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I pulled into the parking lot of the local diner, and into a space near the door, not wanting to walk across the empty lot at this time of night. Any other time, it wouldn’t bother me, but my protective instincts kicked in when I was around Lola, something I didn’t want to admit to myself.
The waitress placed us in a booth toward the back and poured us both a coffee while we looked at the menus.
“I’m so hungry,” Lola moaned, scanning her finger over the menu and stopping on one of the pictures. “I think I’m gonna get this.”
I glanced at the menu where she was pointing at a stack of pancakes covered in maple syrup and crispy bacon on the side, and I had to admit, it looked good. We placed our orders and sat in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes.
“So,” Lola started. “Tell me about yourself, Brody.”
I lifted my cup to my lips and leaned back in the booth. “What do you wanna know, Lola?”
She shrugged, grabbing the sugar bottle and spinning it back and forth between her hands. “I dunno…” She flicked her hazel-eyed gaze to me and away again. “What are you doing with Hut and his crew?”
“Why does anyone get in with Hut and his crew?”
“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “Stupid question.” She bit down on her bottom lip again, and I shuffled in my seat, trying to conceal my growing erection. Something so simple had never had such an effect on me, and I was starting to see that becoming a big problem. “I shouldn’t have asked.” Her shoulders slumped, and I couldn’t deal with the sadness emanating from her.
“I grew up on the streets.” I swallowed and placed my cup on the table. “It’s what I’m used to.” There was nothing but honesty spilling from my lips, and I didn’t regret it for a second. There was something about Lola that had me wanting to tell her everything, but I couldn’t—not yet anyway.
“Was it as bad back then as it is now?”
I tilted my head. Twenty years ago, there was a brutality to the streets, gang wars, and hatred spread everywhere. But it was different from how it was today. “I wouldn’t say it was any worse or any better, it was just...different.”
She leaned forward, her forearms pressed against the edge of the table. “Different how?” Her gaze didn’t move off me, firm and demanding, and fuck if I didn’t want to give her what she wanted. She had a pull to her that I couldn’t seem to resist, no matter what I did.
But that was a good thing, wasn’t it? I needed to get close to her to get closer to Hut. It was a plan that had every flaw possible, but I wouldn’t admit that. This was a job, nothing more and nothing less. Now if my body just agreed with that statement, I’d be golden.
“There was an honesty that isn’t there anymore. Now it’s all hearsay and snitches everywhere.” I watched her closely as I said that, trying to get a read on her, but she was oddly still and silent, waiting for me to continue. “The game changes over time, but the end goal is still the same.” I leaned back in the booth and stretched my legs out. “Money and drugs.”
Her nostrils flared as she leaned back in the booth too, her gaze moving off me and over the diner. I’d never been to this place before, but it seemed quiet enough. The bustle of patrons and the smell of bacon wafting in the air reminded me of home. I scrubbed my hand over my face and shook my head, not willing to let myself go there. Not now, and not with Lola sitting opposite me.
Plates were placed in front of us, and I dug in, thankful for the real food. Hut seemed to survive on thin fuckin' air, most likely because all his appetite wanted was another line of snow.
“This is good,” Lola moaned.
My eyes widened as she closed her eyes and relished in the pancakes and syrup. Jesus fuckin' Christ. How the fuck did she manage to look like that because of pancakes? I flicked my gaze down to my meal, wondering if she had something special in hers because we’d ordered the same thing. I shoveled in a forkful of the fluffiness, and yeah, they were good, but not that good.
“I feel like I haven’t eaten all day,” Lola remarked, digging in like she really hadn’t. “The diner I work at has been nonstop.”
“Have you?” I asked, my voice working before my brain kicked in to stop it. She looked up, the fork suspended in mid-air, and frowned. “Eaten, I mean.”
“Oh.” She tilted her head a little, looking at nothing as she thought. “I had a Pop-Tart this morning.”
I slowly chewed on my forkful, staring down at her half a pancake that was left and then at my stack of three. She needed it a damn sight more than I did so I pushed my plate across the table and picked up my cup.
“Huh?” Lola froze. “What are you doing?”
“I’m stuffed,” I told her, taking a huge gulp of the now lukewarm coffee. “You may as well eat it otherwise it’s gonna go to waste.”
Lola’s eyes narrowed, her suspicions raised, but I didn’t give a fuck. She needed to eat, and she wouldn’t get that at home, especially not tonight. “I’m not a charity case,” she ground out, her voice brooking no room for argument. “I don’t need your handouts.”
“Good.” I quirked one side of my lips up. “Because you’re not getting any. They’re just pancakes. Eat them, kid.”
Her lips flattened into a thin line, her eyes lighting up. “Don’t call me that.”
“Call you what?” I shrugged, acting like I had no idea what she meant.
“Kid.” She pulled my plate closer to her. “I’m not a goddamn kid.” She kept her gaze fixed to mine. “I haven’t been a kid since I moved into that shithole.” She loaded her fork with pancake, ran it through the drizzle of syrup, and placed it in her mouth.
