Don't Look Down

forty: don't bother, honey

Five Years Later - Seth

Swiping a credit card through the machine, I hand it back to the customer through the window, along with two of our famous jalapeno and chocolate cupcakes. The woman gives one to her kid, who hastily unwraps the foil and thrusts it into his mouth. There's chocolate icing rimming his pie hole, but he's beaming like my food just made his day. So I reach over and hand his mother a stack of napkins.

"Looks like you're gonna need these."

She takes them from me, offering an appreciative smile. "Thanks."

"Have a good one."

They turn and head down the sidewalk, making way for the next customers to approach the window. There's a line almost halfway down the block and I'm not gonna lie, when I bought this piece of shit food truck three years ago, I never expected my business to take off the way it has.

Apparently, even in LA where carbs are shunned like an infectious disease, people can't resist my 'fascinatingly delicious dishes'. And no, those aren't my words. They're direct from the famous food critic who just-so-happened to stop by my truck a year ago and posted about my 'uniquely refreshing approach to take-away food' on his blog. I've been a success story ever since.

Owning a food truck isn't exactly a prime life goal for most, but to me it's damn satisfying. I get to cook my food, be my own boss, order around the three employees who work for me, and make pretty sweet money in the process. Plus, I get to pick my own hours. And considering the life I get to go home to when I leave this hunk of metal, I feel like I've hit the jackpot.

When I hand off a plate of mac-n-cheese pancakes to another customer, Chad, one of my employees, checks me with his shoulder.

"Get out of here, man. It's your day. You shouldn't even be here in the first place."

He's right, but since Ellie was up and out the door at the asscrack of dawn this morning, I didn't really feel like spending the day lying around the house being useless. This business is my baby, well second to her, of course, and I might be a little addicted to keeping it running smoothly. Not like I need to be. My employees are top-notch and not only do I trust them, I consider all three as friends.

I take the next customer's order. "Why the need to get rid of me, man? You got a joint in your pocket you planning on smoking when I duck out?"

He laughs, loading up a sandwich with our Coca Cola pulled pork and giving it to the customer.

"How'd you know?"

"Intuition." I shrug. "Well that and I've known you too long."

He laughs again as I put the customer's twenty into the register and pick out the change.

"Seriously, get the hell out of here." He pushes me aside, claiming the position behind the register. "I'm sure Ellie has something planned and your ass is ruining it by being here."

She might, but I'm also aware she's stuck at the office until five today since they're launching Peter Hughes' latest novel. She and Diana have been pulling some crazy hours this past month making sure this book hits the stands with a deafening boom. There's not a doubt in my mind it will. My girl's an ace at this publishing thing. So is Diana. Together they've dropped sixty-two best sellers over the past five years. This one is sure to be number sixty-three.

"I'm good for a few more hours."

Glancing at the next customers, I realize it a pair of LA's finest. We have macho-douche sporting a steroid induced set of biceps, white-beater, and scowl on the left. And on the right we have sunset stripper hardly concealing a set of purchased tits beneath a tiny bikini. Her platinum hair dangles to her ass in little ringlets and she's giving me her best 'fuck me' eyes.

Ellie thinks I'm ignorant to the slew of googly eyes aimed my way through the day, but here's a secret: guys–we all notice. I just don't give a shit. As sunset stripper savors my physique, I feel nothing. In fact, a girl could offer to drop to her knees behind my food truck and suck me dry and I still wouldn't spare her an interested glance.

My dick and I are solely interested in Ellie. She has me wrapped around her pretty little finger. Literally. That became official when I swooped down on one knee two years ago and asked her to spend her forever with me. It was cheesy and romantic and when she gave me an astonished smile and spastic little nod, it nearly split my chest in half in happiness. I'd been faithfully hers before that and have been ever since.

Sunset stripper either fails to notice the titanium band on my left hand or purposefully fails to ignore it as she leans through the window and bats her thick lashes. "Do you have any salads?"

Her balloons are perked on the countertop and as I glance between her macho boyfriend who looks like he's a second away from pummeling me–not like he'd actually fare well in that fight–and her seductive doe eyes, I turn to Chad.

"On second thought, I'm out of here."

He chuckles. "See ya later, man."