by Amy Brent
By the time the burgers were finished even Tucker was drooling—for food, for once, Kellan thought, sourly. But even he couldn’t stay sullen for long: she brought them out to the counter, filling the diner with the scent of hot grilled burgers. She lit a few of the candles that were supposed to be for the diners, and the atmosphere would have been romantic had their stomachs not been rumbling as loudly as they were. Watching the patties brown on the grill, and getting layered with mushrooms, bacon, and onion, with a thick slab of cheese melting over everything, had turned on an appetite for something even more basic than sex, even in Tucker. The sharp, smoky tang of the barbecue sauce, and the crisp crunch of the lettuce and sharp sourness of the pickles put Kellan in heaven, and he was halfway through his first burger before he thought to look up and say, “Thanks, Miss—”
“Shandy,” she said, quietly. She was sitting across from them, on the register side of the counter. “My name’s Shandy.”
“No disrespect meant,” he said. “I just—you’re a lady—”
She giggled. “You’re the first person who’s ever called me a lady,” she said. “Most people call me a girl.”
“You’re old enough to work here,” Kellan said. “Makes you a lady in my book.”
It was funny to see Tucker trying to decide whether he was hungrier or hornier, watching him frantically chew on the oversized mouthful that he’d taken. Truman was smirking. Kellan asked, “You got anybody? I mean, we’re glad you’re here ‘cuz otherwise I’d be scraping frozen puke outta my truck. But surely someone misses you, don’t they?”
Shandy shook her head. “I been on a couple dates in high school, but it was never anything serious,” she said. “Only been in Vernon for five months, and most here are just passin’ through—it’s hard to get to know people like that.”
“Must be tough,” Kellan said, nodding sympathetically. “My girlfriend and I split up last year, too. Ranchin’s hard—you’re out there for the better part of the year. Gets hard for the other person. Truman here—he’s lucky. He’s still a virgin—”
Truman’s jaw fell open in shock. Kellan shrugged. What? “He don’t know about disappointment yet,” Kellan said.
“And Tucker?” she asked.
Tucker forced the last lump of cheeseburger down his throat and said, “I’ve got girls in every state east of the Rockies,” he crowed.
“He’s braggin’,” Kellan said. “He mighta had sex with in every state east of the Rockies, but I’m pretty sure there are more women that don’t care to see him than those that do.”
She smiled shyly and pressed her lips together, as if trying to work up the courage to tell Kellan something secret. “Aw, you do have someone,” he said, grinning. “Who is he?”
She blinked, and seemed to reconsider. Then she shook her head and took the plates away. Presently they could hear her washing the dishes. Tucker turned to Kellan and scowled, saying, “Thanks for ruining it.
CHAPTER 6
Outside the snow kept piling up. It had buried the truck up to the bumpers already, and Truman, who had one of those fancy smartphones, opened up the weather app, and found that the storm was only about a third of the way finished. “Shit,” said Kellan, shaking his head. “Looks like we’re stuck here for at least another day.”
“Well, that ain’t gonna stop me from making the most of it,” Tucker said, standing up and following her into the kitchen.
Kellan felt his jaw drop open. It wasn’t that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. But she was clearly not interested or not ready, and he wasn’t that desperate to get some. But Tucker—Christ, was the man completely shameless? “You can’t—she’s not—”
“Hey, it’s me,” Tucker said, shrugging and grinning. “Do you want dibs on her pussy, or should we let Truman here try going down on a lady for the first time?”
Truman’s jaw dropped open as well. Kellan hissed, “Tucker—”
But Tucker had already opened the door and gone in.
Truman looked and Kellan, his eyes wide open with surprise. “Kellan?” he asked uncertainly.
“Oh, don’t you worry,” said Kellan, even now feeling his cock starting to twitch. “He won’t force himself on her, if that’s what’s got you worried.”
“Then, what is he going to do?”
There was no other way to describe what Tucker did that had women dropping their panties for him, other than, “Magic.”
CHAPTER 7
Shandy was scrubbing up the pots and pans when she saw the one named Tucker coming in. “Can I give you a hand, Shandy?” he asked.
Only if you keep your hands to yourself. She bit back the words—it wouldn’t keep him from grabbing her ass. It never worked with the truckers—why should it work with cowboys? And this one, at least, was cute.
“I got it,” she said. “You can go now,” she added, tilting her head back to the diner. “Ain’t much to do here.”
“Okay, I’ll confess,” Tucker said. “I’m dying to know—have you ever been with a guy before?”
She could feel her eyes getting wide. “That’s—that’s personal,” she sputtered, not quite sure if she could believe her ears.
“I know, I know,” he said, putting his hands up. “See, it’s just that Truman—the young one, you know—well, he ain’t never been with a woman before—”
“Maybe he’s gay,” she spat. For some reason, her heart was pounding—but he was still by the prep counter, a good ten steps from the sink, and he wasn’t making any moves towards her. “Maybe—” she began.
“Are you a lesbian?” he asked.
“What?!”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that if you are,” he said, putting his hands up. “I’m just askin’, you know, in case we have to break Truman’s heart. You know how young guys are.”
Her face was flushed, now. She’d never done it with a woman—she’d never done it with anybody, and that wasn’t anybody’s business but her own. But the conversation was dredging up the memory of the club she’d stopped in—it was in Kansas City, just a regular club, from the looks of it. Someone was handing out free tickets outside the Safeways, where she’d stopped to pick up some more food and hygiene things, and she’d thought it looked all right: nothing wrong with a night of dancing, good music, maybe she’d meet someone.
At first it’d started out like any other club night—the DJ was laying down some nice beats, and she was having a good time dancing. Then, at around ten, the emcee came out and shouted, “Y’all ready to get this party started?”
There were loud cheers from all around.
“Ladies—let’s see them titties!”
And all around her, women were pulling up their shirts—a few of them took off their tops altogether—and the guys were hooting and tossing them strings of beads, and she remembered: Mardi Gras. Of course it would be Mardi Gras.
She froze—afraid, not of being naked, but of the feelings that were playing deep in her crotch, the sudden wetness between her legs at the sight of all these gorgeous women suddenly gone topless, pressing their bodies against each other, kissing and sucking on each other’s nipples. She’d never felt anything like this before—and she left right then and there, hoping that she’d ever feel anything like it again.
And now, here was Tucker, reminding her of the sea of breasts, the excited glee on their faces as they stripped off their tops and exposed themselves, the cheers as beads came raining down on them—and the look of pure lust in the men’s eyes as they watched.
The look that Tucker was giving her, now.
“You wanna know what I see in you?” he asked now. “I see a woman who don’t know what she’s got. I bet you ain’t never looked in no mirror naked before.”
“And what’s it to you if I haven’t?” she asked, scarcely believing that the conversation was going in this direction. This is no way to talk to a woman, she thought. She was starting to get a little worried, actually—she was alone in a restaurant with three other men—men
she didn’t know, one of whom was definitely thinking of having sex with her. If they decided to force her there was nothing that she could do.
“I just think it’s a shame that you have no idea how beautiful you are.”
“I have plenty of idea how pretty I am,” she said, annoyed. “You know how many guys grab my ass every day?”
“They’re thinkin’ ‘bout themselves,” he said. “They’d try to grab your ass if you were wearing a burlap sack. I’m thinkin’ ‘bout you, Shandy.”
She turned off the water and wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, the feeling isn’t mutual,” she said as coldly as she could manage, and then she headed back out to the front, to wait with the others for the end of the storm.
CHAPTER 8
The girl came back out, again—with all of her clothes this time, Kellan was relieved to see. Still, when he caught the pall of disappointment on Truman’s face, Kellan realized that neither Tucker nor Truman were going to listen to him if he told them to leave her alone. At that point he began wondering if perhaps he should have brought along a pack of wild dogs instead—they would probably listen to him better than these two knuckleheads.
Kellan had, in the meantime, lit three more of those little tabletop candles—he’d found them under the register. It was going to be a long night. He wished there was a book, or even a magazine. He envied Truman, who had one of those smartphones, although to save the battery he wasn’t using it to entertain himself. He was, instead, sitting at a booth, trying to build things from sugar packets and toothpicks. Kellan wished he’d remembered to bring the playing cards. They were usually in his back pocket but they must have fallen to the ground while they were wrestling Truman into the diner.
She took a seat in the booth and took her phone out of her pocket. “What’s the news?” asked Truman.
She shrugged, casting a suspicious look at them—Tucker had already tried his advances and gotten nowhere and now she thought they might be trying the same. When Tucker came out of the kitchen Kellan glared at him. Tucker just cast him a knowing smile.
Outside, the snow had reached the windows of the diner, but the power was still out so they still couldn’t see much past the windows. “Ain’t nothin’ out there to see,” she said, as they stared at the receding ghostly shroud.
“When do you think the snowplows will get out here?” asked Kellan, turning on his stool at the counter to face her.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Marvin says it’s usually a day or two for the usual little bits of snow, but you can drive in that as long as you have chains. This—I don’t know. Three or four days, maybe?”
“Well, at least we’re here,” Kellan said.
“Yeah, but we were supposed to get a new shipment of food tomorrow,” she said. “We got maybe enough pancake mix and hot dogs and eggs for a couple more meals, but that’s it.
“We’ll help you shovel out,” Kellan said. “How far you live?”
“Just ‘bout a mile down Route 26,” she said.
“We can give you a ride home to your place, too.”
“Thanks,” she said. “But it ain’t so bad here. I got company, at least.”
“Hey, anybody wanna try Texas hold ‘em?” asked Tucker, taking out their playing cards—so that’s where they were, Kellan thought.
“It only gets good if you have something to bet,” said Kellan.
“I ain’t playin’ no strip poker,” Shandy said.
“Well shit,” Tucker said, “you saw right through me. Seriously, though—we can bet sugar packets, and the winner gets—uh…”
“Fuckin’ shut up already,” Kellan snarled. “Leave the lady be. She don’t want your hands on her, keep your hands off her, then.”
Tucker protested, “I ain’t botherin’ her none—I may be a horndog but I ain’t a pig. Just sayin’, maybe a card game would be a nice way to pass the time. We got three days, say, b’fore the snowplows come? We’re gonna need somethin’ to do.”
“I remember weather like this in New England,” said Truman, suddenly. They all turned to him, surprised to hear him speaking. “When it gets this bad the only thing you can do is pull over to the nearest place and hope that whoever’s there lets you ride it out. All I could see as neon lights, so I got out and went in. Turned out to be a strip club.”
The other two laughed, mostly out of disbelief. “Truman, you tell a fine story but you’re shit at lyin’,” said Tucker.
“It’s true!” Truman protested.
“You expect us to believe that Mr. Virgin spent a night holed up in a club full of naked women and didn’t get any?”
“There were families there,” Truman said, smugly. “I wasn’t the only one who’d gotten stranded in that weather.”
Shandy had a strange look on her face—she was remembering her own story. “This one time I got a flat,” she began. “So I was changing it when a guy comes along. He tells me that if I let him grab my tits he’ll change it out for me.”
“I hope you kicked his ass,” said Kellan.
“I told him, ‘Okay, fair deal, but you gotta change the tire first. And clean up when you’re finished’.”
“You didn’t really—” Tucker began.
“So I’m sitting in the driver’s seat, and after about twenty minutes or so he tells me he’s done, just gotta put the jack and wrench back. I remind him what our deal is. He puts the things back in my trunk, closed it, and I started the engine and peeled out of there—but I did leave him a piece of paper, with ‘My Tits’ written on it.”
Even Tucker had to laugh. Kellan suspected that he’d had that trick pulled on him once or twice, too.
“Thank you,” she said, suddenly. “All of you.”
“For what?” asked Kellan.
“For not being grabby horndogs,” she said. “You have no idea how many guys grab my ass every day, or try to grope my tits.”
“Seems like just a courtesy to extend to the lady who’s lettin’ us weather a storm,” said Kellan.
“You ever tell the manager?” asked Truman.
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Wanna know what he said? ‘Stop wearin’ underwear.’ That’s what he said.”
Tucker was shaking his head. “Man,” he said, “not even I’m that bad. So that’s why you don’t want to be touched.”
“That’s the thing, though,” she said. “I do want to know what it’s like. I ain’t never had no boyfriend. I ain’t never done one of those frat parties where the goal is to hook up.”
“So what’s keepin’ you?” asked Kellan. “You could have your pick of the lot. I’ll betcha that you could go to any club, walk up to a guy—married or not—and tell him to come home with you, and he would.”
She blushed, not believing it for a second. “Men ain’t never seen me for much except a nice piece of ass to grab,” she said quietly.
“Then they’re the one who’re losers,” Tucker said.
CHAPTER 9
She shook her head. “I want my first time to mean something, you know? With a man that I love who understands that I’m giving him a piece of myself. Those men, though—you ain’t findin’ ‘em here.”
“What if you just ain’t lookin’?” asked Tucker.
“Tucker,” scolded Kellan.
“If you’re thinkin’ you’re it,” she began, but Truman interrupted, asking, “How would you know he was the one?”
She didn’t quite know what to say—the question had never occurred to her, and now, as she thought of her dream man—the perfect man who didn’t exist—she realized that he looked a lot like Truman, but with Tucker’s glib wit, and Kellan’s manners.
What if they’re what I’ve been looking for this whole time? Could they—she shook her head, trying to get rid of the ridiculous idea, but her flustered state wasn’t lost on Tucker. “You got the sweets for one of us,” he teased. “Which one is it?”
Damn him, she thought. How could he read her so well to know she was thinking about them? If she
wasn’t careful—
“All of us?” Tucker asked, incredulous. “My, my, all you had to do was say so.”
“Tucker!” scolded Kellan. “Ain’t no way to speak to a lady!”
“A lady don’t think like that,” Tucker said.
“You callin’ me a whore?” she demanded.
Truman looked shocked, but Tucker hadn’t even flinched. “See, here’s the thing,” Tucker said. “You always been told that a lady is a good thing, that anythin’ not a lady is bad—”
“Oh God, not this shit again,” groaned Kellan, but Tucker ignored him and continued. “Ladies are this and ladies are that but one thing they almost never are is true to who they really are inside. The women that we admire—the ones that get off their asses and get shit done—we call those women lots of things: rebels, visionaries, daredevils, brave—but we don’t call ‘em ladies.”
She was sure there had to be more to this overly-simplistic explanation. He’d clearly given this speech a million times before—he knew what to say and how to say it so that she would be rethinking everything she knew about being a lady. He was obviously trying to get her to agree to doing something with them.
It didn’t mean that he wasn’t right.
“So, you’re saying, being a lady is a bad thing?” asked Truman.
“I ain’t sayin’ that at all,” said Tucker. “Some women are ladies, born and bred—they’re ladies inside and out. They like sittin’ with their legs crossed and drinkin’ tea with a pinky in the air. And if you like that, then that’s great-but I don’t think you are, are you, Shandy?”
“And you want me to ask you what you think I am?” she asked.
“I don’t know what you are,” Tucker said. “I do know that you ain’t a lady.”
An odd sort of silence descended upon the diner. One of the candles sputtered and died. Kellan got up to get a new one, using the other candles to light it. They’d reached a “what now?” moment in the conversation—a point where she could either choose to let them have her or else they could just sit there for three days until the snowplows came to dig them out.