The Reason I Stay (13 page)

And then I see her lips twitch. She’s amused.
Thank God!

I fight a smirk as an idea pops into my mind. I pull my wallet from the side pocket of my cargo shorts, and reach inside the little pocket behind my credit cards.

“Here.” I take a passport-sized photo that’s been in that compartiment for more than a year, and place it over the menu, right next to her fingers. “You can keep it, and gaze hopelessly at it for as long as you like, but get me some food. I’ll have the chicken with a salad, and sweet potatoes.”

She looks down at the photo for a few seconds. Then, she looks back at me, and says, “You suck.”

As she walks away, I see her hand moving to the pocket at the front of her apron. My brows pull together in confusion for a second, but then I see a menu in her other hand.

I lower my eyes to the tabletop. A smile forms on my lips before the now empty spot where the menu and my photo used to be even comes into focus. I have never wanted to kiss anyone more than I want to kiss her in my life.

For the rest of my meal we exchange flirty insults, I pretend not to give a shit about her, and she pretends not to like me. Neither of us is convincing.

After paying for my check—just the meal, since I’m still twenty-three dollars away from having the
no tips
warning removed from my check—I walk to the jukebox, and browse through the selection I’m still getting acquainted with. My lack of knowledge in country music usually makes this decision very hard. Today, however, I know just the song. I flip through the selection until I find it, then I place my quarter in the slot and press B8.

I walk toward the restaurant’s front door as the first chords of Blake Shelton’s “My Eyes” start to play. Before I reach it, I see Lexie looking at me. She’s got a smile that says we finally broke that disliking barrier. From that moment on, all I can think about is seeing her again.

With a wink, I push the door and exit the diner.

B
eing a good waitress is pretty simple. All you have to do is be quick on your feet, pay attention to orders, leave your personal life outside, and be friendly. I’m usually a great waitress, but today, I suck. Instead of being on the floor tending to my patrons, I’m locked in the bathroom for the hundredth time in the past four hours, typing a message to Tanie.

Me: I think I’m going to call in sick tomorrow. I can’t see him anymore.

I press send and lower the toilet cover so I can sit. I don’t close the stall door, though. I don’t want to have too much privacy, since stuffing my face inside the bowl and drowning seems too much like a good option right now.

It honestly feels like my brain left this diner with Mathew. I’ve been trying really hard to keep my mind focused on work, but everything makes me think of him. The songs on the jukebox, the orders I write down, the menus I deliver . . . it’s like everything in this place is connected to a Mathew memory. It’s like I’m tied to him, and I don’t like it.

I also hate that I like him so much. He’s arrogant, way too handsome, obviously rich, and has
trouble
blinking in shinny letters over his head, which is everything I despise in a man. But for some bizarre reason, I do like him. I really, truly do. I also know that whatever this is, it has heartbreak written all over it, which scares me beyond measure.

Since last Sunday, I’ve been doing everything I can to reverse my feelings for him, but all my attempts have been useless, and today’s effort was the one that backfired the most. Every rude phrase that came from his mouth and was countered by the playful gleam in his eyes did more damage than the compliments he gave me when he arrived. And then he chose that song, a romantic and completely inappropriate song—my favorite song, and it’s all I’ve been able to think about since then. Well, that and the photo that’s been burning a hole in my apron since he gave it to me.

I take the photo from my pocket and look at it. His hair is shorter in it, barely touching his jawline, but it’s tucked behind one of his ears, which makes me smile. I hate that I’m turning into this girl. The one who gets flustered and useless because of a man. That girl was my mother and, for the love of all that is holy, I don’t want to turn into her.

My phone beeps, forcing my eyes away from the picture.

Tanie: Stop being a cat. U like him, so what? Invite him to my party.

I laugh at both the use of cat instead of pussy—a word Tanie hates so much she can’t even stand a similar-sounding substitute—and the fact that she actually believes I can just walk up and invite him to be my date at my best friend’s party.

Me: U r a terrible bf.

I’m waiting for Tanie’s reply when the door opens.

Jen stands in the doorway, her brow angled in a very judgmental way. “Seriously? We have a full house, and you’re texting?”

I stuff my phone and the picture in my pocket, and burry my face in my hands. “I know . . . I’m sorry. I’m just really stupid today.”

“So the jury came to a verdict?”

I sigh, and nod. “Yep, but they ruled wrong.”

Jen laughs and turns to the mirror, a tube of lipstick in her hands. She glosses up her lips and turns to me. “Or they didn’t, and you’re just having a bad case of the shitters. ‘Cause he seems to like you as well.”

She walks over, and points the lipstick at me.

“You sound like Tanie.” I take the tube from her. “Is this mine?”

Jen rolls her eyes, and nods. I have to start locking my locker.

“That’s ‘cause we both love you, dork. And we also like him. Now put some of this on. A fresh coat will make you feel like you can take on the world, and let’s go to work. It’s mean to leave Anna alone with all the tables.”

I look at her through narrowed eyes, wondering what the hell she is on, but make my way to the mirror and apply the lipstick to my lips nonetheless. We walk out of the bathroom, and make our way toward the front of the diner. I must have stayed in the bathroom for longer than I’d thought because it went from being relatively empty to being packed. This will be good. I’ll have lots to focus on and no time to think about Mathew.

I scan my section, counting how many tables with patrons I have, and seeing who has food and who doesn’t. I have five tables and a single booth—booth nine. Frozen, I stare unblinking at that blond head seated there, and try to convince myself that it’s not Mathew. It can’t be him. He never comes in twice in the same day.

But then Jen nudges her shoulder against mine, messing with the precarious balance my wobbly legs provide and almost causing me to face plant on the floor. “Oh yeah, forgot to tell ya, but Anna sat you a new a customer.”

I look at her, and I swear to God that she bats her lashes as she stares at Mathew. It makes me laugh, and finally understand the lipstick thing.

“If Jared could see you now, you’d be in deep shit.” I shake my head. Jen pokes her tongue out at me and, not-so-discreetly pushes me in the direction of the booth.

With my insides fluttering with the most annoying butterflies, I walk to toward Mathew. As if he can sense me, his eyes rise from where they’re focused on his phone, meeting mine the moment I come to a stop in front of him.

Despite being completely flustered, I manage to hide it behind a cocked brow. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he greets me with a cheeky smile.

“Hi.”

He chuckles, and although it’s not a mocking chuckle, it still makes me feel silly for the millionth time today. My face heats up with an inevitable blush, which I’m sure he can see. I hate my pale skin for it. But then, his smile broadens, and he says, “Hi,” once again, and I smile because he’s being cute again.

“You’re back?”

He tilts his head. “And that’s good or bad?”

It’s a good thing. A very good thing.

“It depends on why you’re here.”

Mathew’s lips pull sideways in a smirk, and I want to hate the smugness in it but I can’t. I also can’t help but curl my own lips in an idiotic smile. And then, with his eyes locked on mine, he says, “I’m actually here for a date.”

What?!
This doesn’t make any sense, not after this afternoon. I know that I asked him to be an asshole, but we both know I didn’t mean it. At least, I thought we did. Did I imagine the playfulness in his eyes, and he took my words literally? Did I imagine the cuteness in the “hi” thing just now, and he was in fact mocking me? Oh my God, did I get this whole thing wrong?

The air around me ceases to exist. The air inside of me also ceases to exist. My eyes widen with shock and I can’t inhale, or move, or say anything. I’m stunned, and the worst part is that the stupid smirk on his lips doesn’t even falter.

“Okay . . . well,” I start inarticulate and weak. I hate myself. “Let me know when your
date
arrives.”

With those amazing eyes staring deep in mine, he brings a hand up to cup his clean-shaven chin, his index finger falling casually over the lips some bimbo will be kissing tonight. “Will do, Lexie.”

A woman at one of my tables raises her hand, calling me at the same time that his phone rings. I nod and turn to walk to the table as he takes his call. I’m two steps away from him when the words, “Hey, sugar,” come out of his mouth.

I want to vomit. I want to cry. I want to kick him in the nuts. I want to punch my own gut for slacking at work because of this douchebag.

My hands shake as I take the woman’s order and walk back toward the kitchen. Unfortunately, I have to walk by him on my way, and though he winks at me, I also hear him say, “You know I miss you too.”

Jen and our other coworker, Anna, are at the window placing orders. They both look at me with big-ass smiles on their lips that disappear once they see my face.

“What happened?” Jen asks.

I shake my head, and clip the order on the wheel. “I don’t want to talk about it. But one of you needs to handle booth nine.”

Jen’s brows furrow as she looks at me.

Anna turns her narrowed blue eyes from me to Mathew. “I thought there was something happening between y’all.” I shake my head. “‘Kay, I got him. Do I need the bat?” I shake my head again. She walks away, her blond ponytail swaying back and forth.

Jen opens her mouth to ask what’s happening again, but I raise a palm at her. “I just need a minute.”

She looks behind me. Her eyes narrow as she points her chin toward the hallway leading to the bathroom. “Sure.”