Chapter 2
TWO
Ethan
“Hey, Red!”
It was the second time the customer had yelled it. Ethan looked up from the counter to see which rude asshole was shouting across the diner. A jock seated in the furthest booth from the kitchen stabbed his finger at his empty coffee mug and raised his eyebrows impatiently.
“Shit,” Ethan mumbled, running his fingers through his freshly dyed hair. I’m Red.
Dyeing his hair was Ethan’s version of rebellion. He wasn’t cool enough to smoke or ride a motorcycle, and he’d look ridiculous in a leather jacket. But making his hair an outlandish color? That he could pull off – a safe, reversible way to prove he wasn’t the “good boy” everyone thought he was.
Before this recent change to bright cherry red, he’d been platinum blond for months, and had grown accustomed to being called “Blondie.” Honestly, why did he even bother wearing a name tag?
“I’ll be right there. I’m making a fresh pot,” he called out, drumming his fingers while he waited for the brewing cycle to complete.
The Heyday Diner was a popular neighborhood gathering place, and could get rowdy on Saturday nights.
Tonight was the busiest it had been in a long time.
A bunch of high school football players had taken over three booths at the front of the diner and were making nuisances of themselves, horsing around and pelting each other with French fries.
Ethan wondered if the jocks had bothered to look at a single one of the yellowing articles or pictures hanging on the walls. Did they realize this establishment celebrated the history of gay men in San Francisco?
His co-worker Philip darted behind the counter. “Ooh, why do you get all the luck?” He crouched down and checked his hair, using the side of the chrome coffee maker as a makeshift mirror.
“What are you talking about?” Ethan asked.
“The three booths of walking thirst traps.” Philip fished a lip balm out of his apron pocket, applying it with delicate sweeps and rubbing it in with his pinky finger. He recapped it and dropped it back into his pocket. “All in your section.”
Ethan grumbled.
“Oh come on.” Philip slapped his forearm. “You can’t tell me you don’t like that clean-cut all-American jock vibe.”
Ethan did like it. He just hated the attitude that often went along with it. “Too bad they have the personality of a butt plug.”
Philip got a dreamy expression in his eyes. “They can plug––”
“Stop, please.” The coffee machine sputtered, spitting the last few drops into the carafe. “Look, do you want to go refill their coffees?”
Philip chirped in glee and kissed Ethan’s cheek. He bounced over with the pot and topped off each of their mugs, chatting and bantering with the guys as if they were old friends.
He really is a good server. Far better than me.
Since the untouched decaf coffee had cooked into a black sludge, Ethan dumped it out and was washing the carafe when the football players fell silent. Fearing their collective brain cell had finally burned out from overuse, Ethan spun around, bracing himself for the worst.
His co-worker Bellamy was standing at the front of the diner, the door swinging closed behind her as she pulled her severe black hair into a ponytail. She was decked out in her usual uniform: skintight jeans, boots with six-inch stiletto heels, and a lacy camisole top.
Philip breezed past him, muttering under his breath, “The Wicked Witch of the West Coast has arrived.” While backing into the kitchen, pushing the door open with his butt, he added, “Run, Toto! Run!”
Ethan tightened his lips over his teeth to keep from smiling. He lingered behind the counter, pretending to wipe it down, as much to keep out of Bellamy’s way as to have a front row seat to whatever drama was about to unfold.
Bellamy strutted past the football players, unfazed by their slack-jawed gawking, as she made a beeline for the kitchen. “Caleb, you back there?” she yelled.
Their boss Caleb appeared at the pass-through window, setting down a plate heaped with cheesy nachos.
He tapped the service bell, its metallic ding cutting through the background buzz of the diner.
“Order up!” His eyes widened as Bellamy approached.
“Oh fuck,” he mumbled, before escaping into the recesses of the kitchen.
“Caleb!” Bellamy said, smacking her palm on the kitchen door. “I know you’re in there! I need to talk to you.”
Moments later, the door creaked open and Caleb stepped out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a stained dish towel. “Bellamy. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Bad news, boss. I won’t be working tomorrow. Or the next day. I’m quitting.”
“What?” Caleb threw the towel onto the counter.
Bellamy pulled out her phone and tapped out a quick message as she talked.
“Axel and I are leaving tomorrow for a cross-country motorcycle ride and documenting the entire trip for our followers.” She paused to hold her phone at a high angle and smiled for a selfie.
“By the time we hit New York we’ll be full-time influencers. ”
Caleb rubbed his temples. “This isn’t much notice.”
“C’mon, Caleb. We both knew I wasn’t cut out for this job. I need to be building my brand, not waiting tables like some normie. No offense, Ethan.”
“None taken,” Ethan deadpanned.
“Sunday brunch is the busiest shift of the week, and you’re honestly quitting the night before?” Caleb asked.
“Sorry.” Bellamy swept her phone in an arc, from one side of the diner to the other, and then held it in front of her face. “The first step in my reinvention – leaving behind the nine-to-five grind.”
Caleb’s face flushed beet red. “Are you seriously vlogging while you screw me over?”
Bellamy pointed her phone in Caleb’s direction. “Oh, can you say that again for the camera? Rage is great for engagement.”
“It’s time for you to go, Bellamy.”
She tucked her phone into her studded leather bag. “I’ll need my final check before me and Axel leave.”
After a deep breath, Caleb gritted out, “You can pick it up in the morning. Before the doors open at seven.”
“Thanks, boss. See you then.” She turned to Ethan and acknowledged him with a curt nod. “Ethan.”
He returned the nod. “Bellamy. Safe travels.”
Bellamy sauntered away, slowing down as she passed the football players, no doubt feeding off their testosterone like some kind of hormone vampire.
When she leaned forward in front of the team’s captain, his eyes shot to her cleavage.
“Like what you see?” she purred. “Follow me on OnlyFans and you can see as much as you want.” She licked her lips while tracing her finger down his chest. “I’m Bellamy Blue.
” With a final smirk, Bellamy spun on her heel and strolled out the door, without so much as a backward glance.
As soon as the door swung shut behind her, all the jocks lunged for their phones. While frantically typing, more than one muttered, “Wait… how do you spell Bellamy?”
Ethan didn’t get it – and wasn’t sure he wanted to. He didn’t have much respect for people who sold their bodies online for the price of a monthly subscription. Or for the people that bought the subscriptions, for that matter.
Philip emerged from the kitchen and scooped up the plate of nachos. On his way by Ethan and Caleb, he sing-songed, “Farewell, Bellamy! You’ll be missed. About as much as a herpes sore.”
Caleb was staring at the floor, dragging his hands through his thin, salt-and-pepper hair. An attractive older man in his early sixties, he still worked the line on the weekends when his longtime regular customers came in, but now he’d have to wait tables as well to pick up Bellamy’s slack.
“I can take her brunch shift,” Ethan offered. It would eat up his weekend, but the extra money and tips were too good to pass up.
Caleb leaned back against the door frame, his head lolling to the side as he regarded Ethan with a fond expression. “Shouldn’t you be out enjoying the rest of your summer before school starts again? Getting into trouble, hooking up with guys?”
“I’ll have plenty of sex when I find a boyfriend.”
“Looking for hot sex and a commitment? You’ll sooner find a unicorn.
Take it from me, kid. You should be grabbing life by the balls.
Hold on and never let go.” He closed his hand into a fist to punctuate his point, then lowered his hand with a sigh.
“Life goes by so quickly. One night you go to bed twenty-five and wake up fifty, needing a pill to get hard, and wishing you’d sucked a thousand dicks when you were still young and beautiful. ”
Ethan, a little choked up at the wistfulness in Caleb’s voice, dropped his gaze and absentmindedly wiped the counter. “I want to get through school without taking out any loans, so work has to be my priority.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then, bright and early.” Caleb plodded back into the kitchen.
Ethan dropped his rag back into the pail of bleach water.
Did it suck to have to work his way through college?
Sure, especially when other students got to rely on their parents’ money, or racked up loans without ever considering the consequences.
It was a sacrifice, but it would be worth it. At least he kept telling himself that.
The sharp sound of shattering glass startled him, and he groaned in frustration. He grabbed the broom and dust pan and made his way to the latest casualty of the teenager-sized toddlers – a broken drinking glass, its jagged remains half-buried by crumpled napkins and empty ketchup packets.
It was going to be a long night.
Ethan paused with his key in the lock, steeling himself for what he’d find on the other side of the door. He’d stayed late to help Caleb clean up the mess the football bros left behind, which meant his cat’s dinner would be half an hour late.