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A hostess is right at the front, and Armor tells her it’s just the two of us, so she takes us across the black and white checkerboard floor and over to a red two-person booth. The two of us sit across from one another, and while Armor looks over the menu, I’m stuck looking at the interior of this place. It looks like it hasn’t aged, as if it was plucked from a different era.
“You two know what ya want yet?” A woman comes up with bright-red lipstick, obnoxiously chewing on bubble gum.
I can’t believe she’s asking us this. We literally just sat down a couple of minutes ago. I’m going to give her the benefit of the doubt, but she’s being rude already. “We’ll get two cheeseburgers with all the fixings, plus fries. Two milkshakes. One strawberry and one caramel malt. Two glasses of water would be good too.”
The blonde waitress rolls her eyes. “Jeeze, you want me to kill a cow too? Gosh. I’ll bring it out when I feel like it, all right, buddy?” She gets all sassy with Armor and walks away.
“What in the hell is her problem? I mean, this is her damn job,” I snap, and Armor cracks up laughing.
“Fuck, I didn’t tell you. Did I?”
“Uh, tell me what?”
“This joint, it’s one of them diners where the entire staff is rude to you. They got some killer burgers and fries, but I get a kick out of the attitudes everyone throws on.”
I’ve heard about these places before, but I’ve never, ever thought about going to one. I guess it’s because I tend to get a bit hot-headed when the occasion arises. If Armor didn’t tell me what this place really was, I’m sure I would’ve lost my shit.
“I was this,” I pinch my thumb and my index finger maybe a millimeter apart, “close to losing my shit on her. You realize that, right?”
“Mmm, bet it would’ve been hot.” I’m taken aback by Armor’s remark, but I like it.
“If you say so. Now, tell me something about yourself. I’m a bit curious.”
Over the next fifteen minutes, our food’s brought out to us, and Armor and I talk about our lives and get to learn a bit more about each other. Though, he doesn’t really talk about his childhood. I even told him about the time Hammer left his cleats out in the middle of the living room, and I tripped over them, resulting in me breaking my leg. I thought our mom was going to kill him, but per usual, he got off scot-free. “Come on, you must have some sort of story like that as a kid,” I joke with Armor, but his expression grows serious.
“Not really. My childhood was a bit different. It’s a bit different compared to most people at the club, too.”
“How so?” I inquire, waiting on Armor to tell me something else, but he doesn’t, at least not yet. In fact, I think he might be being a bit reserved when it comes to talking about his childhood.
“I don’t think my childhood was very comparable to other people within the club. Most people were mid to lower class, whereas my family wasn’t. My great-grandfather invented a lot of patents and, in turn, had a very fruitful life because of it. After that, my family kept receiving payouts, making their fortune. Because of it, I went to private school and was given the best of the best.”
“Oh, wow. So, you lived a very privileged life and probably had the best education money could buy.”
“Yeah, I did, but it doesn’t mean my life was all rainbows and butterflies. My parents were hardly around, and when they were—specifically my father—I learned I wanted to be nothing like him. He was callous, rude, and made me feel like I was a damn nuisance to him.”
“What do you mean by callous?” I think everyone has their own definition of what this means, so I’m curious to know what Armor means.
“I watched my father treat my mother like garbage. There was one occurrence I remember better than the rest. I was heading to my father’s study to say goodnight to them like I always did. My mother was in the study with my father, and she asked him about a dinner party her friend was throwing. Looking back now, I think she really wanted him to go with her. She was asking him about it, not in a nagging manner, but one where she was trying to urge him. He backhanded her so hard she hit the ground, then told her he wasn’t going to go.”
I jolt back in my seat, shocked at what Armor’s just told me.
“This is what I mean by not wanting to be a callous man.”
“You couldn’t be one, even if you tried to,” I tell Armor, and he offers me a soft smile, almost as if it’s in thanks.
Over the next few minutes, we change the subject and finish our meal. Armor ends up sharing his milkshake with me, and it’s delicious. I hope we come here again because he’s right, the food is amazing. Armor ends up paying for dinner, and then the two of us leave. I mentioned over dinner how I hadn’t been to a beach ever, and Armor smiled widely.
We rode down CA-1 until we reached Malibu and pulled up to a beach house. Armor presses a button on the bike, and the garage door opens. He pulls the bike inside and then kicks the kickstand down. I get off the bike, and then Armor follows suit. “Is this your house?”
He gives me a curt nod, and I try not to be shocked. He owns a house in Malibu, California . . . right on the damn beach, which has to be millions of dollars. “I don’t overindulge, but the things I spend my money on are homes and bikes. I have a house in Colorado as well, but I haven’t been there in ages. I might as well sell it, but we don’t have to talk about that. It’s time to dip your toes in the water for the first time.” Armor smiles widely, and I follow him into a doorway that leads to his kitchen. Then we walk through his living room to a pair of doors that lead to a deck.
We both take our shoes off and roll up our jeans to our knees, then go out on the deck. The sun’s finally beginning to set, and I’m in awe of the horizon in front of me. It’s a mixture of orange, yellow, pink, purple, and red.
I take a few steps closer to Armor, and his eyes are on the horizon, too, until he glances down at me. “Thank you for bringing me here, Armor. It really means so much to me.”
“Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t even felt the sand or water. Go on,” he ushers me to the stairwell leading down to the beach, and I’m like a kid in a candy store. I rush down the stairs, and the moment my feet hit the sand, I’m taken aback.
The sand is warm yet so mushy. It’s not like the dirt mixture we have out in Montana. The waves are a beautiful soundtrack in the background, and the water washes up on the beach. When it hits my feet, I expect the water to be cold, but it’s actually warm.
