Lucky's Charms

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Gemma’s POV

A man dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, wearing it like armor is sitting in my corner. Damn, he's taking up my favorite spot. That particular booth is my goto on nights when I need to take my break. No one eating in the booths can really see you, it being the only place where you can truly get a moment to yourself. Unless you are at the bar, giving me the perfect sight of this flawless patron. Secretly, I'm hoping he doesn’t stay long. I’m starving, having not eaten anything all day and honestly, smelling the food, my stomach is bound to eat itself. Definitely momma famine rearing her head.

Though, if anyone will take up residence in my booth I can't complain that it's him. He oozes golden bronze sex on a stick. Only seeing the top half of his body. My lady itches to see this gentleman in full view. This stranger waits, looking beautiful, similar to a sculpture, frozen in a moment. Just like a piece of art, the heavy stone of life copiously rests on his shoulders. His brows trenched, tormented, having a loneliness behind his eyes. A pain even. That pain is far too familiar, I myself have to deal with it every day. 

I totally get that, dude. It's something I too struggle with, constantly fighting my true nature. Wearing that mask, forever pretending to be ‘normal’. Pft, fuck normal. Sorrowful as he is, even with his sad demeanor this piece of art is priceless, wishing I could turn his frown upside down. 

He definitely looks like he is out of place. Someone that would not be associated with this neck of the woods. People of his caliber don’t really come to a diner on the other side of the tracks, if you know what I mean. Usually, it’s just truckers, club dancers, and the occasional bachelor party catching food to soak up some of the booze before they go back home to their loved ones. He doesn't look like a man that’s about to get hitched. Too bad I didn’t meet this guy in the club. If he wasn't a customer…. This one very well would have been my new conquest. My inner Vixen needs sated. He would've been a tasty treat, one I’d break a lot of my own rules I’ve set for myself.

The man sat for a whopping thirty seconds and he was fidgeting with the cuff of his wrist. One of which I am assuming the name brand watch is located. Impatient asshole.  

Here we go. I roll my eyes, grabbing my notepad from my vintage apron along with my staple red pen. Not even waiting for me to reach him, he barks,  “Black coffee, steak and eggs meal, russian roulette the side. I just need silence, can you do that?”

A pretty dick, plastering my best customer service smile on. “Sure thing.”

As I got to the bar I looked back, watching Mr. Dreamboat. He's resting his head back, brushing his golden blond flexes away from his eyes. A smile creases his face. Wow, his smile could stop traffic, sipping his coffee again. Out of a tube.

What the fuck! Did this dude really bring his own straw? We wash the cups after every use. Plus, this is not the type of restaurant that needs a golden sipping device. We are a twenty- three hour diner. Only having an hour between night and day shift. We do eggs, coffee, and pastries. That’s about it. Well, and the milkshakes that put my place on the map. 

He breaks from his trance and sucks down another sip. He has to be headed towards the glass half empty now. No one wants an empty cup, especially burning the midnight oil like me. I wonder if he is normally a night owl?

I can’t help but to notice his eyes as I ask to suck him off. I mean to fill my mouth. Uh, to top him off and lick his cup. Fuck, Gemma. Stop thinking of putting his dick in your mouth, getting him off. He hasn’t even looked twice at me. Which normally, I'd be okay with. I don’t mind flying under the radar, having the appearance of a regular waitress. Even if that does mean being ignored, better than discovered. 

“Sure. Uh, Gemma.”
My breath fucking hitched. God damn, why does he have to be so handsome? Perfect peepers of green, rimmed with a light amber, almost flexed with gold. Pstt, it's gotta be contacts. Between his eyes, darkened skin that glows and his hair that seems too dark for those highlights to be real. Maintenancey, but easy to look upon. 

I go to top him, uh fill his hot, shit. Coffee. Refill. I stumble over my thoughts. Jeeze, he is delectable.  

“Ding, order up.” Carl screamed from the back. 

Headed to the food warmer, “Thanks Carl.” grabbing the plate, the food makes my mouth sweat in jealousy or is it Mr. Tasty that is causing my drool worthy moments? 

He wasn't kidding, not even a thank you, just silence. Before I step away, I notice his cup is half gone again. Where is he putting all this coffee? Is he gonna drink this entire pot?

I grab my kettle once again, returning to the table, refilling it. As I top the mug off, distracted by the golden fork he took out of his breast pocket, stabbing it into his meat. Huh, he not only brings his own straw but matching fork too, taking Ocd to a whole new level. 

Preoccupied, I accidentally knocked into the salt like an idiot, successfully spilling it all over the table. The bump must have startled him because as he was slicing into the steak with matching cutlery, I swore he split his skin wide open.

“Are you okay….” Ignoring my question, affixed to the salt on the table in front of him. He pinches the pile and throws it over his shoulder, mumbling something under his breath. As it left his grasp, floating away, I swear golden sprinkles reflected off the recess lighting. I rub my eyes, thinking I may end up pouring myself a cup of java too. Yep, I've gone crazy, panning to the table the salt is definitely white. Shit, I may need something a bit stronger than coffee after that. 

Plus, he is not bleeding. How is that possible? I swear I saw his flesh get sliced open, reaching for the shaker, his hand grazed mine. A warm sensation lit my skin into a frenzy. One that gives heat to an entirely different part of my body. No small touch ever impacted me like that before, freezing me in place. Fuck.

I hear a sharp breath inward, in a whorl. I’m pinned by his stare. Eying me, up and down, landing onto my very hungry lady. I am in so much fucking trouble with this guy. I know it. At this point I could really give a fuck that he is a customer.