Killer Crush

by Ella Goode

  “I want a strawberry shake.”

  “I’ll take a Diet Coke and water please.”

  “Anything else?”

  “I’m still looking but can we go ahead and place an order for two truffle fries?” I ask.

  “Yep.” She scribbles it all down in her notepad. “I’ll get that in for you and get your drinks.” She heads back behind the counter.

  “What are you thinking?” While I love all the options you get at a diner, it can be overwhelming because I tend to want everything. Especially when I’m hungry like I am now.

  “Salad.” She closes her menu, putting it back into the holder.

  “A salad?” I scrunch my nose, hating her choice. With so many good things on the menu, why the heck does she have to pick a salad? That means she’ll be trying to take stuff from my plate.

  “We got fries, too.”

  A few moments later Betty is back with our drinks. “You know what you want?”

  “A salad for me. No dressing.”

  “No dressing? I think there is something seriously wrong with you.” Betty chuckles.

  “I’ll take the open face meatloaf with mashed potatoes,” I say.

  “Got it. What kind of vegetables do you want? We got corn, mixed and peas.”

  “I’ll have the corn.” My mouth waters thinking about mixing my corn into my potatoes.

  “I’ll be back with your fries in a minute.”

  “How do you eat a salad with no dressing?”

  “If you had a mom like mine you’d understand.” I try not to wince. “Oh shit. I’m sorry, Quinn, I forgot. I’m such an idiot sometimes,” Trin says feeling bad that she brought the mom thing up.

  “It’s fine. It’s not like I knew the woman anyway. I can’t really miss her.” My dad always told me she died. It wasn't until I was about fourteen and I started snooping around I found out he was lying. She took off on us. I wonder if it’s because my dad tends to be a little overbearing or maybe her running off has made him that way. I guess I’ll never know. I never plan on looking for her.

  “Two orders of truffle fries.” Betty drops the plates down. I grab the ketchup, smothering mine with it before taking a giant sip of my milkshake. This is so much better than the school food. If I knew how to cook, I could make more stuff at home. It was never a skill I picked up. Everything we ate growing up was takeout.

  I let out a small moan as I take my first bite. “This was so worth letting you dress me up.” Trin laughs, nibbling at her own fry. I think Trin’s mom is always on her about appearances. I think that’s why she’s always doing these crazy diets. She is gorgeous. I’ll never understand it.

  The bell over the diner door jingles, announcing that someone has entered. I glance up, freezing with the fry halfway to my mouth. Oh crap. It’s him. Trin must see the look on my face because she turns to see what I’m staring at.

  “Don’t look,” I hiss at her. She’s going to give away the fact that I’m staring. I can’t help myself. I've been thinking about him all day. For some reason I can’t get him out of my head. I know what that reason is: the man is drop dead gorgeous.

  “Who cares that he’s a dick?” She rolls her eyes, looking back at me. “Wait. Your cheeks are all pink and it’s not the blush I put on you. Are you crushing on Mr. Asshole?”

  “He did buy you a sandwich,” I remind her.

  “It sucked.” He turns his eyes, locking them right on me.

  “He’s coming this way,” I say, not moving my lips. He stops at our table. I have to tilt my head all the way back to get a good look at him.

  “Can I join you?” he asks, taking me by surprise.

  “Are you going to give me my sorry back?” I find myself teasing him. His lips twitch, making him look even sexier.

  “I jacked your sandwich. It was terrible.” He shrugs, not caring about anything Trin is saying. His eyes remain trained right on me. My body starts to heat.

  “If I give it back are you going to let me join you?”

  “Sit,” Trin says before I can respond, pointing to my side of the booth. “If you’re trying to get into Quinn's pants, I suggest you don’t eat her fries.”

  “Trin,” I hiss at her. My whole face feels as though it’s on fire. He leans back, putting his arm on the back of the booth. He’s not touching me but he’s pretty freaking close. “You going to tell me your name?”

  “Daman.”

  “See? Was that so freaking hard?” Trin says, throwing her hands up. Betty comes over, dropping off our plates.

  “I’m Quinn,” I tell him, putting my hand out for him to shake. He takes it but doesn’t let it go. Instead he weaves his fingers through mine.

  “Can I get you anything?” she asks Daman.

  “I’m good.” Still he doesn't even look at Betty. His eyes stay trained on me.

  “If you didn’t come here for food than what are you doing here?” Trin asks. I hadn't even thought of that.

  “I saw her through the window.”

  “So you came in to see me?”

  “Yes.”

  I’m not sure what else to say so I use my free hand to take a bite of my meatloaf. Trin digs into her salad. I try to free my hand but he doesn’t budge. I keep peeking over at him and notice that if he isn't looking at me then he’s checking the door.

  “We’re going to a party after this. Do you want to come with us?” I offer. I’m pretty sure he has a thing for me. He’s not super talkative but he came inside to see me and he’s holding my hand. Some people might think it’s strange but I’m enjoying it. All of this has to mean something.

  “Yes, I’ll be coming with you.” He lets my hand go momentarily to pull out his wallet. He tosses a hundred on the table.

  “Let’s roll.” Trin slides out of the booth. Daman begins to follow suit. I tug on his hand, letting him know I need mine for a moment. He obliges. I slowly slide out. I stand, pulling my skirt down as far as I can. “You drive here?”

  Daman nods his answer to Trin before he grasps my hand again.

  “Cool.” She looks over to me. “You’re riding with him.”

  “What?”

  “He’s totally hitting on you.” She says this like Daman isn't standing right here. “Your ass better meet me at the party. You don’t want me to come looking for you.” Trin gives him a hard look before heading toward her car, leaving me alone with Daman.

  I wrap my arms around myself, having no idea what I’m doing here. I never dated in high school. It was forbidden. Now I’m at a total loss for what I’m supposed to do. Daman takes off his leather jacket, wrapping it around me.

  “Thanks.”

  He takes my hand, his fingers tangling with mine as he leads me toward some fancy-looking car, opening the door for me. I slip inside. My heart is racing. Why am I so into this guy? I don’t even know him. Yet I feel a pull toward him that I can’t explain.

  He hops into the driver's seat. “Seatbelt, babe.” He reaches over, grabbing it for me while clicking it into place. I lick my lips. His eyes flick there.

  “Which frat house is having the party tonight?”

  “Delta Kai.”

  He shakes his head, not looking so happy about it. I should tell him he doesn't have to go if he doesn't want to but I don’t. I think he’s going to make this party a lot more bearable for me. I should be worried because I don’t know him and he’s a stranger but I’m not. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? He could kidnap me?

  Chapter Seven

  Daman

  I’m what you call a non-trad or non-traditional student. My advisor told me this when I started classes a month ago. She also told me that I might feel disconnected from my classmates who are younger and dumber. She didn’t add the last part. It was just my characterization of the whole thing after she spent about ten minutes talking about all the things teens these days don’t understand. After the spiel, she handed me her card and told me to call her anytime. She even wrote her home phone number down, which
I thought was weird.

  She wasn’t wrong. My classes are filled with kids whose parents are footing the bill for their college gig so they play games, watch porn, or update their socials instead of paying attention. I don’t have a single thing in common with ninety-nine percent of them. But I know them. I know that underneath their white smiles and three-hundred-dollar hoodies, they’re all terrified. The weird thing is that they’re not afraid of the right things. Take Quinn here. She shouldn’t have gotten into a car with a stranger and she shouldn’t be going to frat parties. Bad things happen there and I’m not about to let my girl be exposed to any of that shit. I make up my mind. I’m going to have to kidnap Quinn. The house isn’t ready but that’s beside the point. She can’t go to a frat party.

  “So you know they call this place the rape house, right?”

  “They what?” she yelps.

  “Yeah, sorry to say that.” I don’t know that it’s true but I watched every college set movie that Hollywood put out in the last twenty years in prep for enrollment and it was true in almost all of them.

  “My God. I have to text Trin.”

  Out of the periphery of my vision, I catch her whipping out her phone and tapping furiously into it.

  “Trin says that these guys have a great reputation.”

  My car rolls to a stop at the red light. I give a little shrug as if I don’t care. “Your call.”

  It’s dark in the interior of the car but I don’t need any illumination to remember what she looks like in that short skirt and the high heels. Her legs looked like they went on forever, a long, creamy expense of skin that begged for my touch. Her tits were completely covered but one look at her chest made my mouth water. She’s more beautiful than any painting and I’m torn between wanting to put her on a pedestal and worship her daily and taking her to the floor and violating her in every way known to man and a few that I’ve been making up in my head in the last few hours. And if I feel this way I know other men do, too. There’s no way she’s going to that party.

  “Is it just a party that you want? Because I can host a party.” Other than my neighbor and the cleaning lady, no one else has stepped foot in my apartment. The only time I’ve ever been to parties has been to kill someone. The last one I attended, I strangled the heir to a drug kingdom in Belize while some opera singer from Italy sang "Cortigiani, vil razza dannata” which is appropriate because one line from it goes, “That door, assassins, open it.”

  The Italians were really into their murders. Good people, those Europeans. They knew how to get things done. The light turns green and we take off.

  “I mean…” She hesitates.

  That’s my opening. “I’ve got booze, guys, an empty apartment.”

  “No rapes?”

  “No. Those aren’t allowed.”

  “Let me call Trin. I don’t want her texting and driving.”

  “Sounds perfect. I live off of Continental in the Maple Apartments.”

  “Hey, Trin, how about we go to a party at Daman’s place? He lives at the Maple...Yeah, the Maple off of Continental. He says that there are a bunch of guys who live around him.”

  My fingers curl around the steering wheel as Quinn listens to the other girl talk. I need to bug Quinn’s phone. I don’t like not knowing shit. That’s not how I operate.

  “Okay, she’s in.”

  I try not to be too obvious about my relief. “Great. Now I don’t have to kidnap you.”

  She giggles but the pretty sound shuts off quick. I take my eyes off the road to check out her expression.

  “You were kidding, right?”

  Oh. I was supposed to laugh with her. I force out a chuckle. “Yeah. Of course,” I lie.

  We make a detour to pick up booze. “I need to make a call first. Can you start shopping?”

  “What should I get?”

  This is the first time I’ve ever held a party. “Buy one of everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Whatever you can fit in this cart.” I shake a metal one loose. “Go on. I’ll help in a second.”

  “This is going to be expensive,” she worries.

  “Can’t have a good time stressing about the cost,” I tell her and give her a small nudge.

  I watch her ass sway as she toddles into the liquor store, leaning on the shopping cart. A sudden vision of me bending her over a table and fucking her from behind makes me weak in the knees. I force the image out of my head and call Flip. He answers quickly.

  “Wassup?”

  “Flip. It’s your neighbor, Daman. How are you and your…” What had he called her? Oh, yeah, honey. “What’s up with your honey?”

  “Not much. We’re just chilling. How’d you get my number?”

  “You gave it to me,” I lie. I ran a background check on everyone in the building. I suspect I know more about Flip than his roommates.

  “Huh. I guess I did. Anyway, what do you need?”

  “We’re having a party. Get all your friends and go to my apartment. I’m bringing the booze.”

  “For real?”

  “For real.”

  “Man I feel bad. If I had known you were a partier, I’d invited you to one of our ragers but you seemed like you weren’t interested.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Oh.”

  “But now I’m hosting a party and I want a lot of people there. I’ll pay you a hundred dollars for every person you bring.”

  “Are you shitting me?”

  “No.”

  “Fuck. Okay, I’m on it. How much time do I have?”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “I hope your wallet is thick,” he sings into the phone.

  I tuck the phone away and join Quinn inside.

  “Work everything out?” she chirps.

  I reach up and cup her cheek. “Almost. It’s almost perfect.”

  Chapter Eight

  Quinn

  “This is a lot of food.” Daman pushes the cart for me. It has so much stuff in it that it’s hard to even turn the thing. Daman keeps grabbing random things and tossing them into the cart. I notice if my eyes linger on something for more than a few seconds, into the cart it goes.

  “Don’t want to run out, do we?”

  “I guess not.” This has somehow turned from his party into our party. “I’ve never been to a party before,” I admit. I’ve definitely never hosted one before. “I’m not sure what we need. Unless you count those charity functions my dad sometimes drags me to.”

  “I’m not into parties either.” My eyes go to the frosted cookies that are covered in sprinkles. My mouth waters thinking about them being a late-night snack. I divert my attention away from them but before I know it, Daman grabs them and tosses them into the cart.

  “You don’t want to throw this party, do you?” I peek over at him.

  “Yes, I do.”

  I turn to look at him, putting my hands on my hips.

  “That does not sound very convincing.”

  “I want to have the party because you’ll come over and I’ll know you’re safe.”

  I smile up at him. That’s really sweet. I’m not sure if he’s right about the whole rape thing, but I do want to see Daman’s place. I wasn’t excited about going to that frat party to begin with, but now excitement fills me thinking about having a party at Daman’s.

  “I think we got enough stuff.” He heads toward the front of the store. I pull on the bottom of my skirt, feeling really overdressed for a grocery store. I start to take things out of the cart, leaning over to place them on the checkout belt. Before I can get more than a few items on it, Daman is ushering me over to the end of the line.

  “Why don’t you watch to see if everything is ringing up correctly? I’ll do all the heavy lifting.”

  I shrug my shoulders and keep an eye on the cashier’s screen, watching the total tick up higher by the second.

  “Are you sure you really want to get all of this?” I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. He
already admitted to only having a party because he wanted me to come over. So that he would know that I am safe. Now he is spending an arm and a leg to make that happen. He reaches up, pulling my lip out from between my teeth.

  “Don’t bite yourself.” I lick my lips. “I can afford it.” He pulls out his wallet. I step to the side so he can slide his card through the machine.

  “Some party you must be having,” the cashier says. I notice her eyes eat up Daman. I turn to look away, not wanting anyone to see that it irritates me. Daman isn’t mine so I’m not sure why I’m letting it bother me. If another girl wants to look at him, she can. There aren’t any rules against it. He doesn’t have a ring on his finger.

  “Yes, we are having a party,” Daman answers. I peek back to the girl. Her red curly hair is piled on top of her head. I know she’s waiting for an invite. Daman doesn’t issue one. He stands there looking bored instead.

  “I need your ID.” He reaches back into his wallet, handing it over to her.

  “Is this where the party is?”

  My mouth falls open at her audacity. She totally just read the address off his license. How rude and unprofessional is that? Daman takes his ID back as she starts to scan the alcohol. I had no idea what to get. I picked up everything that looked fruity and a couple bottles of champagne that were covered in glitter.

  She rattles off the total as she starts to bag some of the stuff. I pick it up, putting it into the cart. The bagger helps me. “I got it,” Daman tells the boy. “I’ll help her.” He moves to take his spot, bagging up the groceries himself.

  “So do you mind if I pop in? I get off in an hour.” She smiles at Daman as if I’m not even here.

  “Sure.” He shrugs, placing the last bag into the cart. I stand there, shocked. He looks over to me. “Did we forget something?”

  I shake my head no. He studies my face for a moment. I turn without speaking another word to him. I head toward the door, not wanting him to know how badly his approval had stung.

  “Get in. It’s cold.” He unlocks the doors before he pops the truck, loading everything inside. I slip into the car, putting my seatbelt on. A moment later Daman is in the car pulling out of the parking lot. I don’t even look at him. I stare out the passenger window watching the landscape pass by.