by Abigail Boyd
I flip through my phone, looking for some news about the flashing light, but there’s no information on any of the local news sites or my social media. I lean back against the seat and shut my eyes, and the unwanted image of James’ disarming grin floats behind them. I can still almost feel his hands caressing my lower back.
And strangest of all, I have the strongest feeling that I’ve met him before.
CHAPTER FIVE
AFTER QUINN AND I exchange safe home texts when I arrive back at my apartment, I change out of my clothes. I can still smell the faint scent of James’ cologne, and I lift up the bottom of my tank top and breathe in the ocean smell. I strip and toss my clothes in the hamper, then change into my comfy PJ’s and drop onto the couch. I turn on the TV and check out the 24 hours news channels. But there’s not even a blip about the flash.
I shut off the TV and toss the remote on the coffee table, leaning back and wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. Soon I crash into bed, and I dream that I’m floating down a wide river in a low boat, drifting past amethyst flowers with long, serrated petals.
I’m lucky enough to work an afternoon shift the next day so that I’m able to sleep. Sleeping in is the most underrated activity ever. Quinn is already at work when I arrive, looking seriously hungover underneath her bare makeup. She sips ginger ale out of a disposable cup, leaving a lipstick smooch on the styrofoam.
“How did your evening turn out?” I ask her casually as I fasten my apron.
She sticks her hand out flat, palm down, and rocks it from side to side. “So-so. My dude was a bust. He fell asleep in my lap on the car ride back to his dorm. But I found this great new breakfast place over on Lily Avenue. Blueberry sausage pancakes. Sounds crazy, yet an awesome taste sensation.”
I wrinkle my nose. “You could stomach all that?”
“Well, yeah, after I threw up a few times,” she says, and I let out a snort of disgusted laughter.
Russell’s off today, since he usually took most Saturdays off to do what he pleased, yet another perk of being the owner’s nephew. Tasha is commanding Lucky’s instead, which means all of my coworkers are more relaxed and the atmosphere is pleasant.
I have a soft spot for Tasha—of all the managers I’ve had, she’s taught me the most. She has had a pretty hard life, and recently her ex-husband tried to run her off of the expressway the day their divorce was filed. She usually sneaks Vodka in her cup of iced tea and gets increasingly tipsy as the nights wear on. But she’s also excellent at keeping Lucky’s running like a tight ship.
Tasha assigns me a few projects, cleaning and dusting the dining area. I quiz my coworkers about the flash that James and I saw, but none of them noticed anything unusual, so I decide to drop it. It can’t be a big deal.
The customers come pouring in as the afternoon goes into evening. As I make my rounds, I glance at one of the booths that has just been seated. I groan out loud, causing a woman in the table next to me to glare at me, and I apologize under my breath to her.
The guy in the booth is Jason, and he’s best described as a jerk from my past experience with him. His phone is up in front of his nose, his thumbs plunking clumsily on the screen, which means he’s already too stoned to see straight. Which means that he’s probably going to try and fondle my ass.
I grit my teeth and pull out my order pad, standing a few feet away from the booth where he’s sitting. He looks up through lidded, bloodshot eyes, and bobs his head at me.
“Hey there, doll-face,” he says. “I was hoping you’d be here. How have you been?”
“Just fine, Jason. Would you like the usual?”
His eyes scan my body as he rubs his nail-bitten thumb across his bottom lip. “Are you on the menu?”
Of course this wasn’t going to be simple. He makes this joke literally every time I wait on him. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, a huge test of my self control, and my lower eyelid twitches. “Nope, I’m not. The regular burger and fries, then?”
Without warning, his hand shoots out and lands on my inner thigh below my uniform. I silently curse Russell for making the waitresses don these Hooters-worthy getups. I firmly push Jason’s hand away, stepping back farther, and a rumble of laughter comes out of his chest.
“You know, waitresses—myself in particular—really don’t appreciate being sexually harassed,” I tell him through gritted teeth.
He thinks I’m joking with him, or maybe just presenting a challenge. “I’m not harassing you, baby, I’m letting you know that I like you. I’m sorry if you can’t tell the difference. Maybe you shouldn’t walk around in such a skimpy outfit.”
He reaches out again and grabs at the fake lace on the bottom of my apron. He misses, and narrowly avoids me stabbing him with my pen.
I’m so not in the mood for this today. I cap my pen and shove my notepad into my apron pocket, then lean over the table in front of him. A slow-burning fury is growing inside my chest. First, he smiles hesitantly, thinking I’m coming on to him, but then he gets confused. In my head, I imagine a delicate pink cloud covering his head, going into his nostrils and his eyes, coaxing his brain to submit his will to me.
I can smell the sour mixed scents of pot and sweat coming from his pores, and hear his gritty breathing. I part my lips just enough to push the pink cloud from my mouth into his. His eyes retain their surprise for a moment, and then a dreamy look replaces it, as though he just went on a mental vacation.
With relief, I stand back up. most of the time I don’t resort to that particular…skill, just when dealing with extremely difficult customers. But it really comes in handy. I pull the hem of my skirt down even though I know it’s not going to help cover anything, and retrieve my notepad again.
“Let’s start over, Jason. You’re going to leave me alone for the rest of the night,” I say as the pen touches the paper. “You’re going to eat your damn burger and then get out of here. And you’re not going to say a word about this conversation.”
He just nods at me and smiles a dopey smile. I go back to the kitchen, trying to calm myself down more, and sit on a stack of milk crates near the fridge. I tuck my hair behind either ear and try to catch my breath. Despite taking over the situation, I still feel skeeved out.
Tasha bustles through the door and stands with her hands on her hips, surveying the kitchen. Her eyes fall on me and she comes in my direction. Uh oh. I wonder for a moment if she’s on to what I just did.
“You know I normally don’t concern myself with your personal life, but there’s a man waiting out there for you,” she says to me.
So my spell didn’t work this time. That’s a first. I wonder if I’m losing my touch?
“I know. Could you please do me a favor and pass Jason on to someone else?” I plead. I make crab claws with my hands. “He’s extra feely tonight.”
She screws her face up in confusion. “Jason? I’m not talking about him. This guy just came in and gave me twenty bucks to assign his table to you.”
“You sold me out for twenty bucks?” I pretend to be shocked, and she scoffs at me. Who else would want to see me? For a split second, I wonder if it might be James, but that’s impossible. I only told him my name, not where I worked, and I’m not listed anywhere.
“Hey, twenty bucks is a new pair of shoes for my kid,” she says, shrugging. “He’s a good looking fella, too. You’ll thank me.”
CHAPTER SIX
I SNEAK OUT to the dining room and peer over to the new arrival. With a bolt of shock that strikes me down to my toes, I see James sitting in the booth. I recognize the mass of curly hair first, and his head is bent over the table. There’s no way, but here he is in the flesh. Tonight he’s wearing a leather jacket with a white t-shirt underneath that compliments his faintly tanned skin.
I feel caught off guard and that nervous, alien feeling returns. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him. I wonder if I can just sneak past his table before he looks up…
“I can see you, y’know. You aren’t in
visible,” he says dryly and looks up from the menu, shutting it and folding his hands on top.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt.
He tips the menu at me so that the leprechaun on top leers in my direction. Then the smile in the corner of his mouth appears. “Ordering food. What does it look like I’m doing, advocating for world peace?”
“I mean, how did you find out where I worked?” My heart seems to stop and then pound back hard again, and I feel my muscles tense in anxiety.
“I asked.” He looks up at me quizzically. “Would you like to sit down?”
“I’m on the clock.”
“You think I’m a stalker now, don’t you?”
“Uh, yeah.” A wildly attractive stalker, but a stalker nonetheless. He’s every bit as good looking as he was last night. “You can’t blame me, and since there are like a hundred restaurants in this city, I doubt you can say it’s coincidence’s fault, either.”
“I’m sorry. I met up with your friend Quinn as she was coming out. I saw you two talking before we danced, and she told me that you both worked here,” he explains.
“Traitor,” I mutter under my breath. “She didn’t say a word about it. I would have been less likely to treat you like a criminal. But why did you want to find me? I’m nothing special.”
He raises his eyebrows. “I’d argue with that. But the reason I wanted to find you was that I realized you look really, really familiar to me. And I don’t mean that like a line or anything. Have we met before?”
I feel my hands sweat, and a fluttery, empty feeling takes over my stomach.
“I just moved here from Arizona and I don’t know many people in Ocela,” he continues. “I’ve been staying with friends for the past few weeks.” He seems genuine, yet I suddenly feel that I absolutely have to lie. I have no idea why, I normally never lie unless it’s to protect myself.
“No, I don’t think we’ve met. I’ve been all over, but I’ve never set foot in Arizona.”
He studies my face, and the anxiety only grows under his scrutiny. “I travel quite a bit, too. Maybe we met up somewhere else.”
“I think I would remember you,” I remark. Of course, my brain is telling me I do, but I can’t figure out where.
“Yeah, I’m pretty unforgettable,” he jokes.
He’s trying to make laugh, but I tilt my head. “Your jokes are kind of lame.”
“I know,” he says. “Too bad I don’t have any other qualities to make up for it. I’m a bad singer, I suck at basketball, and obviously, I’m a terrible dancer that stomped all over your feet so bad that you had to run away from me.”
Now I can’t fight my lips from twisting into a grin as I roll my eyes. The fluttering feeling has moved up to my chest, my insides quaking. The butterflies in my stomach were bad enough, but these are like butterflies around my heart. “Like I said last night, it wasn’t you. I had already had a long night and I wanted to go home.”
He looks at me with a skeptical expression for a moment, then hands me the menu. I take my pen out and lick the tip, a bad habit I picked up ages ago. He seems to notice this and his grin widens a fraction. I hold my notepad out, “So, do you know what you’d like?”
“What would you recommend?”
“You’re asking me to pick your food?”
“I’m guessing you know this menu pretty well, and I figure it’s better than picking at random.”
“I don’t know, what kind of food do you normally order?” People ask for recommendations all the time, but I get the feeling he’s testing me.
“I’m flexible,” he says, and the way he touches his tongue to his teeth and the glint in his eyes suggests he means more than just his taste in food.
I shrug, bemused. “Stick with a cheeseburger. It’s your safest bet.”
“Sounds good, thanks. Extra bacon, well done.” I scribble it down and put the menu under my arm. “And you should come back during your break,” he throws in casually.
“I should?” I ask skeptically. His blue eyes, regarding me with the same intensity as last night even when he’s laughing, are not helping me think clearly.
“Yeah. I wanted to talk about that flash that we saw.”
That’s enough to get me to come back, even though I probably was going to anyway. I go about my business for the next ten minutes, checking the clock several times. I wonder what he wants to talk about. And I’m honestly a little flattered that he would go through so much trouble to see me.
As I’m pouring coffee for a couple across the room, I see a girl in a crop top and a miniskirt highlighting legs that go forever and beyond sit down with James. I almost spill the coffee and apologize as I move closer to get a better look. He’s smiling as he chats with her and she flips her long, blonde hair. I grip the coffee pot handle a little too hard, dripping a little hot coffee on my wrist.
“Ouch,” I whisper. I scold myself—I have no reason to be jealous. He’s just some guy I met at a club, no matter how charming or different he seems. Just because we have the chemistry I’ve coveted doesn’t make him Prince Charming.
I check in on my tables, and see that Jason still seems to be under the influence. He looks like he’s about to fall asleep when I bring him his bill, and I watch him shuffle off into the night. As the door is closing, a new couple walks in. At least, I think they’re a couple. They are both dressed in exactly the same eighties goth fashion, and it almost makes them look like twins. The hostess chirps at them cheerfully and they glare at her as she seats them in my section.
Both have jet black hair: the man’s is long and greasy and the woman is wearing hers in a puff around her face, like a toxic dandelion. Their outfits are like uniforms: black lipstick and eyeshadow and nail polish on both, black leather dusters, chains crisscrossing their pants, and combat boots. Maybe they came from a costume party.
I bite the bullet and go to take their order. They glare at me with their blackened eyes. The girl lights a match for a cigarette that she presses between her lips, then tosses the smoking match at my shoe. I stamp it out.
“You can’t smoke in here.”
She tents her long fingers together below her chin, and purrs, “Says who?”
“Says everyone,” I snap. She puts her cigarette out in her water glass with a sizzle.
They give me a fair amount of trouble, pretending to not understand the menu, tilting it upside down. Finally, they settle on a huge tray of buffalo wings and a pitcher beer, and make a fuss when I check both of their IDs. Despite their intimidating appearances, they’re only a year older than me. Tag and Tess are their names, unusual enough that I assume they had them changed. Different last names. So they’re not twins, after all.
They prove this by graphically jamming their tongues down each other’s throats the second I step away. I almost miss my break, but I finally clock out.
“Glad to see you joining me,” James tells me as I arrive. “Those two have been giving you an awfully hard time.”
I let out a sigh and plunk down in the booth across from him. “You noticed?”
“I couldn’t help it. Would you like me to take care of them?” His tone is calm, but his eyes flash.
“That’s okay. They’ll get bored with messing with me soon.” I decide to bring up the earlier interaction I’d witnessed. “Who was that girl?” I inquire, folding my hands on the top of the table and averting my eyes to my fingers.
“Just a girl. She wanted to know if I was single.” I can hear the laughter edging his voice and grit my teeth again. I get the notion that he’s mocking me.
“What did you tell her?”
“That I was here for someone else.”
I have to stop myself from grinning, not even entirely sure why I feel so happy. “Did you really give my manager twenty bucks so you could talk with me?”
Is that a hint of embarrassment I see on his face? If so, it’s quickly replaced by his usual confident grin. “I figured it was the least I could do for her information.�
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I stare at his face, which is not at all hard to do. I have yet to find a flaw among his features, and yet, he’s not the Fabio type from a dimestore romance cover. He looks real.
“You’re right, this place does make a decent cheeseburger,” he says. He pushes his barely touched sundae, which is starting to melt, in my direction. “Would you like to finish this? Despite what you might think I don’t have cooties, and I figure I’m probably cutting into your lunch time.”
I wave it away. “No thanks. I’m fine. What were you going to tell me about that light?”
“I think you and I are the only people in the whole city that witnessed it,” he says, rubbing his chin. “I asked all my buddies at work and none of them were even awake that late. It wasn’t on the news. Did anyone you know see it?”
I shake my head and wedge my hands below my thighs so they won’t stick to the seat. “It was pretty late. Who knows, maybe we were both hallucinating.”
“What do you think it was?” he asks.
“Heat lightning, maybe. Or a transformer blowing. Could have even been some kind of advertisement.”
He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth with his teeth, a casually sexy gesture that makes me cross my legs. “I’ve considered all of those.”
It’s then that I catch his eyes again, and what I see makes me frown. I lean forward in the booth to get a closer look, wondering if its a trick of the shitty lighting. But no, it’s there. A silver ring stands up clearly in the center of his irises. I didn’t notice it before because his eyes are so blue, but it’s exactly like the silver in my own.
“What?” he asks, frowning and tilting his head.
This is starting to get weird, and it’s making me uneasy. “Your eyes…”
I’m about to say something else, but I notice my demonic new customers have started throwing their buffalo wing bones on the floor.
