— Working at a diner wasn’t your dream job by far. Going home reeking of fryer grease, old ketchup, and stale coffee wasn’t anyone’s dream.

You’d gotten this job when you were still in high school, just something to make ends meet for the time being. If you’d known you’d still be stuck here nearing four years later, you’d probably never applied in the first place.

The job was terrible per se, more comfortable now that you’ve worked out a routine. In retrospect, there are worse possibilities.

Now in saying that, there was a little sense of relief with every shift— Art. He’s been working as a line cook for longer than you’ve been there, and you’re not entirely sure how your relationship started.

Art’s a bit of a wild card. There’s really no telling what his attitudes gonna be like on certain days: One day he’ll come in and be all over you, sneaking off to his truck when your breaks just so happen to align. But the next? He’s tossing out your order numbers without a spare glance.

God, there’s no way in hell you’d ever put up with his behavior if his pipe game wasn’t downright heavenly.

“Ten ‘till we gotta be back.” Art’s breathlessness reminds you. The current situation is.. not ideal. Your shorts and underwear are moved to the side, his jeans and boxers are hanging around his ankles.

A heavy sheen of fog covers the windows of his beat up truck, and the smell of cigarette smoke radiates off of him, creating a bubble of bliss for the time being.