"The thing is," I said, "I really didn't want to with him. I wanted to in general."
This explanation probably did not reduce my whore-like profile.
"Anyway," I blathered on stupidly, "now I'm sort of sorry I did it, because he's nuts." John nodded. "Domestic."
Chapter 9
John held me with the dark look. Part of me wanted to embrace the dark look, chase it wherever it went, on the off chance I could convert it to my side. The rest of me wanted to dodge the dark look. I glanced around at the empty booths: butterfly table, cowboy boot table, Liberace table. I wished I could see the grill from here. I wondered how close our food was to being ready. Anything to distract him. And me.
"He's not your type," John said.
I looked back at John. "Of course he's my type. I won't make it to thirty, either."
He stared at me for a few seconds more, then blinked. "Not Eric. I meant Will."
"Will! Billingsley? Where are you getting this? McDonald's?"
He breathed deeply. Deeply enough that I thought he might have been holding his breath while he waited for my response. His shoulders lowered, and he seemed to relax a little. "Okay, maybe there wasn't anything going on between you two at McDonald's—"
"He pulled my hair, John."
"—but I wanted to make sure you knew what a nice guy he is."
"And therefore not my type, huh?" God, how whore-like did John think I was? "I could try an experiment with a nice guy. I could teach him a thing or two."
His shoulders tensed again. "He's a nice guy, and he would fall in love with you, and you would break his heart."
I leaned forward until my boobs sat on the table like a set of oversize salt and pepper shakers. The tit table. "Just as well. I prefer boys to teach me rather than the other way around."
His dark look flicked to my boobs ever so briefly. Then his eyes met mine again. "It's spring break. School's out." He sipped his coffee like an adult.
I sipped my own coffee and studied him. The stubborn set to his jaw. The way he glanced toward the windows every few seconds to check for danger.
I knew what he was thinking. He wasn't really jealous, but it came out that way. We were a boy and a girl riding around at night together, and he didn't have any other distractions. He didn't want to date me. He was just interested in me, for lack of anything better to do. Because he was lonely. And because I'd given him a jump start the first night at the bridge by reminding him of the dead girl. There ought to be a Hallmark card for this.
"I would never date Will, even if he wasn't a nice guy," I said truthfully. "It was fun to flirt with him, but everyone knows he's like that with everybody. He makes people feel good about themselves. He's also one of those drama club types who says very funny things very loudly with large gestures, like he wants people to look at him."
John's brow knitted. "You're describing yourself."
"What?"
"That's why you don't like him."
"I'm not describing myself."
He smiled. "Don't tell me you don't want people to look at you. And you probably have lots of friends. You're charismatic."
"Charismatic," I acknowledged, "and kind of a bitch. I don't have any friends because I've pissed them all off. I stand people up."
His brow knitted again. "Why?"
"Oh.. .Boys ask me on dates, or girls ask me on girl outings. And it sounds like fun, and I want to go. But then, when it comes right down to it, I can't go through with it. I hate plans. I feel..." I searched for the word. "Handcuffed." I shuddered.
"Handcuffed to the plan?"
"To the other person."
"How do you date Eric, then?"
"We don't date."
"Right." John nodded. "You just screw." Okay, that was too far. "John—" He opened his hands on the table. "How are you ever going to have a relationship?" "I guess I'll be alone."
I could almost see the wheels turning behind his dark eyes, processing this information, looking for a hole in the theory. "You've shown up in time for my shift both nights so far," he pointed out.
"Yeah, and it's taken a couple of years off my life."
"You planned to go to Miami for spring break."
I smiled sweetly at him. "Thanks for bringing that up. Yeah, I planned to go, which involved meeting the bus at a certain time. But I didn't plan to hang out with a certain person or do a certain thing once I got there. I was wide open."
He forgot and rubbed his hand on the short hair at the back of his head. Then he remembered and put his hand down. "You're friends with Tiffany."
And thanks for bringing her up. "Not really."
"Weren't you talking with her on the phone last night? In the vehicle?"
"She's the only person I knew who was awake then." This was inaccurate, since even Tiffany and the paramedics had been asleep when I called. "But I'll let you in on one plan I've already made. I'm going to Rashad's party Saturday night."
He bit his bottom lip.
"And while I'm there, maybe you could ride around on patrol with Tiffany. You seem to get along really well with her."
We both backed away from the table as Purcell reached between us with tattooed arms, setting down our plates. I hadn't realized how far forward we'd both been leaning.
"Tiffany is cute," John called from the other side of the booth, which seemed like yelling across the Grand Canyon in comparison with how we'd talked before. "She's nice. Not sexy, if that's what you're insinuating."
I wanted to inform Officer After that I was not insinuating a damn thing about Tiffany. I was fishing for information about myself alone.
And now I wondered if he was insinuating that I was not cute, that I was not nice. Which I had gathered. Or that I was sexy.
Oh hell, what was the matter with me? He wasn't even looking at me. He was wolfing down his lunch.
I picked up my fork. "Why don't you ask for the night off so you can go to the party?"
He glanced up from his food. "I can't ask off to go to a college party."
"Why not?"
"People ask off to go to their wife's high school reunion or their son's wedding. They don't ask off to go to a college party."
"They're not nineteen years old. Everyone should be able to ask off for what's important to them." I gestured to his plate. "Whatcha got there? Steak and eggs with steamed vegetables? Very healthy. Protein and vitamins, a runner's meal. All it needs is a smoke. Too bad you've already had your nightly cigarette."
He half smiled at me, showing one dimple. "What have you got?"
"The Meg Special."
"Eggs?"
"Sort of a Tex-Mex omelet. The Meg Special is different every day." I took a bite, chewed, and desperately needed to spit it out. I swallowed it and washed it down with coffee, which didn't really help.
"Tasty?" John asked. "A little hot," I croaked. "Need some water?"
"I can't ask for water," I whispered. "I have to be careful how I fix this. If I piss Purcell off, God knows what he'll serve to people for the rest of the night." I motioned to Purcell, and he walked over from the grill. I smiled. "How much cayenne you using?"
"A half."
My Lord, half a teaspoon of cayenne pepper in two eggs. No wonder. "I like it, but it may be too spicy for the clientele. Let's try an eighth."
Purcell nodded curtly and started to turn away.
"Water, please," John called. He muttered to me, "Thirsty tonight."
Purcell brought John a glass of water. When Purcell went back to the grill, John nodded to the glass.
Watching Purcell out of the corner of my eye, I drank half the glass and slid it back to John. "Thanks," I breathed.
"Experimenting on the customers?"
"I told him an eighth before I left. He just forgot."
"Why don't you write it down?"
"He can't read." I took a huge bite of egg to get rid of it more quickly, then a swig of coffee and another long drink of John's water. "I try to work with him because he's a good employee. Shows up. My parents don't understand this."
"Are you going to stay here after high school and run the restaurant with them?' John took a bite of his blessedly mild food.
I laughed. "Hell no. I'm gone the night of June seventh, after graduation. I'm not even staying around for the party. And that's saying a lot, for me to pass up a party."
He swallowed. "You know this town so well. Better than I do, even. This place is yours. That's a really good reason to stay."
Funny, I'd never felt claustrophobic at the Elvis table before. I looked around the diner. Maybe it was the jukebox, humming low as it did when no one put in a quarter for a song. Maybe the low hum made me nervous.
But my gaze came to rest on John, and I knew he was making me nervous. Chatting to me like he was talking to a dead girl. Trying to trap me here.
I said quickly, "It's a better reason to leave."
"You don't feel any loyalty to your parents? Don't you want to stay here and help them out?"
"I've helped them out plenty. They make me work here, and they don't pay me. It's basically slave labor. Kind of like following you around."
He went back to eating like my snark didn't concern him. But he looked hurt. Those worry lines appeared between his eyebrows. I couldn't resist him when a little bit of boy showed through the tough exterior.
I lowered my voice. "They don't need my help. They just pretend to need my help so they can keep me close. They're overprotective. It'll drive you crazy. It honestly will."
"Overprotective, why?" he asked without looking up from his plate. "Only child?"
"Beats me. Anyway, they say they need me, but they don't. They'll hire somebody, just like they hired people to fill in this week while they're out of town." I took my last hell-bite.
"What if you leave and they go out of business? Won't you feel like it's your fault? Oh." He put down his fork. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"It's the pepper, John." I drained his water, then sniffed and dabbed at my eyes with a paper napkin from the holder. "Of course I won't feel like it's my fault. It's the biggest kindness I can do them. If they can't run a restaurant by themselves, they need to go back to selling vinyl siding. I can't do it for them. We'd always be dependent on each other and always unhappy, feeling pressured and letting each other down."
"Mmph. What are you going to do when you grow up, then?"
I glared at him. "Nice. I got a tuition scholarship to UAB."
He put his fork down again. " You? Got a scholarship?
"It's not a scholarship for good grades," I assured him. "It's a scholarship for having two loser parents who can hardly keep a diner out of bankruptcy."
"For a needs-based scholarship, you still have to make good grades." He sat back and stared at me like he'd never seen a blue-haired girl before. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone."
"Ha."
"Rut how are you going to pay for the rest of it? Room and board?"
"I'll find a job. Rent a cheap apartment on the Southside with a roommate or two."
He nodded. "Tiffany."
"I hadn't thought about it," I said. "That would involve planning and commitment."
"Right." He continued to look at me very seriously. "What are you going to major in?"
"Management, so I can run hotels and restaurants."
He laughed.
"What the hell's so funny? I enjoy doing this. I just don't want to do it here."
He laughed harder. "I'm sorry. I just can't imagine you managing anything." He kept laughing until he looked up and saw my face. "What."
“I’ve been keeping the books for this place since I was eleven years old." With a few months off when I was thirteen.
"Well, how was I supposed to know—"
"I just sat here and told you I got a scholarship to the university, and you act like I'm At Risk."
"If you would just tell me this stuff in the first place—"
"Why should I? I never intended to wow you with my credentials. You're the one who set out on this quest to save the children."
He drew himself up in his seat to look more threatening. "You would think someone in your position, in as much trouble as you're in, would try to make a better impression on the police."
"You would think." I couldn't remember why I'd had a crush on this ass. "In fact, I managed just fine until you showed up at that bridge."
He gaped at me in disbelief. I felt myself cringe under that dark, hard gaze. "Meg, you were drunk, stoned, letting Eric Wexler feel you up, and five minutes from getting hit by a train."
I rolled my eyes. "I suppose I should point out to you yet again that I did not get hit by a train. I made a mistake. If I turn in my proposal to the Powers That Be, everything will work out fine. I think you're scared to live life, and you're putting that on me."
"Just the opposite. You feel guilty for planning to leave town. You're trying to turn it around and make me feel like an idiot for staying."