Jilted Jock - Rebecca Jenshak Page 0,57
a hotel near her apartment. It was almost ten o’clock at night when the cab pulled up outside her place. I didn’t have a plan, but I needed to be near her. Even if there was six floors and a brick wall between us.
I couldn’t get into the building, but I wasn’t ready to confront her either. I just wanted to see her first. If I saw her and she looked happy, there was still time to tuck tail and go back home.
I shivered, cursing myself for not bringing warmer clothes. It might have been Spring in California, but it still felt like Winter after sundown in New York.
Crossing the street, I went into a diner that smelled of grease and burnt coffee. I took a seat near the window and stared out at her building like it had all the answers.
“Good evening, handsome, can I get you something to drink?” a woman with jet black hair and icy blue eyes asked from the edge of the booth. She was early forties by my best guess, attractive, and totally working the little fifties style waitress outfit she was wearing. The nametag read Flo.
“Just coffee, Flo.”
She smirked. “We’ve got fresh cinnamon rolls.”
My stomach growled. Had I eaten today?
“Sure, bring me one of those.”
She nodded, a pleased smile on her red painted lips.
“Actually, bring me two. No, three.”
Laughing, she rolled away on her skates. Yeah, roller skates. It was a little shot of nostalgia, not that I’d been alive in the fifties, but I’d seen Hilary Duff in that Cinderella movie as a kid, and Flo was a fiery version of that.
I stared across the street at the apartment building. People came and went every few minutes, but no sight of Adele or the boyfriend, I mean fiancé. Chance and the family had probably made it by now, too so I really had no business lurking around. I just needed a glimpse.
“Here you go.” Flo put the mug of coffee in front of me. “Creamer and sugar on the table.”
“Thanks.” I took a sip as it was and glanced out the window again.
I don’t know how long I looked out into the mostly dark street before the smell of cinnamon and sugar made my mouth water. Flo placed a plate with three giant cinnamon rolls in front of me.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“Wet wipes and a second stomach.”
“I think you can handle it,” she said with a snort and rolled off to another table.
She was back about the time I was finishing the second and pushing the plate away. Flo slid into the booth across from me.
“Tell me, should I be concerned that you’ve done nothing but stare out the window to the apartment building across the street?” She lifted a dark brow and pursed her lips. “Are you some sort of international spy?”
“Do I look like an international spy?” I said as I sat back in the booth and rested an arm casually on the table.
“I don’t know. I’ve never met one. You look a little Bond meets Bourne.”
“I think you’re as likely to be a spy as I am, Flo.”
She tilted her head back and laughed. “I like you.” She stood and skated over to the counter, picked up a folded newspaper, and brought it back to the table. “Here. At least try to make it look like you’re a regular customer.”
I glanced around to the other patrons. The people who were alone all had something to occupy them. A woman with a Kindle, a guy with a laptop, another with a paper. I picked up the paper. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually read one. “Thanks.”
Unfolding and opening it, I bypassed local and world news for the Sports section. Then I flipped and stumbled upon a heading that made my heart skip a fucking beat. In Love with an Almost Married Man.
I kept reading. It was some sort of advice column.
Dear Ida,
I’m in love with my engaged coworker. We’ve been working together for almost a year and have become friends. We spend late nights at the office together, we even text about non-work-related things on the weekends. I think he might be interested in me too, but I’m afraid to make a move and ruin our friendship. Should I tell him how I feel before it’s too late?
The Other Woman
Ida’s advice was about what you’d expect. TLDR: don’t make a move and stuff those feelings deep inside. I didn’t like that answer. I considered writing Ida