4
Eric
What’s that thing they say about beautiful women and their ability to swallow a man’s soul from first sight?
What if they’re nothing but strangers who pass in the day; they’re just familiar faces in a small town, but you don’tknoweach other? Does she still have that power to eat you up and promise a world of… I don’t know…something?
And what does it say about a man when heknowsshe’s a succubus, and he knows he’s screwed, that it’ll probably hurt like hell, and it won’t be an easy ride, and yet… he takes his soulagainand offers it up on a platter anyway?
That’s what happened the first time I walked into Franky’s Diner and sat my ass down in search of a burger and quiet. I needed time out; I needed peace for just a moment to help figure out my next move since everything at work was going to shit, but all I got was a front row seat to the dark-haired beauty whose smile lit up a room – or, well, a diner, I guess.
She wore faded blue denim wrapped snug around wide hips, white sneakers on small feet, a black shirt that emphasized her trim waist, and a half-apron that she stuffed a pen, paper, and snacks in.
She wears a bandana more often than not to keep her luscious hair back while she works herself to the bone and serves everyone but herself, then she plops her ass down next to a boy, a teen who looks so much like her, there’s no denying they’re from the same gene pool.
I didn’t understand it, because she sure as hell doesn’t look old enough to have a teen kid, but the matching dark hair and dimples beneath their bottom lips tell a different story. I could have assumed they were siblings, but that was squished within seconds when he called her mom and blew my world open.
I sat in my red and white booth with my hands clasped tight while I watched her sashay a delectable ass across the diner to grab a coffee pot and make a beeline for me. For a single moment, the succubus in her eyes told me lies. She told me she found me irresistible and justhadto come on over because she was as drawn to me as I seemed to be to her, but reality arrived à la pen, paper, and a quiet hello when she took my order with a stiff smile and my eyes remained on her heavy breasts.
Sometimes, when a man has laid his soul out on a platter and inadvertently swallowed his tongue, he forgets his manners.
That was me that first day. Eric DeWhit: manner-less, tactless, not at all smooth, and desperate to take back my first impression and replace it with something suave and irresistible. Unfortunately for me, I’m kind of a dork to most who know me, and I have zero suave bones in my body.
So each time I come back in here, I aim for mysterious instead. And if that isn’t working, I try a lame joke and pray for a smile.
Tonight, with what I suspect might be a broken collarbone, mystery and jokes are tossed to the wayside when the greasy-faced, oily-haired, bad-mannered motherfucker lifts a hand and snaps his fingers like that’s all he has to do to get the beautiful waitress to serve him.
What’s worse is it works.
Smiling and backing away from me, Katrina nods and turns sheepishly. “I’ll get your meal out to you just as soon as it’s ready. And if I remember, I’ll bring you a fresh ice pack.”
“You know where to find me.” One-handed, I snap my newspaper open and pretend to read the back pages, but my eyes and attention remain on Katrina’s ass as she moves away with her coffeepot and an air of dread. She doesn’t want to go to that table, but she goes anyway, as though ignoring him would be a bad move.
I’ve been in this diner enough to know Katrina is kinda the boss around here. It’s not her diner, and the man who owns it sits in his office at the top of the hall writing out her paycheck, but if you asked who was managing the place on a day-to-day basis, the answer would come back that Katrina is in charge.
She’s here every damn day, cleaning the counters when I come in the mornings for coffee, and bussing tables when I come back for dinner. All day, she runs herself ragged formostlyappreciative customers, but this oily fucker sets my teeth on edge the second Katrina’s eyes cloud and her shoulders bow.
Stopping by his table, she forgoes the pen and paper when she asks him what he needs, and instead starts pouring coffee without asking if he wants it. I don’t hear their words, just mumbled “yes” and “no.” His glittery eyes make me think he might be in here sobering up, her jaw grinds when his no’s become louder and louder. Tossing a fast glance over her shoulder, Katrina’s eyes shoot wide when we meet and she realizes I’m watching, then she goes back to him, placing her body in such a way as to shield the dude from my vision.
“Not tonight,” she leans closer and hisses. “Absolutely not.”
My coffee is flavorless as I sip. My newspaper holds no interest as I flip backwards and favor my bad shoulder.
“Zeke! It’s a school night, and he’s already in bed, you can’t–”
My eyes are drawn toward the kitchen when a large cook with an overextended belly stops by the door and folds his arms over his chest. He watches Katrina and thisZekewith a deeply etched scowl and firmly pressed lips. Gripping a spatula in one hand like a weapon, and eagle eyes watching, he draws my attention back to Katrina, but I feel the gun I carry concealed beneath my coat.
I don’t want to shoot a motherfucker at eleven at night in Katrina’s workplace, but it’s there just in case. I’m here just in case.
“Zeke! Absolutely not.” She takes a step back when he tries to take her hand. “He’s in bed, and you have no right to demand–”
“Yes, I fuckin’ do!”
I bound out of my chair the second his hand wraps around her wrist and squeezes. The cook takes a single step forward but stops when I steamroll across the diner and slam my hand over Zeke’s arm and snap him loose. Katrina gasps at my fast movement, but she doesn’t cower away when I step between them and jockey her back. “Problem with your coffee, sir?”
“Get the fuck outta my space. Who is this prick?” Zeke tries to look around me, tries to scowl at Katrina as though he wants his power back, but I move each time she does, blocking her from his sight and gritting my teeth when she bumps my shoulder. “Katrina?” Zeke screeches.
“Eric.” Grabbing my bad arm and yanking, she gives me a second to excuse her accident in my mind, until I realize she’s doing it on purpose. She’s hurting me on purpose, because it’ll move me where she wants me. “Eric, you need to sit down.”