Alastair Honeybun stood in a dark corner of the bar and wished he could be somewhere else, anywhere else, other than where he was. His penetrating, blue gaze slid around the noisy bar, noting the drunken antics of his friends with disgust.

At thirty-two years old, Alastair was growing weary of the constant bump and grind of male ritual that brought them, always and forever, into the same stale venues doing the same, juvenile things, night after night.

His friends suffered from no such disillusionment. They were perpetually happy with their current stage in life and saw no reason to reach beyond into adulthood.

Alastair didn’t share their enthusiasm for the drinking and mindless search for the next great pair of tits or soft, round ass to bump against in the night. He was dangerously close to wanting more out of life. A singularly terrifying thing. And something that would most likely cause him no end of grief with his friends if he were…stupidly…to confide in them.

So he didn’t confide. Instead he moved through his days as a highly paid financial planner with a certain kind of contented glee, and his nights, as one of the guys, with much reluctance and teeth grinding.

He decided he’d had enough “fun” for one night and turned to leave, only to bump into, or be bumped against, by a cute little thing with sparkling hazel eyes and gleaming black hair. She smiled up at him drunkenly and licked glossy, red lips.

“Hiya hansome.” She slurred. Then the pretty hazel eyes slid shut and she started to fold toward the floor.

Alastair reached out to catch her but found himself a beat too late.

Two long arms, clad in shiny black suit sleeves, caught the girl under both armpits and reeled her into a broad, overly-muscular chest covered by a pink shirt and a shiny red tie. Alastair looked up into dark brown eyes that were cold and empty like a shark’s. He smiled. “She’s had a little too much to drink, eh?”

The man hefted the girl into his arms and stared hard at Alastair, the coldness of his gaze barely warmed by an insincere bend in his lips. “It’s my sister,” the scary looking man said unnecessarily.

Alastair, lacking the usual conversational cues to help him out with this, simply nodded and watched the man turn away and leave the bar with the unconscious young woman draped across his arms. A tall, emaciated looking man held the door for the oaf carrying the woman and, after throwing a glacial last look at Alastair, followed him out.

Alastair did a mental shrug and went to find his buddies. Maybe he’d stay for one more beer.

###

Angie Peterson ran a damp, soapy rag over the countertop and glanced at the clock above her head for the umpteenth time. The shop had been non-stop busy since six o’clock that morning and she hadn’t had so much as a pee break since she’d walked through the door.

The customer queue had dwindled finally to the point where she thought it might be safe to leave the counter to the two teens who helped her out in the afternoons for a five minute potty break. But before she could escape, the door opened and two more customers sauntered in.

Stifling a sigh, Angie plastered on a bright smile as they approached the counter. “Welcome to the Dunk and Run, what can I get for you today?”

The taller of the two men gave her an oily grin and winked. He pushed a gray, felt cowboy hat off his forehead and spoke to her in a cheesy drawl. “How about a date, darlin’?”

She forced the smile to stay locked onto her lips and her eyes not to roll, and responded as she always did to such unimaginative offers. “I’m sorry sir, that isn’t on the menu for today. But I’d be happy to get you a large mocha latte and a muffin instead.”

The man chuckled and pulled out a wad of bills that made Angie’s eyes go a little googly. “Make that a vanilla latte with cinnamon and extra whipped cream and make the muffin two glazed donuts and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

The shorter man had been studying the menu board above their heads since approaching the counter. Finally his cool, black gaze dropped to her. “I want a small, plain coffee.”

Angie nodded, “One Grande mundane coming up.”

The man shook his dark head, dislodging the shiny ponytail at the base of his thick neck. “I don’t want no Grande, Grande means big don’t it? I want a small, plain coffee.”

Angie smiled at him determinedly. “Yes sir, the Grande is the smallest coffee we have.”

He scowled at her. “Is it small?”

She shook her head. “Not really.”

His scowl deepened and Angie fought the urge to shiver. “Why don’t you people sell no smalls?”

Angie just shrugged. “Sorry.”

He uttered a particularly foul deprecation and turned toward the man wearing the cowboy hat. “Why do you always gotta go to these fancy coffee shops? Look at that, it’s three bucks for a plain coffee. That’s just stupid. And they don’t even gotta small.”

The taller man rolled his eyes at Angie and smiled. “I’ll buy ya the stupid coffee, Louie. Don’t worry about the three bucks.”

The man lowered his head and muttered. “It’s the principle of the thing, Bones. What has this country come to. Three dollar flippin’ coffees the size of my head.”

Angie fought back a giggle and placed a plain Grande on the counter in front of the grumpy guy. “Here you go sir. I only filled it halfway. That will be a dollar and a half.”

Mr. grumpy smiled. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He took his coffee and headed for a small table in the back corner of the shop.

The man called Bones threw a twenty on the counter. “Sorry about my cheap-assed friend, darlin’. He don’t get around much.”

“I heard that!” Grande bellowed from the table in the back.

Angie grinned and thanked the slightly scary stranger, ringing up his purchase and giving him back his change. When he left to join his buddy she turned to Petey, the most senior of her two counter helpers. “I’m going to the ladies. Hold the fort until I get back, okay?”

Petey nodded and then, as Angie rounded the corner and headed toward the restrooms at the back of the shop, called out, “I forgot to tell you, some lady just told me the toilet’s overflowed again. Apparently her kid stuffed half the roll of toilet paper into it.”

Angie closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip to keep from uttering foul deprecations. Then, opening her eyes and looking around she said, “That’s okay, it’s all women in here now except for those two and they just sat down so I think I’m safe. I’ll use the men’s. Do me a favor and stop them if you see them coming toward the restroom will you, Petey?”

The boy nodded distractedly and turned to help the next customer in line.

Angie opened the men’s room door and called softly into the room to make sure it was empty. When she got no response she entered the single stall and sat down with a sigh of relief, leaning over and resting her head in her hands in exhaustion. She’d just sit there for a couple of minutes and take a much needed break. What harm could it possibly do?