What's Your Poison

13. My Heart Was an Optimist.

Jade

Iron had refused my desperate pleading. He'd growled under his breath, scratching his sharp jaw. But not before reminding me, I said I would put aside the drama. I couldn't help the frustration that coursed through me. When I made that promise, Mission and I had been trading glares. Not whatever he was trying to do with me now. A very convincing impersonation of a bulldozer. I could handle the rejection. My heart was an optimist. No matter how I tried to strengthen it, keep it safe. It pumped in my chest, warm and vulnerable. Ready to fall again. To be crushed underfoot, hoping the next time would be different. But it never did.

It just got more mangled each time, but that didn't stop its consistent hope.

Now I was sitting across from Mission at a diner he insisted on taking me too because "we couldn't plan in the bar."

He took up most of the booth, legs spread ridiculously wide. I was glad I was on the other side, so I didn't have to feel them pressed up against me.

"What do you want to eat?" He asked, eyeing me over the menu. I made a derisive noise, tapping the notebook in front of me.

"I'm not hungry. I just want to get this over with. This isn't a date, it's work."

His forehead creased, and he closed his eyes for a moment, as if catching himself. The diner was humming with low chatter; the bell dinging over the door as more customers flooded in. It was getting close to lunchtime and the diner's position on the main highway out of town often brought in a lot of travelers passing through.

"Suit yourself, but I'm starving. It's been so long since I've had something decent to eat. I'm craving something spicy." He winked, distracted by the server. She gave us a pleasant smile, eyeing Mission with curiosity.

"What can I get you today?" She hovered with a pen in her hand. Mission bundled up the menus and passed them over to her. He reeled off a list of things, including curly fries. He looked at me, as if waiting for me to chime in. I shook my head at the server.

"I'm good." When the server turned on her heel, I elaborated. "I'm here to get this sorted. Besides, I like Dixie's cooking."

Dixie had been filling in at the kitchen, taking over breakfast and lunch while Bud went in for knee surgery. She preferred to be tucked away from the raucousness of the bar. I was grateful that my friend had stayed, that she was safe. She remained tight-lipped about Rooster, though, and seeing how protective he was over her made me think it was real. Even though it didn't make sense. Mission's dark eyebrows drew together.

"That wasn't what I meant." He protested gruffly. "You ever get a craving for fast food, salty and fatty and terrible for you?"

I shook my head. I knew what he was trying to do, and I refused to be drawn into friendly conversation with him. My gaze drifted over his shoulder instead, inadvertently catching the eye of a guy in a camel colored jacket, nursing a slice of pie. He ducked his head, as if sheepish about being caught. A lock of dirty blonde hair obscured his vision when he snuck another furtive look at me. A smile tugged at the corner of my lips, a spark flaring in my stomach. Mission might think he could win my forgiveness. A place in my bed again. But he couldn't do that if someone else was already occupying it. I smiled at the man sitting at the bar and his fingers tightened around his fork, gaze burning every inch of my skin as he looked his fill.

"Let's get started." I tucked my hair behind my ear, batting my lashes at the man over Mission's shoulder.

"S-s-sure." Mission stumbled, and I frowned at him. His eyes were wide as he looked at me, as if he'd been walloped over the head with something. He thought I was smiling coyly at him.