The Reason I Stay (6 page)

“No baby, you’re a diamond,” Buck—Stooge Number Two—retorts from across the table, and gives me a wink that makes me wish I were blind.

I roll my eyes, place the beer bottle in front of Kyle and move on to the idiot on his left, James—Stooge Number Three. He turns to me and, with a cocky grin on his lips, says, “I don’t know how you ever dated that prick, Lexie, especially after having a piece of this.”

“You’re right. I should have gone lesbian after the spitty mess you were.”

The whole table erupts with laughter and idiotic comments. A renewed sense of urgency to get away from them motivates me to place the last of their order on the table quickly. Between the jackass from yesterday and these dumbasses, I’ve had my yearly quota of this crap.

Without another word, I turn to walk away, hoping I’ll finally have some peace. After one step, Kyle’s voice reaches my ears again. “You’ll always be my sparkle, and I’ll always be your first. And one day you’ll come back to me.”

My blood boils. I turn around and glare at him. It’s hard to say if it’s because of my current bad mood, or the revolting feeling I get at the thought of being with him—or any of them—again, but I almost break my tray on his head. Luckily for my job, a hand touches my shoulder at the right moment.

“Lexie, you have burgers waiting,” Jen, my coworker and friend, says.

On a deep breath, I follow her toward the kitchen and look at the empty window, frowning. “Where’re my burgers?”

“Almost done,” Jimmy yells.

Annoyed, I look at Jen with a crooked brow, but she simply waves me off. “C’mon, Lex, your panties have been in twist all day, and the way you were lookin’ at Ky told me I could be spending my Saturday night paying bail. As much fun as that’d be, I’m working ‘til one, and there’s half-sick boy waiting for me at home with a daddy who has no clue what he’s doing most of the time.”

She rolls her eyes up to the ceiling, and shakes her head. I laugh at her frustration, but I understand it. Since we started working together and became friends four years ago, Jared, her boyfriend, has become a brother to me. But aside from playing ball and butchering meat, the man’s clueless.

“Tanie’s in town. She would have done it,” I tell her.

She pokes her tongue out at me. “Fine, but how about instead of punching your good-for-nothin’ ex and getting fired—and thrown in jail—you go fix the problem with your panties.”

“I have good reasons for the twisted panties, Jen.” She squints with that “really?” expression on her face. I sigh. “I do! I had a shitty day yesterday, I barely slept, got kicked out of my own bed by my damn dog, got yelled at for no reason by the most annoying woman in this town, have been on my feet for nine hours waiting on a bunch of stupid rednecks that think they’re somehow better than me, and, as the frosting on this ass-cake, I’m stuck serving those dickheads. I can’t take them anymore, Jen. I want to set my vagina on fire every time I remember that they’ve been near it.”

“Well, at least you didn’t make it four and sleep with Gary, otherwise your vagina
would
be on fire, and you’d
never
forget them. I hear he has the gift that keeps on givin’.”

I cock a brow.

She sighs animatedly. “Herpes, you know?
That
gift.”

“Ew! Thanks for the visual.”

Giggling, she grabs the hem of her dress and makes a little curtsy. “I’ll be here all night.” Then, her lips curl up in an apologetic smile. “Fine, you get a twisted undies pass, though you should keep your voice down if you want them rednecks to keep tipping you.” Her chestnut ponytail bounces, and she suppresses chuckle. “But still . . . that ain’t the only problem with your panties, sweetie.”

Rookie starts to place my burger order over the small counter under the window, and I focus on relocating all of the items to my tray. I know where this going and I don’t like it, but still, I ask, “And what other problem do they have?”

She cocks a brow. “Well, they have the worst problem of all. They haven’t been removed by a man in a very long time.” Like I knew I would, I regret asking. The feeling increases when I see Rookie looking at me with a cheeky smile that is definitely in the offering-to-help territory. I’m about to tell him to take a hike, when Jen says, “Less dreaming, more burgers.”

I fight a laugh, and turn to stare at her beaming face. I want to fight her accusation, but there’s no point. It really has been forever, and we both know it. I lift my shoulders in defeat, and continue to place the plates on my tray.

She steals a fry from the basket on my tray and stuffs it in her mouth. “Glad you agree, but as I said . . . you could fix that problem, and something tells me I just sat the man for the job at booth nine.”

I steal a glance toward her, and pull my brows together. “Explain.”

“Well . . . first of all, you can’t say no to him. That man could take
my
panties off if he wanted to, and I wouldn’t object. Quite honestly, I’m pretty sure Jared would understand that you don’t just say no to a guy who looks like that.” I laugh, but she ignores me and continues, “Besides, he’s asking for you.”

The moment she says that, a cold chill runs down my spine. Painstakingly slowly, I turn my head toward goddamned booth nine.

The first thing I see is a head of shaggy blond hair. My stomach begins its metaphorical descent, increasing in weight and speed with each familiar feature. A pair of deep blue eyes, and a face so frustratingly gorgeous comes into focus. I’m not fooled by his angelic looks, though. I know the evil that resides in that tall, muscular body. And in that moment, when my already bad day takes a sharp turn toward insufferable, all I can think is,
What the motherfucking fuck?

Jen’s head is bouncing back and forth between looking expectantly at me and swooning at
him
, but I don’t say a word to her. I’m rendered speechless by anger. I’m angry that he’s here, and that my fucking knees are, once more, going weak.

I shove the tray into Jen’s arms, and keep my eyes fixed on
him
as I dart toward the stupid booth number nine. Curious townsfolk are all turning to look at me, I can feel it, but I don’t care. Not this time. The truth of the matter is that I’m not thinking straight, which makes not giving a fuck easy.

In seconds, I come to a stop right in front of him, at the very spot where I told him off yesterday. He looks at me, and his lips—those perfect lips—turn into a smile that would have made my twisted panties drop to the floor if they weren’t bolted to my genitals by undiluted rage. I defy all rules of heterosexuality, in relation to the female populace, by not replying to that smile. Instead, I place my hands on the edges of the table—the exact spot where I found his outrageous and offensive tip.

“What the hell are
you
doing here?” I demand.

His smile drops. He tucks his hair behind his ear, and takes a deep breath. He seems completely thrown off his game, which gives me a slight sense of victory.

“It’s a diner. I’m hungry,” he says, his tone somewhere between annoyed and hopeful. Hopeful about what, I don’t know. Not sure I care to find out, either.

“There are other restaurants in town. I don’t know what you want with me, but I’m in no mood to take your shit today.”

He blinks a few times, and it brings me some pride to know I just took him by complete surprise. My lips turn up slowly in a discreet smile.

Recomposing his expression, he clears his throat. “I asked for you because I want to talk to you. Nicely.”

I choke on a humorless laugh and shake my head. “What could we possibly have to talk about?”

He brings a hand up to rub his forehead, and it looks like he’s about to say something, but doesn’t. Then he closes his eyes, nostrils flaring as he takes several deep breaths. I think about what Jen said regarding him and her panties, which leads to thoughts of how easily I would have, no doubt, let him into mine if our first meeting had been different. The thought annoys and disgusts me.

“Well, call me when you decide what you want. I have to work.” I turn around, but a hand grabs my arm in a solid yet gentle grasp.

“Will you please stop walking away? You did that yesterday and—”

My blood boils over his assumption that he can just touch me, yet there’s no denying that a shock wave travels up from my wrist, where his long fingers are defiantly clasped around, to the middle of my chest. It sets my heart into a frenzy.

Flexing my jaw, I turn my body and direct a glare at the offending hand. “Let go of my arm.”

Immediately, his hand drops. He stares at me, wide eyed. It feels like all of the air inside the diner has vanished, and I’m attempting the impossible task of breathing inside a vacuum chamber.

With closed eyes, I battle to keep my composure. I know I should walk away before he can see how affected I am, but I can’t. It’s as if my feet are glued to the floor, and I hate it. I hate that I met him yesterday, and that he’s here today. But above that, I hate that my heart is going
thump-thump-thump
really fast.

“I’m sorry for grabbing you like that. It was inappropriate,” he says. I open my eyes just in time to see him combing a hand through his hair. “But I
need
five minutes of your time.” The emphasis he puts in the word
need
is strange, and disconcerting, and kind of hot.

I don’t say anything, because I don’t know what to say. A part of me, the one that has endured two days of bad luck and an awful mood, wants to yell profanities at him and send him on his way. But then there’s the “real Lexie” part, the stupid one that thinks everyone deserves a chance to be heard. Loathing that part of me, I stare him in the eyes and let him interpret my silence in whatever way he wants.

He takes it as encouragement to continue speaking, so I listen. “I know I was a jerk to you yesterday. I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s driving me crazy. I can’t sleep. God knows I can’t leave this town feeling as guilty as I feel for the shit I said. And honestly, I hate knowing how much better of a person you are than me. It’s maddening. So just say you’ll forgive me, and we can both go on with our lives and forget this shit ever happened.”

It takes me a few seconds to process his words. In fact, it takes a lot of seconds. With each one that passes, my previous anger escalates higher and higher until I can feel my cheeks burning, and my head pounding faster. At that point, I no longer care about the gossipers listening behind me. I no longer care that I’m working, and that he’s a patron. All I can think about is the anger coursing through me.

I blurt out the first thing that pops into my mind. “What the fuck was that?”

His brows pull together, and I almost feel sorry for how clueless this guy is. He looks genuinely confused. But then he opens his trap again, and I get over it.

“It was an apology. I feel bad for taking my frustration out on you yesterday, so I came back for you to forgive me.”

We stare at each other for a moment. My body still tingles with anger, but the feeling is lessening. I can see he’s waiting for a reply, and I try to think of something, anything, but for the life of me I can’t.

I shake my head and take a step away from the table. “I have to go.”

“Lexie,” he calls after me, but I don’t care. I walk toward the corridor leading to the back room.

He calls me again, his tone more forceful this time, demanding, but I don’t acknowledge him. I just can’t. Through my peripheral, I see him getting up from his seat and walking after me. It makes me even angrier.

“Do you mind?” I ask him once we both reach the corridor. “My shift is over, and I have to go. I’ll send a waitress to your table.”

He releases an aggravated breath. “I don’t want another waitress. I don’t even want food. Just say you’ll forgive me,” he demands.

Annoyed out of my mind, I look him smack in the eyes. Blood rises up my neck and fills cheeks for the millionth time since he entered The Jukebox, but I’m determined not to let that stop me.

“Look . . .” I trail off, because I don’t know his name. “You are rude, inconsiderate, annoying, conceited and you managed to fuck up two of my days, which is inexcusable. Despite all of that, and against my better judgment, I heard what you had to say. But that was a shitty-ass apology.”

His face turns a deep red, with anger no doubt. His eyes seem like they’re going to pop out of their sockets, but I don’t let that stop me. He’s started it, and for the love of God and fried okra, I’m going to finish it. His mouth opens, and I raise an open palm to let him know I’m not finished. That hand soon turns into a pointed index finger.

“You say you want forgiveness, but your entire speech was about you. How
you
need me to forgive you. How
you
can’t sleep. How
you
can’t leave this town. You, you, you. So I might as well add selfish to the list of things you are, because we both know that
I
was the one offended here, and never once did you ask if
I
got upset. Not once did you ask if
I
lost sleep. Not once did you ask if you could do anything to make
me
feel better about
your
mistake. All you want is for me to give you peace of mind so you can go back to your playboy life, and as much as you may not believe it, I have better things to do than to care about what you need.”