in the same clothes as yesterday, only the wrinkled version, and my boots because there is no way in hell I will ever put on shoes like that again.
I completely sympathize with women who bitch and whine about wearing dress shoes. Sing it sister because I can relate. Mine were “Fendi’s” and it was toe torture. My feet felt like they were in a freakified version of a BDSM scene, wearing hooker heels and being attacked by some creeper who's into kinky toe clamps. The whole thing was very traumatic and as for the Fendi man, he can keep his fucking fancy shoes. Give me my biker boots any day of the week.
After taking care of some work things on the computer, I head to the bathroom, trim up the goatee and get in the shower, relaxing with the warm water hitting my back. My eyes start getting heavy and I nod a couple times, just for a few minutes. When the water starts getting cool, I open my eyes and slide the shower door open to check the clock. Dammit, I should already be gone.
With a towel tied at my hips, I bend over, shaking my hair like a dog, then dig around in my closet for something casual. My black jeans are nice, so they come off the hanger, now for a shirt. I flip through them, but fuck, I run a demo company, I own T-shirts and wife beaters, that’s my kind of casual. I’m thinking that our ideas probably differ on casual wear choices. Finally, I decide on a long-sleeved button down. It’s got a collar and Harley logo on the left side. Only thing left is some gel to the spikes and a few squirts of cologne. I’m ready to roll out.
***
Texas is kick ass this time of year, at least in Houston it is. It’s March and most of the rain has gone, not to mention our insane bipolar season changes. As far as I know, Texas is the only place you can catch all four seasons in a day. Temps now are in the lower 70s and that’s perfect. It makes the ride to Braxton’s enjoyable.
For a Sunday, the lot is almost packed. I’m starting to believe his place is like this all the time, he’s definitely got some very loyal customers here.
As I walk in the entry, I notice framed awards, certificates and all kind of thank you letters from different associations. That’s pretty cool, didn’t notice them last night.
“Table for one sir?” a server asks, pulling out a menu.
“No, thank you, I’m headed upstairs. Has Braxton made it in yet?”
“Not yet, he’s running a little late, car trouble I think.” He puts the menu away.
“Been there many times. Appreciate it.” I walk toward the stairs.
At the bottom step, I glance up and there’s Sparky, leaning over the railing waving both hands at me like a freaking lunatic. The boy must do copious amount of speed to be this damn hyper all the time. I grin to myself. Not a clue in the world why, but I like him. The kid’s a trip and funny as fuck. Before my foot hit’s the top floor, he bounces in front of me. Dude must have metal springs attached to his shoes.
“Yay, you did come back.” He starts to clap, all fucking giddy. “Come on, I saved your spot. Scotch on the rocks right?” He grins at me.
Well he didn’t lie, he saved the same table as last night. “You act surprised, told you I’d try to slip in. Does two days in a row make me a regular customer, with all the benefits?”
“You were a regular last night when I said you were, honey. Did that make me sound like a supervisor?” He laughs, putting both hands on his hips, tapping his foot ninety to nothing.
“Yes, you sounded like a boss, a flirty boss.” I wink at him with a grin. “I think I’m going to skip the drink for now, maybe just a coke instead. Do you think you can snatch me one of those menus just for ‘regulars’ too?”
“Absolutely, don’t you move, I’ll be right back.” He dashes off toward the stairs, stops and comes back. “I am a flirt, maybe it’ll grow on you.” And like lightning, there he goes again, practically sliding down the damn banister .
All I
I completely sympathize with women who bitch and whine about wearing dress shoes. Sing it sister because I can relate. Mine were “Fendi’s” and it was toe torture. My feet felt like they were in a freakified version of a BDSM scene, wearing hooker heels and being attacked by some creeper who's into kinky toe clamps. The whole thing was very traumatic and as for the Fendi man, he can keep his fucking fancy shoes. Give me my biker boots any day of the week.
After taking care of some work things on the computer, I head to the bathroom, trim up the goatee and get in the shower, relaxing with the warm water hitting my back. My eyes start getting heavy and I nod a couple times, just for a few minutes. When the water starts getting cool, I open my eyes and slide the shower door open to check the clock. Dammit, I should already be gone.
With a towel tied at my hips, I bend over, shaking my hair like a dog, then dig around in my closet for something casual. My black jeans are nice, so they come off the hanger, now for a shirt. I flip through them, but fuck, I run a demo company, I own T-shirts and wife beaters, that’s my kind of casual. I’m thinking that our ideas probably differ on casual wear choices. Finally, I decide on a long-sleeved button down. It’s got a collar and Harley logo on the left side. Only thing left is some gel to the spikes and a few squirts of cologne. I’m ready to roll out.
***
Texas is kick ass this time of year, at least in Houston it is. It’s March and most of the rain has gone, not to mention our insane bipolar season changes. As far as I know, Texas is the only place you can catch all four seasons in a day. Temps now are in the lower 70s and that’s perfect. It makes the ride to Braxton’s enjoyable.
For a Sunday, the lot is almost packed. I’m starting to believe his place is like this all the time, he’s definitely got some very loyal customers here.
As I walk in the entry, I notice framed awards, certificates and all kind of thank you letters from different associations. That’s pretty cool, didn’t notice them last night.
“Table for one sir?” a server asks, pulling out a menu.
“No, thank you, I’m headed upstairs. Has Braxton made it in yet?”
“Not yet, he’s running a little late, car trouble I think.” He puts the menu away.
“Been there many times. Appreciate it.” I walk toward the stairs.
At the bottom step, I glance up and there’s Sparky, leaning over the railing waving both hands at me like a freaking lunatic. The boy must do copious amount of speed to be this damn hyper all the time. I grin to myself. Not a clue in the world why, but I like him. The kid’s a trip and funny as fuck. Before my foot hit’s the top floor, he bounces in front of me. Dude must have metal springs attached to his shoes.
“Yay, you did come back.” He starts to clap, all fucking giddy. “Come on, I saved your spot. Scotch on the rocks right?” He grins at me.
Well he didn’t lie, he saved the same table as last night. “You act surprised, told you I’d try to slip in. Does two days in a row make me a regular customer, with all the benefits?”
“You were a regular last night when I said you were, honey. Did that make me sound like a supervisor?” He laughs, putting both hands on his hips, tapping his foot ninety to nothing.
“Yes, you sounded like a boss, a flirty boss.” I wink at him with a grin. “I think I’m going to skip the drink for now, maybe just a coke instead. Do you think you can snatch me one of those menus just for ‘regulars’ too?”
“Absolutely, don’t you move, I’ll be right back.” He dashes off toward the stairs, stops and comes back. “I am a flirt, maybe it’ll grow on you.” And like lightning, there he goes again, practically sliding down the damn banister .
All I
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