Personal Yummy #15
Following is the seventh excerpt that I’m sharing from my coming-of-age novel—set in the nineties—about the inhabitants of an unassuming bar-and-grill in Squirrel Hill, a vibrant neighborhood in the east end of Pittsburgh. The story is told by Jenna, an idealistic, ambitious waitress who is at the center of it all.
Interested in finding out more about Jack and Jenna? Both the Kindle version and the paperback version of my novel are now available on Amazon.
Enjoy…
Jack
There’s just so much he gets lost in.
Unbearably sensual poetry. Candles flickering in his dark, disheveled bedroom. Light brown hair that ripples down his back. Having his back lightly scratched. Hot, enveloping hugs. Iffy and Cassandra—his roommates’ cats—who love him more. Cigarettes. A Rolling Rock and a shot of Grand Marnier to accent the cigarettes. Hanging out at the Cage, the bar-and-grill around the corner. His family. Earl Grey. Chamomile. Cooking. His kitchen. The regulars he waits on. Computers and searching the Internet. The Beatles. Tori Amos. E. E. Cummings. Doc Martens. Long walks, especially to the co-op, to pick up fresh carrot juice. Deep, all-out kisses. Strong, defined calf muscles, which he’s so proud of. And my blue eyes, which he tells me pierce him.
******
On Monday and Tuesday evenings, I work with Jack. He’s a good guy. Instead of us taking turns, he consistently lets me work in the nonsmoking section, which is great for me, since that section is usually busier overall and, therefore, more lucrative (if you’ll allow me to call it that). Besides, he works five days a week and two of the busiest shifts, the Saturday- and Sunday-evening ones, so he is always happy to have a bit of a break.
We get along very well. He is fun and easy to work with, and is always willing to help me out when I get extremely busy. Plus, I like the reassurance of working with someone who has been here for a while.
And to tell you the truth, I am quite attracted to him, which never hurts—most of the time, anyway. He has this not-so-rough, biker-like appearance about him—the bang-less, wavy hair loosely tied in a ponytail; the sexy mustache; the long legs; the filled-out, generous body; the narrow, penetrating eyes—yet at the same time he has such a soft and gentle personality, with his innocent, unassuming laugh; his warm, inviting hands; his stretching, interesting fingers, with his nails that are longer than necessary. And I couldn’t help but notice how intriguing he looked that autumn night he came in for a drink, dressed in jeans and a red flannel shirt, smelling of Jovan Musk, his back slightly curving over the bar as he rested his elbows on it and took a sensual drag on his cigarette.
But you know what? He’s really not my type. I’m in college pursuing a degree and he is not (he dropped out after giving it a semester’s try, deciding that it “wasn’t for him”), and he had a run-in with the police a few months ago and isn’t permitted to drive for a year or so. In addition, he smokes and drinks a lot. And even more important than all that—the drinking, the smoking, the not being in college, the occurrence with the police—my best friend, Teeli, told me a few weeks ago that she’s interested in him, really thinks he’s just great. So when it comes down to it, there’s obviously no reason for anything to happen between us.
Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.
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