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I knew I was working too much that summer, but a divorce and taking over a mortgage alone kept me busy. Memorial Day became the Fourth of July, and what social life I had was spent at a little restaurant in my town.

Tammy waited tables there, the proverbial cute girl between semesters. She was smart, a bit lanky, almost coltish in the skirts they made her wear that teased without revealing.

If I ate at a table, she would serve me. If I ate at the bar, we talked as she got drinks for her tables.

I liked her thin lipped smiles, the tight frame of her body, and the way she brushed wisps of hair over her earlobes.

I found myself waking in the middle of the night and seeing her. It was easy enough to think about her as I jerked off, but even as we flirted more, it was hard to imagine actually bringing her home.

Like everything else in our town, the restaurant closed early. One Saturday night in early August, I was headed for the door as she was untying her apron.

"Another exciting night done," I said.

...

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