Free Rocked by Clara Bayard Page A

publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter One
    Ding-ding! Ding-ding!
    "Order up!"
    I sighed and put down the towel I was using to wipe off the counter and walked the few steps to roll my eyes where he could see me. "Darrell, I'm right over there and we only have one customer. I don't think the bell and the yelling are necessary."
    My boss shrugged and pushed the plate of eggs across the pass at me. "Sorry, kiddo. This old dog ain't learning nothing new. I been ringing that bell for a hundred years and I'll be ringing it on my way down to Hell."
    I couldn't help but laugh. As much as working all night left me tired and out of sync with the rest of the world I did enjoy Darrell's folksy weirdness. Over the past month we'd fallen into a comfortable rhythm to keep each other entertained while the diner was basically empty.
    "You're not that old, boss," I reassured him as I grabbed two slices of toast to deliver to the only other person in the place.
    Ding-ding! Ding-ding!
    Darrell rang the bell again to get my attention. "God hates liars, kiddo. I'm older 'n dirt and just as sour." He laughed and went back to humming along to the radio that played softly in the kitchen.
    I put the plate down in front of our customer and asked if she needed anything else, wondering idly if dirt was actually sour. That would probably depend on what kind and where it came from. There could be sweet dirt and spicy dirt. Sour dirt and bland dirt.
    Depressed at the fact I was even thinking about it so much, I shrugged my shoulders a few times to clear my head. We needed to get the television fixed so there'd be something besides the all night oldies station to distract me before I went crazy (crazier?) and started taste-testing from the empty planters.
    Trying to maintain what was left of my sanity; I checked all the napkin dispensers and straightened up the prep area. By the time that was done our only customer had finished and left and all was even quieter. I collected my twenty-five cent tip, showed it to Darrell with a sarcastic happy shimmy and sat down on a stool at the counter to wait for the sun to rise. Outside I could see a steady stream of people heading away from the diner. The concert venue down the street had just let out and the audience was clearly energized by the show, but not enough to want a middle of the night grease fix.
    Darrell saw where I was staring and sniffed. "They used to flock in here. Sleep in the booths, puke in the restrooms, but it was fun to watch. Now they hit the fast food down the road and never even turn this way."
    "That's a shame," I said automatically, not really paying attention. My mind was elsewhere, imagining I had the kind of life that involved concerts with scores of friends and wandering down the street towards home together, high on the show and whatever we'd ingested during it. I missed having my pack of friends around me for nights of fun and laughing ourselves breathless. I could imagine the kids I saw out the window doing that, dancing until they collapsed and fell asleep with smiles on their faces. But that was not my life.
    I shook off the fantasy as the door opened and someone stepped inside.
    "You still open?" he asked the mainly empty room.
    "Uh, yeah. Sit anywhere." I stumbled getting up and darted around the counter awkwardly to grab him a menu.
    The guy sat down right in front of me and flashed an exhausted, but bright smile. I stared at him like a lobotomized fool. He was insanely hot. Like magazine cover hot. Tall and thin but with clearly defined lean muscles under a tight black t-shirt. His hair was dark and slicked back, or maybe just wet. It framed a tanned face and the bluest eyes I'd ever