“Youarea stranger. I don’t know you!”
“You absolutely do,” he pushes. “This is a small town, and you’re a local since forever. You introduce yourself every day in monotone to remind me we aren’t friends. But it’s no mystery who we are, why we’re here, and that me and my buddies are cops.”
“Werecops!”
“See?” He lifts a sexy brow and shoots me down. “You know who we are. I’m not your problem, Katrina. I’m not your enemy.”
“You’re a man between the ages of twenty-five and forty-five. That makes you a problem for me.”
“Scared the spiderwebs might fall out the second I undress you?”
I shoot back with a gasp and ball my hand into a fist. I resemble a stunned guppy fish with the way I make the O-shape with my lips. “Who the hell do you think you are? Get out of my booth!”
“Wait.” Instant regret shines in his eyes. “Katrina, I’m sor–”
I grab him by the scruff of his shirt and tug until he takes a hint. The diner is half-full, and their stares feel like a billion halogen lights burning the back of my neck. “Get out of my diner, and don’t come back again.”
“Katrina! I’m sorry.”
“I don’t accept apologies. I accept action, which is something every man between the ages of twenty-five and forty-five lacks. You’re all fat, lazy, stupid, and useless. Congratulations, jerk. You bought your minute, and now you’re on your ass.”
I stand my ground as Eric’s long body unfolds and his eyes blaze high above me. He’s not as broad as his Bishop friends, and he doesn’t appear as dangerous, but it’s all a ruse, a show to make people comfortable. Because the fire burns in his eyes, and the delicate ink that rolls from his upper chest and over the side of his neck ripples when he swallows.
“I’m sorry I mentioned the spiderwebs thing. That was disrespectful.”
“No, that falls under stupid, but it’s okay, I didn’t expect anything more. Men your age are single for a reason:you’ve been tried, you’ve been tested, and you were found lacking.I trust whoever she was, and I promise I don’t feel the urge to tame the untamable man. Your name ain’t George Clooney, and mine isn’t Stupid. Please stop coming in here. You’re barking up the wrong tree, and forcing me to argue with a customer puts my job at risk. Don’t put my grocery money at risk, Eric. It’s not cool, and it’s definitely not cute.”
Turning away from the hurt that blazes in his eyes, I flip my hair back and toss a little more sass to scare him off, then I walk into the kitchen and snatch his order from the board. “Cancel order. Sorry, guys. I’ll pay for this one and fix Franky up for the lost income.”
With shaking hands I work extra hard to ignore, I push into the hall, walk straight into the locker room, and slam it with a cry, because I’m one of those weirdos who gets emotional during high intensity moments. Pressing my back to the door and hunching low, I weave my hands into my hair and breathe through the nausea that rolls in my stomach.
So much for dignity.
Fuck Zeke for calling me today. Fuck him for being a deadbeat who drives the seaboard and knocks women up for fun. He doesn’t spend any time with our son despite my offers over the years. I’ve practically pleaded sometimes when Mac becomes withdrawn. When he sees his best friend with his male figures around to train with at the gym or to run with in the mornings. Mac retreats into his shell when he watches the way the gym family act around their children, because all he has once those gym doors close is an overworked mom and a night of drying silverware before we can escape to our lonely apartment.
Fuck Zeke for turning me into a psycho bitch who can’t even look at a man without freaking out and wanting to rip my own ovaries out with a clothes hanger.
I’ll be damned if I go two for two and get knocked up again.
“Katrina?” A voice I recognize makes me shoot tall and swipe a hand across my cheek. “Hey, psycho, you in there?”
“Oh, God.” I step back when the door pushes open and bumps my ass. Hastily scrubbing my hand over my cheeks, I walk across the small room to open my locker and pretend I’m not crazy.
Meg Montgomery, former Franky’s employee and the closest thing I have to a girlfriend, steps into the dark room with a diaper bag on her shoulder, but no baby in sight. Meg is tall, blonde, perfect, and practically married to the man who helped my son make a heart-shaped jewelry box for my birthday. Meg’s living the life I’d kill for, and my love for her is often overshadowed by my deeply etched jealousy and pettiness. “Pretty sure the whole town just heard you blow up, Blair. Your period coming soon?”
“Shut up!” I yank the scarf from my hair and begin running my comb through to smooth it out. “You don’t get an opinion on my tantrums, Megan. You don’t even work here anymore, and this room is for staff only, so…”
“Oh, Frosty Tits McGee is here to play.” She sets her bag down with a grunt and reaches up to push her hair back. “I guess we get mean mom today, huh? Got something you wanna talk about?”
“Nope. I gotta get back to work.”
“I met Eric before.” Of course she ignores my bad mood and pushes on. “He came to family dinner with Jess and Kane that time. I’m just saying, he was really nice. He was respectful, ate his food without complaining, laughed at Oz’s dumb jokes, and didn’t back down when the guys grilled him. It’s no secret he’s been in town a while, and everyone knows he likes to spend his time here staring at you.”
“Everyone knows that?” I pause halfway through tying my hair into a new ponytail. “Everyone talks about me?”
“Of course everyone talks about you! This is a small town, and he’s single, so you know the girls are gonna try to set him up. Every time they try, he excuses himself to the bathroom. Next thing we know, he’s eating at Franky’s diner. I’m pretty sure he ain’t here to watch the guys cook.”
“He’s hungry.”