.. I started taking orders."Burned to a crisp?" I asked. Since I'm a guy, I was expecting at least two not guys to raise a hand for destroyed beef.I got one response ... the biggest, burliest, baddest looking biker-type dude I ever saw said, "Crispy, please. And make it a small one."I picked up a half-pounder with the tongs ... never perforate ... and got a, "Too big." I fumbled around on the platter and snatched up the small flank steak I had planned on cooking for the little girl ... the five foot two inch date of the biker type ... and got a thumbs up. He loaded up a platter ... not a plate ... with veggies and baked ... salted it and began to plow his way through it ... twice.I gave his three minutes and asked, "Well?"No response. Thirty seconds and a flip of the flank."Medium Well?" Two responses and my choices met with approval. The smell of burning meat mixed with the smell of singe."Pink in the middle?" The vast majority responded. Those cuts went on the grill as the flank. I hated that look in New York. But here it fit and I couldn’t stop looking at this figure. I watched as he left the diner, and caught a glimpse of his profile, surely rugged, softened by the twilight. I returned to my room at The Cupid’s Bow and asked Mr. McKay to light a fire in my room’s fireplace. I poured myself a Talisker from the bottle I had wrapped up in a sweater and packed in my suitcase, and drew a hot bath. A series of candles decorated the bathroom, and I lit each one. I took a sip of scotch and it burned my mouth, throat and belly. Climbing into the massive porcelain tub, I felt the steamy water scald my skin. My legs blushed with the heat, as I sunk into the water. My flesh welcomed the hot, comfortably embrace of the waters. I rested my head on a plump white towel, and relished the warmth and the flickering candlelight and the quiet — only the sizzle of the fireplace in the next room and the lapping of water against my body. My hands brushed against my thighs, feeling.
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