The Reason I Stay (12 page)

“What?” she asks.

“Is that a nervous thing?” I tap my own index finger and repeat her question from yesterday.

I don’t know if it’s from nerves or not, but she laughs a really dorky laugh. It has snorts and all, and although ridiculous, the sound does weird things to my face—overly wide smile kind of weird.

When she stops laughing, she shakes her head. “No, it’s a Lexie’s thinking thing.”

“And what is Lexie thinking about?”

She fidgets. “Wondering why—other than seeing the light of your life, Judith—you came back here.”

Shit!
Is the first and only thing in my mind. I have no idea what to reply.

I can’t say the real reason I’m here. That would be too much information, even if she hadn’t admitted to disliking me a little less. But I also don’t want to say something stupid and give her the impression that she has nothing to do with me being here.

“I was honestly hungry and I can’t stand to eat cup noodles anymore. Also, I don’t know any other places to eat here in Jolene.” There. It’s true and noncommittal.

And judging by the crease forming in her brow, not the right answer at all.
Shit!

“Okay. But why are you still
here
? In Jolene? I thought that after our
talk
yesterday, you’d be long gone, running like the wind toward anywhere else.”

I swallow the dry lump that formed in my throat. Despite the slight frown on her face, there’s no animosity in that question. Quite the opposite, actually—her tone was flirty and friendly, which confuses and thrills me.

“So did I.” And that’s the most honest to God reply I can give her.

She taps her nail. I tuck my hair behind my ear.

“So you’re staying?”

“Guess I am.” I don’t elaborate that I’ll stay until Dennis allows me back home. She doesn’t need to know that. Besides, that information could take away the smile that just formed on her lips, and that’s something I strongly don’t want to happen.

“Why?”

“Reasons.”
Which I’m not sharing with you for all the fire in hell.

She narrows her eyes. “Would you like to share them?”

I take a swig of my beer to hide my smile, but I don’t reply.

“Fine. Enjoy your food.”

“Thanks, Lexie.”

She turns around and walks away. With my heart pounding, I dig into my twenty-five minute fried fish—which is crispy and totally worth the wait. I look a lot less at her while I eat, but I notice that her eyes keep trailing back to me, and whenever our gazes meet we both try to hide our smiles.

Once I’m done, she takes my plate, and asks if that’s all. I say yes, and minutes later she comes back with my check and a smug smirk on her lips. She doesn’t say anything, just places the bill on the table and walks away.

I look down at the white strip of paper, and the first thing I see are words scribbled in red marker.

I can’t help but to laugh. Without a pen on me, I turn around and ask the old lady sitting behind me if she has one. Luckily, she does. I calculate how much I should allocate from my previous tip to this bill, and scribble my reply on the bottom of the ticket.

I place the payment on top of the paper, return the pen to the old lady and make my way to the jukebox.

I browse through the selection until I find a song called “Find Yourself” by Brad Paisley. It’s not a song I had ever heard until today, but the lyrics seem very appropriate, considering our earlier conversation.

With the quarter in, I push the buttons and walk away. When I reach the door, I see her collecting my payment, singing and smiling. And though devoid of all logic, the decision to stay in this forsaken piece of coast becomes the best decision I’ve ever made.

My days in Jolene follow a pattern. I wake up, have breakfast at the Inn, exercise, and take a shower. Then, at around three p.m., I head over to The Jukebox for a late lunch.

Lexie greets me at the door, and leads the way to my usual booth. We take advantage of the emptiness of the diner to talk and tease each other during my entire meal. She taps her finger and smiles, and I tuck my hair and wink. She scribbles warnings against me leaving tips, and I scribble
see you tomorrow
and how much she should deduct from my tips balance. Then I walk to the jukebox and pick a song for her. It’s my favorite part of the day.

The afternoon activities are varied, and not important. They are just time fillers that keep me from going back to The Jukebox and setting up camp.

It’s a nice little routine that keeps all thoughts of home away from my mind, and despite how new it is, I’m completely addicted to it.

It’s exactly eight past three p.m. when I walk through the doors of The Jukebox on Thursday. Like she’s done all week, Lexie welcomes me at the door, a crooked smile and a smart-ass greeting on her lips. But that’s where the similarities to the other days end.

Instead of having her hair up in a knot, it falls down her shoulders and back in golden waves. Her lips are glossed with a red tint that makes every soft curve that much more perfect and tempting to my eager lips. Every day she’s beautiful, but today in particular she’s breathtaking.

“Quit looking at me like that.”

Am I gawking? I think I am. Oh fuck . . . What’s this girl doing to me?

I rake a hand through my hair and shrug. “Can’t. You look really good today.”

Those red lips dance on her face, forcing me to stick both hands in my pockets in order to one, keep from touching her; and two, hide the very inconvenient action happening inside my shorts. I’ve honestly fallen to a new low if a smile can get me all riled up like this.

She raises a brow and walks backwards, looking at me while she leads the way to my booth. “Did I look bad the other days?”

A part of me hates that she’s being smoother than me, but another loves that she’s flirting.

I shake my head. “No.”

“Then why the surprise?”

We stop beside my table. She places the menu over the surface, and leans against the edge of the wood. Instead of taking my seat, I stand right in front of her.

“I’m not surprised.”

She blushes and stares at me, eyes wide and unblinking, as if she’s expecting me to say something else. She looks even prettier that way, and my hands can no longer remain in my pockets. They need to touch her.

I bring my right hand up to her silky hair, and tuck a lock that is at the side of her face behind her ear. She’s wearing a silver earring with a teardrop-shaped turquoise; it makes her eyes look greener than usual. I gently touch the cold rock with my fingers before sliding them through her soft hair. After last Saturday, I half expect her to recoil, but she doesn’t. She stands almost motionless, the rising and falling of her chest the only movement noticeable. My eyes never drift directly to her chest, but it’s not without conscious effort. Especially seeing how much my touch is affecting her. It appears as though the action of breathing is no longer automatic to her, but forced and clipped, heavy and exaggerated with no real pattern. The corner of my lips curls in a suppressed smile.

Suddenly, Lexie peels her eyes from mine, and steals a look over her shoulder at the empty restaurant. I follow her gaze, and see that the only people watching are a couple of waitresses standing by the corner of the diner. They are eyeing us funny, holding hands and whispering to each other.

“Mathew.”

I turn to look at her. There’s a weird mixture of emotions in her expression. Her lips are turned into a side smile while her brows are slightly frowned. “You should really go back to being a jerk, before I stop disliking you.”

The words confuse me for a second. In the next it sinks in and . . . Hell NO!

I cock a brow, and pull my lips in a smug smirk. “Are you sure about that? Liking me could be really good, Lexie.”

“I doubt it. I’m sure it’d be all kinds of bad.”

That reply makes me want to throw her over the table beside us, and kiss her until she’s begging me to take her home. Her stubbornness is almost as sexy as her red lips. Almost.

“That’s usually better.” I add a wink to the end of the sentence to drive the point further.

Blood fill her cheeks, and if she were any other girl there would be some eyelash batting and hair flipping happening. She’d stick out her tits, and bite her lips. But Lexie isn’t any girl. And I love it.

She rolls her eyes, like I’m being difficult and she’s done with it. “Will you just be a jerk?”

I lift my shoulders. “Some would say I am being one.”

“You’re being a cute jerk. Be a
jerk
jerk, like an asshole.” I smile at the word
cute
. It’s my least favorite compliment, but the only one I seem to get from her, which means it’s starting to grow on me.

“You’re sure?” I ask, a laugh threatening to break free.

She nods.

I push away from the table, and turn around to take a seat. “Good. So now take your ass from my table. I plan to eat here as soon as you decide to stop this ridiculous flirting, which I no longer have any interest for, and start doing your job.”

Compared to the things I said to her before, this is mild, but those words roll off of my lips with such ease and conviction that I could convince myself they are true. We stare in silence at each other long enough to make me regret saying them, and even coming here. For her sake, I keep my face expressionless.