Never ever.
Even if I’m run off my feet and sweating off my makeup, he sits in my section and waits, and if my section is full, he leaves, only to come back thirty minutes later.
Wiping my hands on a towel, I stand behind the short counter and watch the man come in from the dark with eyes that hold secrets and a body that no doubt knows how to hold a woman.
I wouldn’t know. And I definitely don’t dream about his chest late at night when I’m in bed all alone.
He looks to be mid to late-thirties, has dark-blond hair almost always worn under a stupid hat with ear flaps, and heavy combat boots. He watches me, but he doesn’t move until I do. Frowning, because I’ve never seen him so serious before, I slowly turn away and grab up the half-full coffee pot.
As though that was the invitation he needs, Eric drops his chin and makes his way to the same booth he always sits in. He moves stiffly, and then shows his cards when he drops onto the seat and slaps an ice pack on his shoulder with a grunt of pain.
It bothers me that I care about what happened.
Before heading in his direction, I move to the kitchen and put in his order, because I know he’ll ask for a burger and fries. He asks for the specials every time, and after I spend five minutes explaining everything we have, he orders a burger and fries anyway.
Because he likes to waste my time. Or because he likes the sound of my voice.
It’s possibly the first, but hopefully the second.
Giving Stefan my order despite the fact we’re close to closing and the guys thought they were done serving up dinner, I turn away with the coffee pot in my hand and an odd flutter in my stomach.
That right there.Thatshould be my first sign. In the grand scheme of my life, my stomach fluttering should be a massive red flag that demands I turn the hell around and walk away. But I ignore it, just like I ignored the first few times my son fluttered in my stomach when I was a teen and seventeen weeks pregnant. Passing the elderly couple who are finishing up, and giving a wide berth to the other occupied table, I pass the empty booth where my son normally sits and feel the pang of worry that every mother feels when her child isn’t right in front of her.
Mac used to come in here every day and night and watch me while I worked. He’d eat pie, dry the silverware, and slog through his homework while I watched on and didn’t worry about where he was. But he’s getting older now, and as he ages, his social circle is expanding. He’s become friends with some good people, so I allow him to go to the gym with them, then head straight home where he’ll sleep, and I’ll catch up with him in the morning.
This is somewhat of a new routine for us, since it’s only been the last couple months that I trust him to be good without supervision, but good or not, I still only allow it a couple nights a week. I can’t live my life not seeing my baby in the evenings, so even if he’s big enough to cook his own grilled cheese and pour a glass of milk, I ask him to come in here and do his homework. That way I can feed him and press embarrassing kisses to his moppy hair whenever I feel like it.
But tonight is a good night for him not to be here. It’s a good time for him to be independent and not watching my every move as I make my way across the diner and stop once I hit the musky scent of man and trouble.
Every good girl wants to save her bad boy.
Even after all these years, I’m still attracted to the wrong kind of guy. I can smell Eric’s trouble from five miles away. It’s subtle, but something deep in my heart knows it’s there, and if given the chance, I just know that he can hurt me.
“Hello.” My words are but a whisper. A shaky, breathy, pathetic whisper, because it’s almost the middle of the night, and it almost feels like we’re all alone in this diner. “My name’s Katrina, and I’ll be your server tonight.”
He turns in his seat and rearranges the bag on his shoulder with a grunt, though he tries to hide his pain. His light eyes come up and meet mine. One beat. Two. He stares right into my damn soul and brings electricity to my fingertips. He makes me nervous, though I know I shouldn’t be. He makes me want to break my own rules, though I know damn well I put them into place for a reason.
I should tell him we’re closed and to come back another decade, but his stare holds me in place so it truly feels like we’re the only two people awake in the world. I know,I justknowbeing attracted to this man won’t end well for me, but he refuses to let me free… until he doesn’t.
He breaks his spell with a charming grin that makes my stomach flutter and my heart drop. From intense stares to a goofy grin, he gives me whiplash as his eyes literally lighten in the space of a second. “Hi, Katrina, my name’s Eric, and I’ll be your customer today.”
Lame joke.But it helps me remember he’s just a dude who holds no true power over me. Just a guy. Just a penis. Just another customer. “Are you okay?” My eyes are drawn to his hand moving on his shoulder. “Need a fresh pack?”
“Nah, I’m good. Mine’s still frozen, but thanks.”
“What happened?”
Dammit, Katrina!
His lips twitch into the world’s most repressed smirk as he reaches out for the folded newspaper we leave on all the tables and grunts again when he sits back too fast. “I was playing baseball. Copped a foul ball.”
My eyes narrow at his obvious lie. “Um… okay. You want something to eat?”
“I do, thanks.”
“Burger and fries?”
Relaxing into our usual chat, he expels a warm breath and allows his eyes to travel along my body. “What are your specials tonight, Katrina? I’m hungry, but I’m not sure about the burger.”