Thrust_Throb (Lost Devils MC #2) - Madison Faye Page 0,3
I yank off the hat and unzip the jacket as I clear my throat.
“You closed?”
She blinks again at the sound of my voice. Yeah, most people aren’t expecting foggy fucking London town to fall out my mouth like Doolittle marbles.
She swallows again though, catching herself and maybe even taking a little breath of relief when it’s clear I’m a customer, not a hatchet killer.
“No.” She frowns. “Well, I mean…”
Yeah, that’s a “no but I feel bad saying it” if I ever heard one. Also, now that I’m in here, I realize that the only lights on are the ones behind the counter. I’m not gonna push it, either. I mean, it’s dark, it’s late, she’s obviously alone here, and I’m a six-foot-three bearded stranger covered in tattoos. I’m about to ask if I can just wait under the diner’s awning outside when she clears her throat and puts the menus down on the counter.
“You can stay,” she says softly. She bites her lip again, and I swear I see a little blush before she shakes it off. “I’m just cleaning up. You want something? I already sent the kitchen crew home, but I’m can do…” she frowns. “Well, I can do like, toast or something?”
My eyes drop, and for the first time, I catch the swirls of tattoo ink coming down one arm from her short sleeve dress down to her elbow.
“You’re closed,” I growl, nodding. “Look, I’ll just wait out—”
Thunder booms, loudly, and the girl barely stifles a shriek as she jumps about a foot off the floor. She does blush then, deeply, and she rolls her eyes awkwardly.
“If you, uh, wanted to stay…” she shrugs. “I could use the company?”
I smile thinly and nod. “I could use the dry.”
She grins and gestures to the 50s-style chrome and Formica diner counter with the space-age looking stools bolted to the floor in a line down it.
“You want something?”
“Nah,” I shake my head and shake off some water before I trudge in squeaky wet boots across the floor. “I’m good.”
“You sure? Coffee or something?”
“I could do coffee.”
She beams. “Sit tight, I gotcha.”
She turns and starts to mess around with the coffee machine, and I almost walk right into a bloody booth with my eyes locked on her. It’s not even a flattering outfit she’s wearing, this little yellow 60s mod-style dress with a white apron and the white sneakers. But fuck me sideways, I can’t look away. She moves almost sensually, reaching up for the coffee filters on the shelf above with a practiced grace that says she’s worked here a while.
The coffee machine bubbles to life as I slump my wet arse onto a stool and shrug my jacket off. I stand again and reach down to peel off my soaked black hoodie. I can feel my long hair come loose when I tug it over my head, and my t-shirt sticks to it like glue and peels off of me as well. I toss the hoodie onto the stool next to me and push my t-shirt back down out of my face. My hands slide into my hair, and I push it back and wrap a tie around it, keeping it in a knot on top of my head. I look up, and the waitress blushes when it’s pretty clear she’s been staring at me.
The coffee machine burbles behind her as we both go quiet.
“Um,” she swallows. “I like your ink.”
“Thanks. Yours too.”
She glances down at her arm and blushes a little. “Oh, thanks.” She whirls quickly, fussing with some stuff on the back shelves. “Cream or sugar?”
“Whiskey if you’ve got it.”
She turns and grins, arching one pretty brow as her soft full lips curl. “I wish,” she giggles.
“Just black is great.”
She nods and reaches up without looking to snag a plain white, chipped mug from the shelf. She pulls the coffee carafe out early from under the drip, pouring me a mug before sliding it back under. She turns and slides it across the counter to me.
“Thanks,” I growl. I glance around at the darkened diner. “This your place?”
“Rosebud?” She smiles and shakes her head. “Nah, I just work here.” She frowns. “A lot,” she follows with a wry smile. She looks up at me again. “You sure you’re not hungry? I’m just going to be closing things down before I leave. I really can get you a piece of toast or something.”
I take a sip of the steaming hot coffee and rake my fingers over my beard.