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She leads us over to a booth, asking us what we would like, and we all ask for a beer with a burger and fries. She nods, her eyes lingering on me for longer than necessary before turning away. Flame shakes his head.
"That one is fucking clingy as fuck."
Axel snorts, "Only for Slicer here. I fucking regretted fucking her the moment my dick hit her cunt two months ago. She fucking stunk.”
We chuckle as I get my phone out, logging the amount on the club accounts that I received when another waitress brings our food out, making Cindy scowl because she's busy with another customer and the owner always says, 'The food mustn't go cold.'
He's a good dude in his fifties who understands people don't like their food sitting in the window for long.
The waitress gives Flame his first, then Axel's, then mine before clearing her throat. I look up a little to see her hands tremble, and I roll my eyes, going back to my phone.
Another woman wants a patched brother.
I started to eat my food while looking through the emails Gunner sent me with the invoices for the bar when the woman spoke, and instantly I paused. The fry halfway to my mouth, my heart in my throat,
"Is uh, there anything else you three need?"
I look up to see who the sultry siren of a voice belongs to, and I instantly swallow my tongue. She's not making eye contact with us, which means my initial assessment was wrong. She's just nervous being around bikers that she's never seen before, but fuck me, she's gorgeous, and innocence radiates from her.
She has curves, but in all the right places; her nails aren't done up like most girls; and she wrings her hands together nervously. She has a heart-shaped face with a buttoned nose just above her kissable lips. Her hair is midnight black, which is up in a messy bun thing that women do, and she has the most mesmerizing bright blue eyes I have ever seen.
Axel clears his throat, clearly trying to get my attention, but I can't look away from her.
Is this what the older generation was talking about? Because damn, I feel like I need to take her into my arms to calm her nerves and protect her.
"No, darling, we're good for now, thanks."
She nods about to leave, but just as she's about to turn, we make eye contact, and fuck me, the spark is igniting; she's fucking mine.
I know it, and by the looks of things, so does she, as her eyes widen a little too, so I know she felt something. Her cheeks redden before she turns around and goes back to the counter, my eyes trailing after her as she helps another family be seated. Her smile is forced; it doesn't reach her eyes, but she's polite and so fucking sweet—too fucking sweet for someone like me—but I'm fucking selfish; I want her; I want to consume her; make her mine.
Flame nudges me, making me look toward him, and I clear my throat.
"You know when the old timers said when you meet the one you'll know?"
They both nod, and I look back towards the waitress who's now delivering drinks to the table where she's seated the family, and I swallow hard.
"She's the one."
I hear them both suck in a breath and look back to the woman as Cindy walks over here. Axel straight away takes her attention from me despite not wanting to go there again.
He knows I’m the one she wants but there’s only one girl I want and I will have her, I’ll make her mine.
It’s just a shame I didn’t fucking handcuff her to me.
Meghan – Age 22 years old
I run around my plain cream room at my parents' house. Class ran later than usual, and I'm going to be late for work if I don't get a move on, which means dodging my parents.
They're Christians and seem to think my life is theirs to control.
That's why I still live at home despite going to college against their wishes, but the full ride I got for Wincher University meant they couldn't stop me.
I only agreed to stay at home instead of in a dorm to keep the peace, even if I hate it here. I was never allowed to paint or decorate my room; I had to wear plain, non-revealing clothes, and I wasn't allowed to date. While I'm under their roof, the dating still stands, not that I have felt anything with anyone anyway.
Maybe I'm broken.
Sometimes I wonder why I put up with the way my parents treat me, why I keep the peace; they haven't exactly been loving over the years; to them, I'm just a pawn to climb higher in the church; it's why they keep me around and why they need me. Shaking my head, I look at the time again: 4:45 p.m., crap. I've got fifteen minutes to get to George's Diner.
