The Quickie
The Aftercare Platter
Full Moon Special
The 69
The Walk of Shame Breakfast
I cover my mouth with my sleeve. “This is unhinged.”
Ozzy taps the steering wheel. “We’re in Saint Pierce-adjacent. Unhinged is the local currency.”
The speaker crackles. A soft voice drifts out. “Welcome to Moonlight Munchies. You lookin’ to satisfy hunger, loneliness, or both?”
I choke.
Ozzy pauses, deadpan. “Hunger.”
The voice sighs. “Sure. What can I get you?”
Ozzy glances at me, silently offering me the choice. My throat tightens again at that small respect—like I have agency, like I’m not just being dragged from place to place.
I clear my throat and lean toward the window. “I want the Aftercare Platter.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then the voice says, “Solid choice.”
Ozzy’s mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile.
“And can I add chocolate chips to the pancakes?” I ask.
“Absolutely,” the voice replies, like chocolate chips are sacred.
Ozzy leans in. “And I’ll take The Quickie. Three mini-sliders, fries, coke.”
The voice hums approval. “Quickie’s popular tonight.”
Ozzy doesn’t miss a beat. “I bet it is.”
I burst out laughing again, quick and startled. Under different circumstances I’d spend all day here, laughing and loving this place. It’s right up my alley.
Ozzy glances at me, eyes bright. “What?”
“You walked right into it,” I say.
“I did not,” he protests, but his grin says he knows exactly what he did.
“Would you like to super size?” the attendant asks.
“Super size what exactly?” I ask, more to Ozzy than the attendant.
But she answers anyway, “The complimentary dildo. Each order comes with a standard five-to-seven inch dildo, your choice of skin tone. You can upgrade to a six-to-eight inch with a suction cup base. And if you say, “Yes, please,” we’ll make it extra thick for you.
I hold my breath, trying not to laugh. Ozzy looks about the same. Like he’s trying to hold back the laughter as well. He shakes his head.
I can’t help myself. “Super sized, and yes, please.” The words roll off my tongue easily, and I can’t hold back the laughter as Ozzy rolls the SUV forward.
The neon sign reflects in the glass, painting Ozzy’s face pink for a second. It does something unfair to him. Because he’s already gorgeous in that “dangerous man who makes bad decisions look hot” kind of way. And then there’s the mohawk, the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the way his eyes keep tracking me like he’s making sure I’m still here.