Chapter 2
I hear the word “fuck” and I lift my head, and peek out of the tiny window at Stanton. My inner slut sighs out loud when I look at the perfect piece of man. He is tall enough that I have to tilt my head back to look into his eyes when he stands in front of me. I mean, I know it isn’t hard when I’m only five-five, but still, he’s tall. His brown hair is so dark it’s almost black. His eyes are a coppery gold. His face has a five-o‘clock shadow that makes my ovaries sigh right along with my inner slut. His arms have tribal tattoos starting from his forearms and disappear under his short sleeves. His white shirt, under his leather cut, is hugging his arms like it needs the warmth I have imagined his body can provide time and time again.
Stanton has been coming in this diner for almost five months. The first month the man barely spoke enough words to me to take his order. He started to warm up, just as I did. It sometimes is still nerve wracking, but that’s my own personal issues shining through.
His jeans hang loose on his hips, falling over his riding boots. His cut says he is the vice president of The Fallen Angels. That’s something my head tells me to steer clear of, but my wanton inner slut is screaming for me to meet him in a head-on collision course.
I have no idea what his club represents, but if it’s anything like my father’s, then I want nothing to do with it. Even if this piece of sex on legs is a part of it.
I fill up his coffee cup and walk back to the side of the bar where he’s sitting. The diner is a little hole in the wall with a long bar and seven other tables, three of them being booths.
“I’m so sick of hearing this! You call me doing this shit at least once a fucking month. When are you going to realize, you fucking need some goddamn help?” he bellows into the phone.
I don’t know who he’s talking to, but I’d hate to be on the other end of the conversation.
“Well, I ain't bailing you out this time. So, good fucking luck,” he snaps and hits the end button.
“That wasn’t the best goodbye I’ve ever heard before,” I say with an arch to my brow to lighten the mood.
He huffs a laugh and tilts his head back.
Just like my inner slut, I stare at the corded muscles of his neck move as he rolls his head around.
I rub my hand under my mouth just to double check no drool has dribbled down my chin. I’m leaning on my elbows on the bar and I have one hand under my chin.
He raises his head back up and his golden eyes meet mine.
“It’s better than what I really want to say.” He shrugs.
“You should always be honest, not only with yourself, but with your voice, too. Tell ‘em what you really wanna say.” I shrug back.
“I wish it was that easy, Schuy,” he replies while my insides die at the nickname he has given me over the last of couple weeks. I can feel my cheeks getting warm from the endearment. I turn around and start folding silverware in napkins so he won’t notice.
“Why isn’t it that easy? I’m sure people listen to you,” I tell him and glance at him over my shoulder.
“Ha!” he barks out a laugh.
I turn back around and fold my arms across my chest.
“What is so funny about that?” I muse.
“Well, for starters, some people only listen to me because they have no choice. I’m sure your books tell you what vice president means. Only in real life, it’s so much more than that. Yeah, my Prez does a shit ton, but so do I. I’d say our work loads are even. However, people in the club are about the only ones who listen to me.”
I know exactly what his job is in real life; however, I’m not going to tell him that. No fucking thank you. I’ve been here about a year now with no interruptions. I’m not about to let my secret slip now and fuck up my sanctuary.
“Ahh. Busy bee, huh?” I ask and I go back to leaning on the counter with my hand underneath my chin.
“I sound like a whiney little brat, don’t I? I am not living up to my manly biker ways,” he grins while puffing his chest out
“Nah, it's actually refreshing to chat with you. My books are my best friends, but they never talk back.” I smile.
“You ain’t from around here, are ya?” he asks.
I lift my finger and wave it in a side to side motion, and tsk behind my teeth.
“No, no, no. We are not talking about me. I am as closed off as the Great Wall of China. Sorry, Vice, but no dice here.” I shake my head.
“Ahh. Must be lonely in that fortress you have built around yourself.” He raises his eyebrow at me.
My heart thumps as his piercing gaze sees right through me. This isn’t the first conversation we’ve had with him trying to figure out more about me. It used to scare me thinking my father sent him to spy on me. However, my gut never said that, just my paranoia. My gut has always said to trust Stanton. He’s a good one.
“Sometimes being alone is better than reality, Stanton.” I look away. “When you’ve been dealt a hand like mine, you often wonder what you did in a past life to deserve it, ya know?”
“Trust me, angel; I know that all too well.” He laughs bitterly.
Something inside of me breaks. One of my walls doesn’t crack, but shifts back a little. Letting him take one more step before he hits it. He’s not there yet, but if he does, he will have more room to walk.
I angle my head to the side and smile.
“Something tells me that we really are one in the same in some aspects. Something itching at me.” I hear a throat clear and I look over at my other customer and realize he needs a refill. I sigh out loud, wishing he wasn’t here.
As I grab the coffee pot, I hear Stanton’s phone ring again.
“What?” he snaps.
He sounds so darn lovely. I snicker to myself.
“Fuck. Alright. Thanks, Doc.” He flips his phone shut.
“Hey, Schuyler, I gotta go take care of some shit real quick,” he says as his eyes darken.
“Don’t gotta explain yourself to me, Vice,” I smile. “Just be careful.”
“Right.” He shakes his head.
He reaches for his wallet to pay for his coffee and I wave my hand to tell him not to worry about it. But like he always does, he pulls out a twenty-dollar bill and throws it on the counter. I watch like the inner hussy of mine as he walks to the door. His footstep falters and he pauses with his hand on the door handle. He leans his head back and blows out a breath. What in the world is he doing?
He turns his head and his eyes are waging an internal war that makes me want to know everything about him; from his favorite color to his deepest darkest secrets.
“When do you get off work, Schuy?” he asks.
“In about an hour,” I reply without a thought.
“I’ll be back then,” he says and nods at me.
I watch as he opens the door and leaves the diner.
I take a deep breath and wrap my arms around myself, warding off the loneliness that’s trying to creep in the same way it does every time he leaves.
I turn around to my only other customer and ask if I can get him anything else.
As I grab him some napkins and smile wondering what’s going to happen in an hour. I enjoy my shifts when Stanton comes in. He makes me smile, and after not doing that for so long, a simple smile feels huge to me.
However, until then, I’m going to read about the bad boy bikers in my book.