“Well, I should go before Super Curls throws a fit,” Sherridan said, ignoring my customer’s scowl. She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Call me if you change your mind about the twins. They have the cutest, tightest asses ever and if you married one-a twin, not his ass-all of your money troubles would be over.” With that, she was off.

I handed Super Curls the coffee, but didn’t get a thank-you.

“I’ll have a skinny venti vanilla, please,” my next customer said.

“Sugar free?”

His face scrunched in disgust. “I said skinny, not tasteless.”

And so another hour passed unmercifully. I should have chucked my apron and left with Sherridan. “This isn’t what I ordered,” I heard. “Your fingers touched the rim, so I need you to start over and make me a new, uncontaminated drink,” I heard. “You call this an espresso? I’ve had stronger water,” I heard.

Did I complain? Did I mix anyone a swirlie (aka spit in their drink)? No and no! The continued restraint cost me, though. My stomach was a clenched knot of pain. My skin felt too tight against my bones. A tic had developed under my left eye. My back throbbed, and my feet ached-and not from standing too long. I was used to that. The ache was because I hadn’t allowed myself to deliver a few much needed ass beatings.

If I didn’t get Employee of the Week after this… Wait. I decided I’d rather have a break.

When I sent my last customer on her way, I glanced over at Ron, who had stopped watching me long enough to turn his attention to a woman who looked like she’d walked straight out of an X-rated pin-up. She sauntered past him, her red spandex halter top and shorts revealing more T and A than a Penthouse centerfold-not that I’d ever peeked inside one of those magazines (cough, cough). Ron adjusted his belt. I snapped my fingers to gain his attention, but the woman’s thong-clad ass held him enthralled.