Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“Just bring me a BLT with fries on the side,” he orders.
“Got it.” Not exactly the lightest thing we have on the menu, but not the worst either. I turn to go but Charles grabs my hand and pulls me back to the table.
“Wait—I was meaning to ask you, how about I come over tonight? We haven’t had any fun for a while, if you know what I mean.”
He wiggles his eyebrows at me expressively and I suppress a sigh. Yeah, I know what he means—he wants to come over to my house so we can have sex. Only sex with Charles isn’t much fun at all—at least not for me.
To be fair to my boyfriend, sex with any guy isn’t much fun for me—it never has been. It’s not like I was hurt or attacked when I was a child or anything like that, though. It just doesn’t feel right. My body won’t get excited, no matter who I’m with.
I thought for awhile that I was a lesbian, but nope—I’m not attracted to girls either. So I guess I’m just one of those asexuals who doesn’t like sex. I mean, I can tolerate it—which is mostly what I do when I’m with Charles—but I never really enjoy it.
He doesn’t seem to notice, though. He thinks he’s doing everything right and I don’t have the heart to let him know that his kisses leave me cold and I’m just laying there counting the cracks in the ceiling when he’s going to town in the Missionary position.
So I’m not sorry at all to tell him “no” about tonight.
“Sorry, but my brother’s in town,” I tell him. “I’m taking him shopping for some new clothes after work so I’m afraid I can’t have you over tonight.”
“Your brother?” His eyebrows shoot up. “Babe—you mean the one that’s been in prison all this time?”
I wish I hadn’t told him that part of Kane’s story but it’s too late to take it back now.
“Yes, he’s getting his life turned around,” I say and smile. “Look, let me go put in your order or you’ll never get to eat.”
I hurry towards the kitchen window but before I can get there, the bell above the door jingles and a group of three rough-looking men come in. They’re wearing work clothes that are grimy and covered in dust—possibly they work on a road crew somewhere or maybe they’re in construction. The three of them swagger in and look around.
“Hey,” one of them says to me. “You serve anything decent in this joint, sweet thing?”
He seems like the kind of guy who would have those stupid “truck nuts” hanging off the hitch of his pickup but I’m never rude to customers.
“We certainly do,” I say brightly. “Can I get you seated? You can look over the menu and see for yourself.”
“Yeah, okay.” He shrugs and they follow me to table two, right across from Charles.
I get them seated and hand out the menus, promising to come back with ice water in a minute.
“Nah—we don’t want water!” one of them says. “Don’t you have any beer around here?”
“I’m afraid we don’t have a liquor license,” I tell him. “Though we do have kind of a boozy pie on the menu today—it’s made with Kahlua. We call it the ‘Do Me Dirty Pie’.” I add.
“Hmmm, I wouldn’t mind doing you dirty, sweet thing,” the first man says, giving me the eye. “I love a chick with a fat ass!”
I cast a quick look at Charles to see if he’s going to say anything but he’s got his head down, studying his fingernails as though there’s something fascinating about them. Fine, so I’m on my own.
“I don’t appreciate personal remarks,” I say tartly. “Please keep a civil tongue in your head. I’ll be back shortly with your water.”
“I told you, we don’t want no fucking water!” the first man snaps, glaring at me. “What I want is a piece of that fat ass—which is compliment, girly!”
Before I can say anything about how I don’t appreciate “compliments” like that, he reaches out and grabs my ass in one grimy hand, no doubt leaving a mark on my powder blue uniform. Not that it’s my uniform I’m most concerned with at the moment.
“Hey!” I gasp and jump away from him. “That’s it—out!” I point at the front door.
By this time the restaurant has fallen silent. It’s so quiet I can hear the sports radio that Cookie keeps on in the kitchen while he cooks. Everyone is staring at me and the rude men. Well, everyone but Charles, who’s still studying his fingernails like they hold some mysterious secret he needs to decipher.
“Out?” The man’s lip curls in an arrogant sneer. “I don’t think so, sweetheart—you haven’t even served us yet.”
“And I’m not going to!” I snap. “I don’t serve people who lay hands on me. Get out now!”