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Bend.
           “No names,” I murmured. He pulled his hand away and settled back on the bed, hands under his head. I found my destroyed panties and held them up. “Trash can in the bathroom?”
           He squinted. “Maybe I wanna keep ’em. Like a trophy.”
           I snorted and tossed them at him. “Knock yourself out.” I dragged on my jeans, found my flip flops, and bent over the bed to kiss him one last time.
           In the living room, I slipped my tank top on, then clutched my bra in one hand while I dug for my keys with the other.
           It was cooler out than when I’d come in, but not by much. I got into my car before the urge to stay grew any stronger and drove out of the parking lot.
           I rolled down the window to let the hot air whip through the car. I felt amazing. Like I’d actually sleep well, and in the morning I’d wake up hungry. The sounds of the night grew louder and angrier as I got closer to my apartment, and I ran up the steps and hurried inside, throwing the deadbolt the moment the door was shut.
           Alone, it was easy to come, my fingers a poor substitute for his. I showered off the sex, propped myself up against the cool tile, and remembered what he’d looked like above me, racing for the finish. My broken moan was embarrassing. Almost as embarrassing as how fast I’d gotten myself off.
           Short term solution to a long term problem. But I slept better that night than I had in almost three years.

Chapter Three
           The diner was about half full. Most of the patrons had their food, which was good for Charlie. The cook—you couldn’t call him a chef, not in a place like this—needed the break. His line cook was out, again, and the dishwasher had been conscripted into making salads and other easy shit. Unfortunately, he’d only succeeded in screwing up the orders and was sent back to the dishwasher.
           Charlie took his break leaning against one of the long metal counters, curly hair sticking to his head from the sultry heat. He’d waylaid me with the same question he asked every day. A drink, a meal, a movie, hell, a walk. Anything, anything at all, just to put his poor misbegotten heart at ease. And he did it all in such an over the top fashion I knew he was joking. The ring he carefully placed on his left ring finger when his shift was over cemented it. I took the teasing and horded it. It fueled the spark and made it last a little longer, and I had hope that someday it would catch and burn the forest.
           “Kenny, babydoll, you’re breakin’ my heart here.” His eyes rounded and his mouth drooped at the corners.
           I snorted. “Dude. The puppy dog eyes don’t work on me. I thought we’d been over this.” I grabbed the salad sitting in the order window.
           “Works on everyone else.” He grinned.
           “If by everyone else, you mean your wife, good for you. Because, you know, it should. Would kind of suck otherwise.” I carried the salad out to table five and set it down, flashing a smile at the woman who’d ordered it. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
           I checked on my other tables, refilled water glasses, retrieved another fork for a young mother who’d lost hers when her son decided it would be better on the floor. It was normal. It was spectacular. I felt better than I had in days. Weeks, maybe. I could box up the negativity roiling inside and chain it, lock it down. Keep it from escaping.
           The diner helped some. It reminded me of the old cafe outside San Diego I’d worked at all through college, with its faded Formica tabletops and scuffed linoleum. I felt more comfortable in this worn place than I had in the last bar I’d picked up some shifts in. Gwen, the owner, hadn’t blinked at my hair or the tattoos she could see.
           I wasn’t about to delude myself, though. My mystery