I was working a double shift on a Sunday night at the diner. My feet were bricks of cinderblock, and my knees threatened to buckle, but the pain reminded me that I could keep my electricity for one more month. My uniform clung to me uncomfortably, and the urge to just walk out and go home was crushing me.
At this hour, the diner mostly consisted of drunk patrons fresh from the nearby bars, but even then, they were far and few between. Small groups of college girls, a family making a late night pit stop from their road trip, and a handful of loners littered the booths and the long bar table. The long window in front of a set of booths displayed the neon signs from the other buildings nearby, along with the occasional person or two walking by.
Whisps of [h/c] baby hairs framed my tired face; my once neat bun became a disheveled mess after 8 hours of dashing from table to table. My apron was stained from the remnants of food that had gotten on my hands hours before, and I felt like I needed a shower. The baby blue of the walls did nothing to soothe me or put me in a better mood. I was organizing napkins behind the bar table, dreaming of drawing a hot bubble bath, when a tall man in dark clothing suddenly plopped into the seat in front of me.
I didn't bother to look up at him to get a closer look, exhaustion making me irritable. "I'll be with you in a second," I snapped.
"I'm not here to buy anything," he shot back. I halted my organizing with a curious twitch of my nose and lifted my eyes to encounter a set of deep turquoise pools. The harsh artificial lighting reflected off of his pale complexion, and patches of stitched, scarred skin covered a majority of his chiseled face. His messy, dark hair shaded his eyes, which I now felt were burning into me. "I was gonna ask what you're up to later."
I couldn't help but scoff. Was he seriously doing this to me at 1am? While I was working? I stepped back to lean on the corner of the table with both of my hands. "Would you like a water?" I asked, purposely dodging his inquiry.
He cocked an eyebrow, smirking. "What, do you have a boyfriend or something?" He turned his gaze to study the countertop he was now picking at with his index finger, eyebrows raised over a set of lidded blue corneas. "Girls with boyfriends usually act like they can shut down any guy who is remotely friendly," the stranger muttered, peeking back up at me, smirk ever present. His eyes were dangerously pleasant to get lost in.
I fought the urge to drop my jaw at his forwardness. "What's it to you if I do?" I defended.
"Hm, so you just want to play hard to get, huh?" A flirtatious smile graced his scarred lips. "You can drop the act, sweetheart, that kind of thing doesn't work on me." He then held his head up by a fist that propped up on the table. "So what time are you off?"
Um, sorry, sir, but you approached me first?? I think I have the right to be hard to get!!
Debating with this bold, handsome man seemed futile, so I folded. "I was just gonna go home after work," I surrendered. I watched his eyebrows knit in amusement, and I continued, "but I'm tired as hell, so wherever you decide to drag me, I can't promise I won't fall asleep standing up."
A deep chuckle rose from the stranger. "See, was that so hard?"
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