CHAPTER NINE
And of course, Chadd shows up again.
I manage to competently juggle my tables, I think, after hearing a bombshell like the one dropped on me by the Deanes. The diner’s a mess, and to my delight, Roxanne seems to have acquired a table of jerks who are immune to both her death stare and her feminine wiles. Usually, intimidation and sex appeal blend to give Roxanne superpowers over anyone, but I’m seeing none of it today. She seems pissed, and for once it’s not at me.
I go about my job, trying to keep Grady from my mind. I honestly don’t know how I feel. Part of me is excited, for sure, but the larger part of me, wielding dignity as a weapon, finds that part weak and pathetic. Most of me is angry, jilted, annoyed, enraged, righteous, indignant. All Grady did to me, in the end, was rub salt in my wounds. When I needed him most, he decided to be selfish, so he ran without looking back. It doesn’t even matter that my parents, when they find out, will likely forgive him. Because that’s logical. Because hey, doesn’t the Bible teach forgiveness? Something they never had to give me until I got knocked up, because their first-strike weapon — guilt — was so effective in keeping me in a farce of chains.
But then I see the stunningly sexy, grinning form of Chadd at one of my tables. Not even holding up a menu. Just looking at me, as if we have an understanding. As if he realizes how I’ve been thinking about him all day, part of me regretting deleting his message and losing his number. As if he thinks my sadness and guilt and fear and insecurity are truly lust and desire, which is how they come out around men like Chadd. As if he doesn’t know that tempting me when I’m weakest is like offering an alcoholic a bottle to soothe her pains.
Like a coward, I trade.
Jen takes Chadd. She doesn’t ask why. I like Jen a lot, and suspect that she gets me on a level I’m afraid to admit. Maybe Jen is like me, with a wild side that she keeps obsessively hidden, like I do. If this town had a prize for most responsible, most chaste, most go-out-of-her-way-helpful good mother award, I’d win it. In a way, everyone’s expectations make me feel worse about who I truly am. Because someone like that shouldn’t ever scream with lust. A girl as reserved and charitable and aboveboard as I seem to be should never be down on her knees, even for her husband, with a man’s cock in her mouth.
But Jen, without saying or implying a thing, seems to understand. She takes one look at Chadd and another at me then simply agrees. And when I breathe a too-relieved “Thank you,” she doesn’t even ask why it means so much to me. One handsome man. One waitress who’s booked to serve him. It shouldn’t be a daunting scenario, but Jen just accepts it.
I focus on my other tables. I start to sweat, feeling like a pig. I’m wearing my skirt uniform because the slacks were dirty, and at some point God decides it would be hilarious to have the back stick to my skin too high up, leaving half of my ass hanging out. Ed brushes past me, and I’m made aware of my wardrobe malfunction when his hand brushes me. It sickens me because even though the top half of my mind knows this is just Ed being lecherous, I’m wired enough that my base half imagines the hand as Chadd’s, going where it doesn’t belong. Where I crave it.
I try to focus on Mackenzie. On doing the right thing.
But then I make a mistake. I’ve been steering clear of Chadd in ways that are downright ridiculous, going through the kitchen to hit the back tables instead of walking by him. Avoiding any glances in that direction. But by ten o’clock I’m frazzled enough to slip. And Chadd is waiting.
He looks at me. I meet his dead-sexy eyes. All of my triggers are already sprung. There is no safe haven in my thoughts because all roads lead to something that’s troubling me, and I always seek comfort when bothered. I escape from my problems. And as far as this alcoholic is concerned, I’ve been running through a bar all night, smelling whiskey with every shaking breath.
I have nothing left when I see him. No reserves. No restraint. No self-control. Everything defaults to something base within me, and despite all the trouble, I feel nothing but throbbing. I can’t take the trouble, but I can take the immediate, pressing sensation of lust.
“Hey,” Chadd says.
And that’s all it takes.