AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Thirty minutes later, we walked out of his apartment, Lou still carrying one of his white Harrah's casino mugs in her hand, clearly having no intention of giving it back to him.
"You enjoy this," I declared as she raised the mug to her smiling lips as we waited for the elevator because her cup was full nearly to the brim with the sludge-like coffee she had me make, yelling at me to 'man up' and put more scoops in as I made it, and didn't want to spill so much as a drop on the stairs.
"Making grown men nearly pee themselves in fear of little ol' me? Nooo. Not at all."
"Little ol' ya might be the fiercest person I've met outside a ring."
"You fight?" she asked, head whipping over, wanting that little piece of information.
"I used to fight," I corrected, uncomfortable with her having even that much.
"I can't see it," she decided after watching me for a long moment while the elevator doors slid closed.
"No?"
"You're skinny."
"I'm wiry," I corrected.
"You're too laid-back."
"Ain't seen me pissed off."
"What pisses you off?"
Boys in basements.
Bats.
The face of my father.
"Whinin'," I gave her, it being true enough.
"Whining?"
"Can't take that shite," I agreed, nodding. I'd heard too much of it all those years ago, cold in a basement, the smell of must and blood and piss and shite so familiar it was hardly even offensive to my nostrils anymore. The new kids crying for their mamas, their daddies, their fuckin' sheep. It wore on your nerves. Or, at least, it wore on mine. I never did have much sympathy. I guess because I was never shown any.
"Interesting. Unfortunately, I can't test that theory out. I'm not one for whining. Shit happens. Crying about it won't make it any better."
"So, we heading to Abby's place?" I asked as we made our way through the lobby.
"He was lying through his teeth about Abby. I mean, maybe they had a fuck-buddy situation going on in the past, but I would bet my car that Abby wouldn't be caught dead around him now."
"Then why are we leaving?" I asked, pausing at the door, watching the white tufts of fat snow falling lazily from the sky. It was deceptive, that kind of snow, making you think it would just coat the world in a fresh layer of white, looking and smelling fresh, but not making trouble. When in reality, the sky would drop more and more as the hours went on, making you wake up to ten inches you'd have to try to shovel out of without being late for work.
"Because I got this," she declared, pulling a cell out of her pocket with a sly smile. I'd been watching her the whole time, save for when I was scooping grounds into the coffee pot. I hadn't seen it. She was sly as fuck. "Which you can look through while I drive us to the diner."
"What diner?"
"I don't know. But this is Jersey. There's bound to be a diner within five miles," she told me, bleeping the locks on her car, making the thing purr to life from a block away.
"And here I am, riding a fucking bike."
Her lips curved slightly at that. "You'd make a pretty shitty biker if you drove a car."
"True."
"Now less eye-fucking my car, more scrolling through his phone," she demanded, pressing it into my hand before reaching to zip her jacket.
Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting in a window booth, the glass smeared with syrup and jam from sticky little fingers, left there by waitresses who weren't paid enough to wash windows.
"Cheeseburger with fries, curly, and onion rings, mozzarella sticks, and some of that bottomless coffee. You can save the dishwasher one mug though, "she declared, pointing to the cup she brought in. "What about you?" she asked, jerking her chin at me, making the waitress's eyes widen, likely having thought that was for us to share. Apparently, though, Lou could sock away enough food for three men.
"Coffee and pancakes," I told her. "And maybe a wheelbarrow to wheel her arse out of here when she can't walk later," I added, making her eyes light up.
"I can eat all of that and still whip your ass. Careful," Lou warned, shooting me a saccharine smile as she collected the menus to pass off to the waitress.
"Touchy."
"I get called fat often enough as is."
"Ya ain't fat," I shot back, brows low. "Who the fuck would call you fat?" She looked away at that. "Yer boss? The fuck who looks like he'd pass out walking to the end of his driveway to get his mail." I snorted at that. "Ya ain't fat," I told her again in case the first time didn't sink in. "Got a nice big ass, and tits that could make a man cry, but ya ain't fat."
