CHAPTER ONE
JAKE
Every weekday around noon, a dream walked into my life.
I recalled the first time I’d laid eyes on Mr. Dreamy. It had been a rainy and gloomy April day at Marco’s Fresh Market. The customers were agitated from the deluge and the manager on duty was a rude dick. All in all, it had been a typical day in the first few weeks of my new employment.
In came Mr. Dreamy from the rain looking like a million bucks. He’d marched up to me and inquired about the store’s new customer loyalty program, managing to steal my breath with a few short words. His smile was something to die for, the dimples creasing his cheeks as if framing a work of art. I’d pointed him to the service desk, and we’d never spoken again, but I was treated to eye candy Monday through Friday.
Mr. Dreamy was right on time today as he passed through the revolving doors and headed to the salad bar. He was dressed as he normally was—An expensive dress shirt tucked into a pair of dark slacks over polished wingtips. With the onset of autumn, he was sporting a wool coat left open in the front. His hair had grown out a bit since he’d first come in all those months ago, the dark locks curling around his ears. The laptop bag around his shoulder suggested that he was some sort of businessman. A boss judging by the classy wardrobe. He moved with complete confidence as if he commanded swaths of underlings.
If there was anything I could say about my perfect man—besides him being smoking hot—was that he waspredictable. Mr. Dreamy piled his container with lettuce, tomato, and cucumber then topped it off with sunflower seeds and carrots. He always drizzled oil and vinaigrette, and occasionally chose a bag of croutons. He took his time as if he enjoyed assembling hissalad. Maybe he was simply happy to be on lunch break. For a little variety, he sometimes ordered a salmon filet with rice from the grill. Judging by his food choices and the way his clothes fit his frame, he took care of himself.
I sighed as I watched the man I was in love with dally at the salad bar. I didn’t even know his name. I guessed Mr. Dreamy was in his late thirties to early forties, so something like Tom, Jeff, or Michael seemed appropriate. I’d love to have a name to mumble in my bed while I jacked off.
Fuck, Tom, don’t stop. You have such a nice cock, Jeff.Oh, Michael, drill me like one of those porn stars.The possibilities were endless. Of course, I was bashful and didn’t think I could say such things out loud. I was desperate for a boyfriend. A guy like…Mr. Dreamy.
Frustrated and not wanting to throw wood in public, I forced myself to concentrate on what I was doing. Restocking the cheese shelves was an easy but boring task and I’d become somewhat of a pro. Every now and then I erected elaborate towers of wedges. I was glad to have surpassed my first year at the market. It was a decent enough job, one that kept me dry and the discount I got on groceries was the cherry on top. Still, I couldn’t help feeling as if I were stuck in place, as if my life weren’t going anywhere.
My fantasy man was at the checkout counter now, paying for his salad and a bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice. He smiled at the cashier with amazing dimples and took his lunch to the seating area. His usual table in the corner next to the floor to ceiling windows was open and he sat down. What I wouldn’t do to find an excuse to wander over there. Surely, someone had spilled something.
Who was I kidding? I’d run through my head a million different ways to introduce myself but could never find the courage to follow through. Because Marco’s Fresh Market wassituated on the edge of Boystown—the gay mecca of Chicago—it was reasonable to assume Mr. Dreamy batted for my team. But the area was crowded with all kinds of people so I couldn’t be sure. Besides, a man like that was claimed, right?
I filled an apple barrel with sharp cheddar wedges, wishing I weren’t such a wuss. The truth was Mr. Dreamy would never be interested in a guy like me. I might work in a ritzy neighborhood, but I lived in a shack on the west side. I had two-hundred dollars in my account and the best dress shirt I owned was from Banana Republic. We’d have absolutely nothing in common.
I kept an eye on the café as I arranged the cheeses, piling parmesan and Bree. With the thickening lunch crowd, my fantasy man had disappeared behind a wall of bodies. Just as well because I needed to stop obsessing over someone I couldn’t have. When I’d finished stacking cheese, Mr. Dreamy was gone, his table empty.
With a heavy sigh, I went back to work. By the time four o’clock rolled around, I was tired from slinging cheese and working the juicing machine. I clocked out and stopped by the deli to raid the clearance bin of lunch meat. I grabbed a selection of ham, turkey, and salami. A loaf of bread, some cereal bars, and a small jug of fresh apple juice went into my bag.
I dallied for a few minutes in the break room, separating my cache into two neatly-packed bags. Co-workers passed me by, nodding in acknowledgement, but otherwise ignoring me. No one really talked to me beyond the obligatory hello. I had been ecstatic to get this job, hoping it would lead to opportunities aplenty, but I seemed utterly invisible to the world.
I left the store and shivered from an autumn chill. It was getting darker earlier these days, the sun sinking behind the tall buildings, and signaling the onset of winter. Sometimes it felt asif the sun were setting on my life. I zipped up my jacket and took my place at the bus stop like so many other nine-to-fivers.
The ride from the north side to the west corner of the city usually took about an hour in good traffic, most of which I spent fantasizing about all the stuff I wished I could do. I wanted to take some trade classes at the local community college but first I had to earn my GED. I’d failed the reading and writing portion of the test last year and would have to retake it, but I put it off for fear of further failure. I’d always had difficulties with reading and writing. The words got all jumbled up on paper, but my brain had no problem remembering what words sounded like and could easily connect them to their meanings.
I’d promised myself I’d move out of the squalor-boat I currently occupied and into a real apartment, but that seemed impossible with my finances. There were so many things I wanted to do but the leash of corporate America and the crushing boulder of society was strong. Then there was the urge to connect with someone on a romantic level, but my crippling anxiety axed that plan before it could get started.
When I hopped off the bus, it was dark, the streetlights blazing against the blackness of the sky. The cold months always brought a sense of gloom. I had no one to come home to, and no one to celebrate the holidays with. Well, that wasn’t entirely true.
I smiled as I spotted my favorite people inside the local laundromat. Manny and his sister helped their mother do laundry on Fridays, after she got off work. As my next-door neighbors, I got to spend a lot of time with them. Sometimes we even made it a day of doing our laundry together. Maria often invited me over to share a small dinner with her and the kids. I had quickly taken a liking to Manny and his sister Jazmine. The 10-year-old boy was a bright spot in my dull life. I stopped inside the establishment and Manny lit up when he spotted me.
“Hola!” he said jubilantly. “You worked hard today?”
“Just doing the stack and pile.” I held my hand out and the boy gave me a high-five. I ruffled his hair and took a seat next to a folding table. “What’s going on, my man?”
“Same ole’,” Manny said and sat next to me. He play-punched my arm. “Why do you need weights when you have cheese wheels?”
We laughed together and I was glad to have some people in my life. My father had abandoned me when I was a baby and my mother had preferred to spend her time with boyfriends than a needy child. The only one that had given a shit about me was my Aunt Gracie, who had died when I was nine. Having lived most of my childhood in and out of foster homes, it had been hard to make friends.
“How’d you do on that math test?” I asked.
“B plus. It was easy thanks to you, professor.”
“Maybe you’re just smart,” I said and pulled out a grocery bag containing the lunchmeat and cereal bars from my backpack. “Marco’s special of the day.”
“Thanks, amigo,” Manny said.
“Make sure you share with your sister and mom.” Manny’s only parent was a single mother working two jobs and even then, she barely made ends meet. I knew what it was like to grow up hungry and took advantage of my job’s benefits to help them whenever I could. “I have something else for you.”
