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I knew what was going to happen if I ever managed to get closer to him. I’d float in, eyes wide and brain blasting me with warnings about bad ideas and stupid decisions. Each flap of my stupid little wings would bring me closer, until…
Zap.
That’s what he was. He was a trap in a designer suit. A devil with the face of an angel. Oh, and he was the father of my child.
I dug into my pancakes, drizzled another obscene helping of syrup on top of the stack, and chewed. I decided the whole fatherhood thing could be my excuse. I mean, didn’t I have some sort of maternal duty to really give the guy a chance to prove he was more than Lucifer made flesh?
Damon scowled at his waffles.
“You eat them,” I explained, pantomiming what he should do with his knife and fork.
“I ordered chocolate chip waffles.”
I grinned. “Yeah, I know. You child.”
He glared up at me. “These are blueberry.”
“Want to trade or something? I’ll eat them.”
Damon looked at my plate with disgust. In his defense, I had a stack of about eight pancakes in front of me that were swimming in a shallow pool of syrup. I’d also indiscriminately slathered globs of butter here and there.
“No? Then I guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”
He sighed, grabbed his plate, and walked up to the counter.
I waited for the tongue lashing I knew was about to come. I nearly pressed my fingers in my ears and squeezed my eyes shut, but both actions would’ve reduced the speed I could inhale my pancakes, so I didn’t.
I chewed, eyes wide as I watched the impending explosion.
Damon got a young teenage guy’s attention behind the counter. He was too far for me to actually hear what he was saying, but I was surprised when he didn’t start by throwing fists. Instead, he seemed to be talking in a normal voice as he pointed to his plate.
The kid nodded, smiled, and took the plate.
When Damon sat back down, I waited.
“What?” he demanded.
“Were you being polite?”
“I had to wait tables before all this. You can be the biggest ass on the planet and get a pass from me, but people who are rude to customer service workers deserve a special place in hell.”
I grinned. “Wait, so first I find out you hired a homeless man to help him. Now I learn you’re some sort of saint patron of the customer service industry?”
“I tried to tell you. The way I am serves a purpose at work.”
“And what about the fact that you seem to have no interest in women? Does that serve a purpose?”
He paused. “No interest in women?”
I shrugged. “It’s just something I’ve noticed. And there’s a little workplace gossip, too. People say you haven’t really dated or anything in years.”
“People should mind their own business.”
“So what is it?” I knew Damon was trying to get me to stop prying, but I also knew I was going to drive myself crazy if I didn’t get answers soon. “Someone broke your heart and now you are locking it away as a precaution?”
He just stared at me, his sharp jaw ticking as he clenched his teeth and relaxed them. Clench. Relax. Clench.
“Is that it?” I asked. I felt angry. He’d slept with me five years ago. Maybe it didn’t mean anything to him, but it had been damn near impossible for me to forget. He’d given me a daughter, and even if he didn’t know it, the man was a bastard for being so cold and callous. “You’re too scared to get hurt again? Well guess what, people’s feelings get hurt. That’s life. You won’t ever know if someone is right for you if you never put your heart on the line. You’ve got to risk it to make it happy.”
Damon’s calm finally evaporated. “You don’t know the first thing about me. And don’t pretend to lecture me on the finer points of love when you’ve clearly only experienced the failing side of it.”
My stomach went icy. “Excuse me?”
“You have a daughter. The father is gone. Who are you exactly to lecture me on the merits of relationships?”
I briefly considered flipping my plate in his face. Maybe it would’ve been more satisfying to frisbee a half-eaten, sticky pancake at his forehead. Both options would mean wasting my food, so I angrily pulled out a thick stack of napkins from the dispenser. I lifted my pancakes with my bare hands, set them on the napkins, and stood. I almost walked out without saying anything, but I stopped long enough to wave my pancakes at him and glare. “You know? You think this asshole thing is an act or something you use to run your business better. But I think you’ve been pretending so long that it became real.” I took two steps toward the door, then walked back to the table. “And what kind of grown ass man orders chocolate chip waffles? You’re a child, Damon. A child in a confusingly big package, but a child.”
