Page 75 of Waiting Game

September’s payment is looming and I was two weeks late for paying August’s.

My stress levels are through the fucking roof, but Chuck’s is still going—that’s all that matters.

If the fall season doesn’t pick up, I know Chuck’s will have to diversify into being a generic sports bar, not one that focuses on baseball.

I’ve also got some ideas for using a microbrewery that’s super popular in Jersey—Satan’s Sinners. IPAs are all the rage and because my uncle was old-school, IPA was a dirty word to him.

Still, it’s adapt and evolve or die, and I didn’t use the lot this bar sits on as collateral on an almost seven-figure loan to lose it to some predatory bank that literally only gave me the money because they’re sure I’ll default.

Dumping the books on the counter, I stand there a couple seconds, trying to come up with something weird that’ll catch people’s eye online.

I was sucking off a wolf dildo last night when I thought a burger made with donuts might take on a life of its own, but a brief Google search told me donut burgers have been done to death.

Still, I have to eat here because I can’t afford personal groceries and I know the boys in the kitchen will make this for my dinner so I can sample it then.

I doodle a donut sliced in two and stack it with bacon, cheese, and a burger, then I proceed to cover it with melty cheese. I stick a little toothpick with a US flag on top and draw some sprinkles.

Just the thought of the look on Larry’s face as he decorates a burger with sprinkles is enough to make this attempt worthwhile.

Leaving that on the side as a guide, I lock up once I’ve collected my other stuff and walk home with the donut burger on my mind.

I’m thinking about it even as I feed the cats and pick up Cupid to coax her into eating a new, expensive-as-fuck pill she’s on for the arthritis in her back leg.

I’m thinking about it as I shut myself in the bedroom, close the shades, switch on the rainbow strip lights, and get changed into my ‘uniform.’

By the time I’m logging into my profile, I’ve come up with nothing fresh, then I seeCalKoris online and I hide a grin.

He’s become more regular than regular over the summer.

If I don’t speak to him twice a day, that’s unusual and, simply put, it’s a relief because I only made August’s payment, two weeks late or not, thanks to him.

Knowing what he likes, annoying or not, I quickly grab a pair of short shorts and the T-shirt I took off then drag them on.

“Hey, hey. How are you today?” I chirp once, pink-cheeked from dressing quickly, I’ve logged on and accepted him into my room.

CalKor: You look beautiful.

“Aww, thanks, Kor.” For whatever reason, he hates it when I call himCalKor. Twisting around, I shove my ass in the camera and wiggle it. “I remembered.”

CalKor: Good girl.

It’s dumb to get turned on by one of my patrons, but hell if he doesn’t know the shit that gets me hot and bothered.

A ding sounds on the screen.

I peer over my shoulder and see he’s given me a fifty-dollar tip.

CalKor: A little ‘thank you’ for remembering.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I argue, stacking my hands on my hips. “You already pay enough as it is.”

CalKor: You’re not supposed to complain when it’s a ‘thank you.’ We had a rule.

“Some rule,” I grouse. “Obviously they’re made to be broken with you.”

CalKor: :P

CalKor: Sometimes. Apart from the ones that stop me from showing you how much I appreciate you.

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