teeth while he cleans his silverware with a napkin. She falls into the booth across from him, leaning forward as though the two are conversing instead of placing an order for food.

Rolling my eyes, I nab a cloth and wipe down the counter. At the chime of the bell, I glance up to see Harv, Bethany’s husband, striding toward me.

“Oh, Christ,” I mutter, looking for a place to hide, but it’s too late. The bastard already has his sights set on me.

“How’s it going, Nolick.” He comes in every day to take Beth out to his truck for lunch. I’m guessing they screw while they’re out there, since he tends to park toward the back of the lot, but I’ve never cared to prove that point.

“It’s Nola. You know it’s Nola. Quit being a dick.”

“Given any thought to my proposition?”

“You’re actually not supposed to be propositioning me. Dale said if he catches you, he’s going to throw you onto a fryer.”

“Dale’s dramatic. Went to school with the little prick. And I do mean little prick.”

“Well, I’m working—you know, like a real job—so I’m going to cut this convo short.” I turn to walk away and feel a tight grip of my arm. The moment I spin around, he lets me go, likely seeing the potential for murder in my eyes.

“Nola, I’m begging you. Begging. Just one night. I promise I’ll be gentle.” He leans in with a smile that’s missing an eyetooth. “You know how couples have their free passes, right?”

“You guys swing. I don’t think that applies to you.”

“So, like, I asked Beth, who’s the one person in the whole wide world she’d want to fuck freely. Like, whenever she wants. Like, I’d share her with this dude, right? She picks Tom Hardy. Pfft! Tom Hardy.” He shakes his head and glances over his shoulder toward where she’s still sitting with Simon.

“And?”

He swings his attention back to me, not that I want his attention, but I feel compelled to support that I’d fuck Tom Hardy, and I’m not even interested in sex.

“And … I picked you. Like, you could move in with us, and shit. Not that you’d want to, but you’re my Tom Hardy.”

My face feels frozen in what has to be a look of sheer disgust, given the twitch of my muscles tightening up. “That’s fucked up, Harv.”

“You know what I mean. And Beth is totally cool with it. She’s hoping you’re in.”

I stop wiping the counter and lean in nice and close, with a smile plastered on my face. “Harv? If this was the zombie apocalypse, and yours was the last dick on earth, I’d cut it off and feed it to the zombies to buy me some time.”

“That’s cold, Nola. Real cold. You’ll come around, though.” Bottom lip caught between his teeth, he winks. “I’m good at wearing women down.”

I shake my head and glance to the side, where Bethany’s waving me over, still sitting across from Simon. Even if he’s a slight bit more awkward than Harv, I’ll take his company, any day, over Beth’s creepy husband.

With heavy, aching feet, I hobble over to their table and lean my ass against the booth beside Bethany.

“Nola! You gotta hear this! Simon says that cryptocurrency is hot right now. Like the return on investment is insane.”

Return on investment? That doesn’t sound like a Bethany thing to say.

“Simon says, huh?” Holding back a snort, I catch the twitch of Simon’s lips overtop of the daisy inside a vase, set in the middle of the table.