The waitress, an older lady with an impressive grey head of hair swept up into a 1960s beehive hairstyle, leaned her knee against the cushion of my seat and snapped a wad of gum in her mouth, “Hey, kids. What can I getcha?”
“Two coffees,” Kade mumbled, “and I need a cheeseburger deluxe.” He looked at me shrugging, “Sorry, I’m hungry. Would you like to eat anything?”
“Actually, a cheeseburger deluxe sounds like heaven, so make that two,” I smiled at the waitress. His eyes continuously scanned the room as the waitress walked away. Then after about three sweeps, his eyes met with mine again. He muttered another apology about being hungry, and held his eyes in a steady unwavering stare with mine.
“Don’t be sorry. I am going to destroy that cheeseburger with my soul, I’m so damn hungry,” I laughed.
Two huge mugs of steaming coffee were placed in front of us and he smiled tightly into the dark liquid as he poured in milk. “So what’s the story with you and Francis?”
Sipping at my coffee, I rolled my eyes, “There’s no story. I explained to him weeks ago, and I seem to have to remind him daily that I don’t want a relationship with him. He has a hard time listening.”
“He’s about as fun as a funeral. And he’s a big dick,” he stated, trying to hide his small smile behind his coffee. “Dating him must be mind-blowing,” he said dryly.
“You know what they say, having a small dick is the leading cause of acting like a big one,” I quipped. He laughed at me and his smile was exhilarating, making me want to hear more. “And we’re not dating. Dating sucks. Relationships suck. There are too many creepers out there.”
“Creepers?”
“Yes,” I said, smiling and winking. “There are all different kinds of creepers too. Let’s see,” I said, tapping my finger against my lips. “There’s the touchy feely, hands-on creeper, the boob-gawking-mouth-drooler creep, the dirty talker creep, oh, or the fetish dude creeper, who stares at your feet during whole conversations. The dominant creeper who likes to victimize, is the worst in my book. There’s the creepy geek freak, who talks Vulcan or quotes Star Wars facts during sex, or the dirty old man creeper. Can’t forget the married creep or the cat guy creeper, or the creep your friend set you up with. There are so many,” I laughed. “My favorite is the online creeper.”
“Online creeper?” he asked, chuckling.
“Yeah. You know, the guy you meet online with an affinity for sending photos of his penis with every contact. For some strange reason, they love sharing pictures of their dicks publicly, like they are trying to promote them, make them famous or something. It’s the equivalent of being a flasher in an overcoat on a train platform. And they’re always trying to sex-message you some God-awful picture of themselves next to a can of soda to boast their size.”
Kade’s shoulders were shaking from his laughter, “What the hell is a sex-message?”
“It’s one of those sex messages that you constantly get from people. Hi. I am so-and-so and I just saw your profile and think you are kind and lovable. I want to be your friend and share my life with you. Here is a photo of me, blah, blah, blah. Do you have any naked pics?” I sipped at my coffee, enjoying the warmth of it. “I’m dead serious, Kade. Just look at sites like Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr, you’ll realize the internet is a veritable sausage fest. Everybody is showing off their dicks these days. Creepers.”
Laughing, Kade asked, “And what kind of creep was Fran?”
“Oh, he was the creep your friend sets you up with, touchy feely, and the cat creep all rolled into one.”
“Must be hard pickings around here for you ladies to lock your ball and chains on someone, if all the eligible men are as creepy as Francis is,” Kade said, reaching for a napkin.
I drew in a deep breath, blew it out dramatically and laughed, “Why do all women constantly get dragged into the same stereotypical group when someone is talking about relationships, and women needing to be married, like it’s a universal constant? Not every woman wants to lock a ball and chain on somebody. It’s like saying that all men actually do think with their dicks.”
Our plates of food were placed in front of us, the smell of delicious greasy diner burger hit my nose like a freight train, and I moaned out loud.
Kade eyes snapped to mine, and a shiver ran down my spine. I just stared like an idiot back at him, holding my burger in both hands above my plate.
“But, men do. Take that moan, for instance. That had me thinking of you spread out over this table in nothing but a pair of black lace panties and your legs wrapped around my neck with those old white Converse still on your feet.” His eyes pierced me and he shrugged his shoulders and smirked.
I froze at the thought, with my mouth just about to take a bite of my burger. “Subtle. Kade. Very subtle. I should give you a taste of your own medicine and go all Harry-Met-Sally on you.”
A few minutes passed by as we both watched each other and ate, listening to the sounds of the kitchen and the wind whipping against the thick glass of the window next to us.
“Tell me about your brother,” Kade whispered, low and cautious.
“What would you like to know?”
“Everything, anything. I don’t know.”
Staring down at my hands, I began unconsciously folding a napkin and playing with its creases. “Michael was my best friend. He was brilliant, a doctor, funny, and was unbeatable at playing pranks on people. Part of me is still holding onto the small hope that everything that happened was a cruel prank, and he’ll just pop up from behind the bushes somewhere laughing his ass off.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips. “I think that’s everybody’s default setting on death. Everybody hopes it was just a big sick joke. But, think about it, why would you want a person you love to be that cruel to you?”
“I wouldn’t care. I’d just give anything for one more of our talks,” I whispered. “Are you and Dylan very close?”
Glancing up at him, I noticed his face was twisted in grief. His brows creased in the middle of his forehead and he rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m not close with anyone.”
“Not even Morgan?”
“Least of all Morgan.”
The waitress leaned across our table, then gathered our emptied plates and poured us more coffee.
“Bree mentioned you both lived in Manhattan. Must have been culture shock coming all the way up here from a big city.”
“Probably just as big as coming here from England. When did your family come to the states?”
He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “I was seventeen.” His expression darkened and I could visibly see his chest tightening. “So what was it like living in a big city growing up?” he said, struggling to think of anything else to talk about.
“My father always worked, and my mother was always busy, so my brother and I pretty much had the entire city as a playroom,” I tried to explain without giving too much information about any personal subjects.
Slipping the check over the table, the waitress winked at me and walked away. Kade grabbed for the check, and I reached into my purse for some cash. When I tried grabbing the check from him to see what to put in, he practically bared his teeth at me and snarled. I watched him leave a hundred dollar bill on the table and he placed his hand on the small of my back and led me to the door.