Welcome to Sugartown

into the kitchen and sit as far back in the booth as possible so she has to lean in to slide my plate in front of me. It’s kind of a dickhead move, I know, and I’m sure she knows exactly what I’m up to, but I don’t care.

Fuck, I’m getting hard just thinking about her in that cute little uniform, those gorgeous tits spilling out the top. I squeeze my eyes shut and think about old ladies and nuns and sweaty old man balls, anything to take my mind off Ana’s big, beautiful tits that are making me so hard I can’t see straight. I’m playing these things on a loop and whispering, “Old ladies, nuns, sweaty old man balls” over and over, and just praying that the meat muscle will chill the fuck out and let me get through one friggin’ day without getting a boner in public for the hot waitress, when I glance into the mirror above the sink and see Bob standing behind me. His arms are crossed in front of his chest and he’s scowling. Nothing new there; he’s always scowling.

“You heading to lunch?”

“YEAH, YOU WANT SOMETHING?”

“A word before you go.”

“ALRIGHT.” I tear off a chunk of paper towel and take the opportunity to readjust things below as he walks toward the back seat of a sawed in half Ford Falcon that Bob uses as a couch. I follow him over and sit on an old milk crate that someone strapped some foam to at some point to make a stool. The tape is worn around the edges, it sticks to my jeans and the foam has worn down to nothing, picked away by tiny fingers.

“You got a problem with your ears, kid?”

“NO, SIR.”

“Then quit friggin’ yellin’ at me.”

“But I thought—”

“Son, do you own a shirt?”

I glance down at my tattooed torso, taking a minute to appreciate the fact that, although I haven’t seen the inside of a gym for six months, my work, the mini workouts I do in my room every morning and my daily runs are enough to keep me pretty built. I look back up at Bob and he’s not at all happy with the way I look. Maybe he’s into hairy guys?

“Yeah, of course,” I say, feeling a little uncomfortable at the way he’s glaring at me.

“Well, why the bloody hell don’t you ever wear it, instead of parading around here like it’s the fucking Mardi Gras?”

I grab the shirt tucked into my back pocket and pull it over my head, utterly confused. “I thought … I thought you were into that?”

Bob turns three shades of pale. No shit, it’s like I’m staring at a fucking ghost. “Look mate, you’re a real good worker. You keep your head down, you don’t carry on like a pork chop when I ask you to close up late Fridays. Now, I gotta be honest, I wasn’t too sure about this whole … arrangement in the beginning, and despite riding some import pushbike, you know your way around an engine. I know you’ve had some trouble in your past and I can see you’re trying to make amends for that. You’re a good kid and what you do in your free time is none of my business. I like you, Son. As an employee. If you like blokes then … we’ll find a way to co-exist, but you’ve got to start wearing a shirt. It’d be a shit fight if OH&S came in and saw you—”

“Wait. You think I’m gay?” I start laughing at how fucking ridiculous that notion is, considering I’ve been jacking off to the image of the same girl for the last two weeks. The same girl that told me my boss was partially deaf and that he’d require me to work half naked. That sneaky bitch. She is so going down for this. “Dude, I’m not gay. I thought you were.”

“Son, I am not gay. I’ve been married twice. I have kids.”

“I didn’t know you had kids.”

“Well, you should, you spend enough time with them at the pie shop.”

“Hot waitress Ana is your daughter?”

“Hot waitress?” Bob’s eyebrows shoot all the way back into his hairline. “Whaddya mean, hot waitress?”

Fuck! I just said that out loud, didn’t I?

I shoot up from my stool. Bob’s standing now, too. His enormous arms are folded in front of his enormous body and I’m not afraid to say I’m shitting myself at the scowl I’m seeing on his face. This scowl is different from all his other scowls: it’s a don’t fuck with my daughter kind of scowl, and yeah, I may have seen plenty of those in my twenty-three years, but none have ever been this scary. It’s the disapproving dad scowl to end all dad scowls and what makes it worse is that it’s also coming from the dude who pays my wage.

Fuck! I am so screwed.

“I’m just gonna head out now,” I mutter, as I take a step back, and then another, and soon I’m half way across the shop.

“Take one more step and I’ll bust your nuts with my favourite wrench.” He smiles but it’s not a friendly smile. It’s a we’re-going-to-have-us-a-little-chat-and-then-I’m-gonna-cut-off-your-balls-for-even-thinking-about- what’s-between-my-daughter’s-legs smile. In other words, this is the moment where I’d normally run. “We’re gonna have a talk you and me.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Really? ‘Cause right now, son, my thoughts aren’t fuckin’ pretty.”

I put my hands up in surrender. “I haven’t touched her, I swear.”

“You’re not gonna touch her, are you, son.” That really wasn’t a question. He meant: do not fucking touch my daughter!

“No, Sir.”

“You keep your mind on the job and your dick in your pants, are we clear?”

“Yes, Sir.” I gulp. “Crystal.”

After that, Bob leaves to beat the shit out of a rusted old engine. I skipped lunch that day, and the next.

By closing time on Friday I was itching for a way to get back at Ana and, yeah, I’m not gonna lie, the thought of her tits spilling out of that uniform may have been responsible for my feet carrying me across the road to Belle’s Pies instead of releasing the throttle on my bike and travelling as far away from hot waitress Ana as I could in order to keep the family jewels intact.

I smile at the girls behind the counter and slide into my usual booth.

“Hey, Ana Belle. How you doin’ today?”

“What’s up Cade? We haven’t seen you here for a couple of days—” Her eyes widen, and she tugs her bottom lip in tight with her teeth. “You just called me Ana Belle, didn’t you?”

“Jigs up, baby girl.”

From the counter I can see Holly chortling, though she’s such a tiny thing it sounds more like a cat sneezing. Ana chuckles too, like having me on is the funniest damn thing in the world. “You know I spent the last two weeks screaming at your dad and parading myself around half-naked in front of him because I was worried he’d fire me if I didn’t. Now I think he might fire me because I was dumb enough to listen to you two little girls.”

Ana frowns like she’s honestly offended by that and by the way Holly guffaws and throws herself over the counter, I’m convinced she’s off her rocker and may need to be sedated before she starts throwing pies at the customers. “We’re hardly little girls.”

“No? What would you call yourselves then? Grown women?”

“Yes.” She says indignantly. I know she’s anything but little, still I can’t resist.

“Prove it.”

Shut the fuck up, you dickhead, Bob is going to have your arse for this, I think. My mouth opens anyway and my Johnson dances a fucking jig inside my pants. “Go out with me tonight.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m not going out with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’d more than likely leave me by the side of the road to get back at me.”

“You could always drive.”

“You’d ride with me on my scooter?” She sounds doubtful.