HATE ME: a bad boy romance novel

by Jaxson Kidman

  Time created this void of intimidation when it came to boys who were suddenly men when I went to college.

  “Purple!” a voice yelled. “Order’s up!”

  I had to get back inside and back to work.

  Yeah, my name was Violet and everyone called me Purple. Just to do it.

  I couldn’t stand working at the restaurant. It was mostly just business people trying to cut a deal or secretly have an affair. Or they’d sit at the bar, drink fancy martinis, get drunk, and think that since their wallets were fatter than their dicks they could do anything they wanted.

  I grabbed the two plates of food and walked out of the kitchen.

  I smiled big, keeping the happy image alive. The money we got was enough to help us push forward with the app launch. Victoria needed more designs and I needed to finish up the background stuff. I had saved my ass off for over a year and finally had enough to move out on my own. I found an apartment that was good on price and not in a shady neighborhood. I was going to use my savings for the app, but once we got the investment, I could do what I want with it.

  The restaurant job was going to cover my living expenses. The app was my baby and when it hit, it was going to be huge. And right behind that I was already trying to think of a few more ideas.

  “Here you go,” I said, serving the two dinners.

  Man and woman.

  Nice suit, beautiful dress.

  She smiled at me. “This looks delicious.”

  “I love your dress, by the way,” I said.

  “Oh, thanks,” she said.

  “I’ll take another drink, please,” the man said.

  He damn near jammed his empty glass into my ribs.

  That was my sign to walk away.

  Staring down, empty glass in hand, I fought frantically with my memory, trying to figure out what the guy had ordered.

  Face it, my head was scattered.

  Not only from being busy, but from personal stuff.

  I hadn't been…

  “Whoa, easy,” a voice said as I turned to walk toward the kitchen.

  I looked up just in time to see a man standing there, hands out, grabbing for my shoulders.

  I was instantly paralyzed.

  I had to look up because he was so much taller than me. He had super dark eyes, the deepest shade of brown I’d ever seen. His jaw was so imperfectly cut it was gorgeous. A little scuff on his face like he had forgotten to shave today. One eyebrow slightly raised.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Fine,” I managed to say without drooling.

  Nobody this hot ever came into the restaurant.

  And he was dressed down. His black t-shirt hugged his body in a way my darkest fantasies suddenly decided to start thinking about. Muscles clung to arms, pouring out of the sleeves of the shirt. He was filled out everywhere, in all the right spots, and he didn't care one bit that everyone around him was dressed up so nice. His chest and shoulders were so wide I didn’t see someone standing behind him.

  “Excuse me, miss,” the other man said. “I made reservations. We are supposed to have a table.”

  “Uh, yeah, right,” I said. “Let me get someone. To help. With… that…”

  It was like my tongue was swollen and I was just learning how to properly take letters and turn them into words. My eyes wouldn’t break from this hunky hulk. Who, by the way, was still touching my shoulders.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

  “I forgot the drink,” I said. I shook the glass. “What someone wanted.”

  “Just splash some vodka and water in the glass,” Sexy Man said. “Tell him it’s a special, made just for him.”

  Sexy Man winked. Then he smiled.

  Ohmygod.

  Two dimples formed.

  The corners of his mouth tucked themselves into the dimples. How could someone look so rough and bad yet have these killer cute dimples?

  “Let me help with that table,” I said.

  I broke away from Sexy Man and went to the hostess station.

  Tongue twisted, I managed to tell the hostess - Brie - what was going on. I tried looking at him again, but I felt like my eyes were tied in a knot.

  I went to the kitchen to catch my breath.

  I was hot all over, in all the wrong places, for no good reason.

  “Get it together,” I whispered to myself.

  As my luck usually went, he was seated in a different section of the restaurant.

  That meant I wouldn’t have to talk to him.

  At least that’s what I thought.

  It was slowly beginning to be one of those nights. Where everything went wrong. Drink orders messed up. Running out of salmon and having to take the brunt of it from people as though it was my job to order the food. People wanting to know why their food was taking so long.

  In my mind, I responded honestly.

  Because the chef is cooking it, moron.

  I held myself together. I counted down until I could leave. Even if thirty minutes felt like thirty hours. I snuck glances at Sexy Man when I could. He sat and looked completely uninterested in whatever was happening at his table. The man in the suit was showing pictures and had folders. My mind ran wild at what could have been happening there.

  I convinced myself to just ignore it all.

  Back in the kitchen, there were two plates waiting for me.

  We were slammed tonight.

  There were plates and tickets everywhere. The cooks were arguing. My manager, Tom, was going wild. Running around, wiping his big, bald forehead with any towel he could get. Screaming about time efficiency and getting shit done right.

  I casually grabbed my plates and got out of the storm.

  I put them down on the table with a big smile.

  Two men.

  One ordered a steak. One ordered chicken.

  Simple as that, right?

  I turned and started to walk when a hand clamped on my arm. Hard.

  “Get back here,” a voice growled at me.

  I was being pulled, stumbling. I bumped into the table, almost spilling drinks. I gasped and looked at the man who ordered the chicken.

  He pointed to the middle of it.

  “It’s fucking raw,” he said.

  My heart began to pound in my chest. I was instantly shaking from the inside out.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “It’s raw,” he said again. “Look at it.”

  He let me go and finished cutting the chicken in half.

  It was clearly uncooked. There was no doubting that.

  I reached for the plate. “Sir, I am so sorry-”

  The man swatted my hand away. I hit a glass and knocked it over. The other man pushed back in his chair and threw his cloth napkin in the air like a coiled up poison snake was there ready to bite him.

  I didn’t know what to look at first.

  My head was spinning as I tried to figure out what exactly was happening.

  “Sir, I’ll make sure to fix…”

  “Fuck this place,” the man growled. “Give me raw chicken. Fuck this. Fuck you.”

  I stepped back. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me,” he said.

  “Sir, I’ll take your plate and make sure the kitchen fixes this mistake. I’ll have my manager come…”

  “Give me your hand,” the man growled.

  “Why?”

  “So you can carry this raw chicken back to your manager.”

  “I won’t do that,” I said. “I’ll take your plate.”

  I reached again, like a fool.

  The man swatted my hand again.

  This time it hurt.

  I was getting scared.

  “I’m going to walk away,” I said. “I’ll have my manager come to your table.”

  I took one step and then saw the look on the man’s face. He was red. His eyes were drunk. He must have had a bad week and I was his scapegoat now.

  I thought he was going to attack me.
r />   But he didn’t.

  He grabbed the raw chicken and threw it at me. Yes, he literally threw it at me. The chicken hit me just above my left breast. I was in complete shock. I was frozen. The man then started to stand.

  He was now going to hurt me. Physically attack me. Over a piece of undercooked chicken. Something I didn’t even cook. Something that wasn’t my fault.

  I opened my mouth to say something, desperate to diffuse the situation.

  He made one slight move at me and I winced.

  A fist then came out of nowhere and hit the man right in the jaw.

  3

  You Owe Me

  (Mason)

  Mark was nice enough of a guy, but he didn’t shut the hell up for more than two seconds at a time. He sucked down glasses of water like he had been walking in the desert for twenty fucking years. But I sat there, patiently, waiting for him to stop or eat or maybe just keel over and die.

  When I got my opening, I took it.

  “Mark, let me keep this simple for you,” I said. “You tell me what you want and I make it happen. The check clears, we shake hands, life moves forward. You don’t have to pitch me a thing and I won’t pitch you a thing. You’ve seen my work. I stand by it. I don’t kiss ass, suck dick, whatever. If that’s what you’re looking for tonight, then you’ve got the wrong guy.”

  Mark was speechless for a few seconds. He then grabbed for his glass of whiskey. He lifted it up. “Then I guess we’re going to be in business.”

  I grinned. “That’s what I wanted to hear. I…”

  From the corner of my eye I spotted something going down. There was some asshole yelling at a waitress. The same waitress that almost came crashing into me. I stopped her, stared into her beautiful blue eyes, and saw myself thrusting my cock into her mouth while she stared at me with those blue eyes.

  “You, what?” Mark asked.

  I shook my head.

  Whatever was happening was not my business.

  “I wanted to know what your schedule looked like. We can take two at a time if you want. Not sure what you like to ride and how long you can part with it. Usually what I like to do is get the ride in the shop and then start checking it out. Sight unseen kind of talk isn’t my…”

  I heard the word fuck being thrown around like a snowball fight in winter.

  I watched as the waitress reached for the man’s plate. That’s when he took a swing at her.

  I stood right up.

  “What’s happening?” Mark asked. He turned. “What…”

  “That guy just hit that woman,” I said. “Hit her hand.”

  “Oh, wow,” Mark said.

  He sat there like a rubbernecking pussy, just like the rest of the people in the restaurant. Trust me, women were objects to me. They all came with a time frame and nothing more. But nobody deserved to be screamed at like this waitress. Or get her hand smacked like a kid reaching for a hot stove.

  I grabbed my whiskey and threw the glass back in one big gulp. I touched my pocket, making sure I had my phone with me.

  “Christ, he just threw food at her,” Mark said. “Did you see that?”

  “I saw it,” I said.

  I was on the move.

  “What are you going to do?” Mark asked.

  I barreled through the restaurant as though I knew this woman. As though I had to save her ass. Speaking of which, she had a really nice ass. A full ass that filled out her black pants perfectly. Not that I was looking or anything.

  The asshole threw chicken at the waitress. I got there just in time as he stood up from his chair. I knew the look on his face. I’d seen the look many times in my life. The look of a man ready to strike. If I wasn’t there, this guy would have clocked the waitress.

  I didn’t give him a chance.

  I threw my left fist with a precision strike to his jaw. He was damn lucky too. If I had used my right fist and got all my power behind me, I would have broken his jaw and knocked him out. Instead, he flew back and went up and over the table.

  The entire restaurant let out a collective gasp.

  “I’m calling the police!” the man he was with announced.

  I looked at the waitress. “You okay?”

  She shook her head. Tears were in her eyes.

  I turned and knocked the chair out of the way. The man I hit was on the floor, grabbing at his jaw. His face was in complete shock. I grabbed him by his tie and forced him to sit up.

  “What the fuck is your problem, man?” I growled.

  “She gave me raw chicken!” he said.

  I wondered if he knew how stupid he sounded right then.

  I brought my right hand back. I locked my fist tight. “Raw chicken? And that was her fault? It’s a fucking restaurant, asshole. Shit happens.”

  I felt something warm and soft touch my fist. I looked back and saw the waitress grabbing at me.

  “Don’t,” she said. “Please…”

  Another person entered the scene. He was a tall man, bald with a huge forehead. His eyes were like balloons as he surveyed the scene.

  “What happened?” he cried out.

  “This man hit me!” the man on the floor said.

  Two more people showed up to help the man up.

  “Mr. Johnson, I am so sorry,” Mr. Baldy said.

  “I was served raw chicken!” Mr. Johnson said. “And the waitress was rude! And then this creature hit me!”

  “This creature is going to fucking kill you,” I said.

  I fake jumped and Mr. Johnson yelped like a girl.

  “Stop this!” Mr. Baldy said. “Violet, what happened?”

  Now I had her name. Violet.

  God. Damn.

  “The chicken was uncooked,” she said. “I said I would take it back…”

  “Then he fucking punched her hand away,” I said. “Piece of shit.”

  “Cops are here,” someone else said.

  That’s when I stopped and looked around.

  A fancy ass restaurant. Everyone dressed up. Everyone in shock. And then there was me. Dirty looking guy in a t-shirt and jeans. Whiskey on his breath. Hate in his eyes.

  “Fuck,” I said when the cops grabbed me and demanded I put my hands behind my back.

  “I’m so sorry,” Violet the waitress said. “I’ll talk to them. I’ll…”

  “Violet, get your stuff and go home,” Mr. Baldy said. “And officers, get this man out of my restaurant.”

  “I’ll see you in court!” Mr. Johnson yelled as the cops pushed at me.

  I saw the chicken on the floor. I swung my left foot and kicked the chicken at Violet. “Don’t forget your food, babe.”

  She gasped.

  I grinned. “You owe me one. Violet.”

  As the police walked me by my table, I put on the brakes. I looked at Mark. “We still good?”

  “Uh, yeah,” Mark said. “I mean…”

  “I look forward to doing business with you. I’d shake your hand, but…”

  “Move it, dickweed,” the officer said, pushing at me.

  Dickweed? What the fuck was a dickweed?

  It wasn’t the first time I was escorted from a restaurant in handcuffs. It probably wouldn’t be the last either.

  But at least I knew what to do next.

  The guy in the shit smelling cell with me believed that aliens were coming to earth. He was dead drunk, unable to stand, his legs wide and wobbly, holding onto the cell bars, his head swaying left to right as he explained that the police officers were vessels for the aliens and they were simply capturing us to find out who was weakest - to kill - and the strongest - to probe and steal ideas.

  I sat with my hands folded, chin resting on my hands, staring out.

  I had no fucking clue why I went after that guy like I did.

  No, I did.

  It wasn’t the waitress. Definitely not Violet.

  It was what she had been doing. Working her ass off at a restaurant, probably not making as much as she should have. Taking shit fro
m assholes in suits and ties. She probably went home after a long shift and sat on the couch with a glass of wine and cried.

  I’d seen it before.

  “… on, and then, the best part… the best… the part… the best of it all… they bend you over…”

  I finally stood up.

  I had enough.

  I turned and faced the alien conspiracist and took two steps at him. I had a good six inches on him and was twice as wide.

  “Oh, fuck,” he said. “You’re…”

  I nodded. “I’m one of them, man. I’m here to find out if you’re weak or strong.”

  The guy started to piss himself.

  I regretted messing with him.

  Now I’d have to sit there and smell that.

  “Look at this,” a voice said.

  A familiar voice.

  Glancing over my shoulder I saw Hunter standing with an officer.

  “He yours?” the officer asked.

  “Yeah, he’s mine,” Hunter said. “You’re in big trouble, Mason.” Hunter wagged his finger at me, smiling.

  The officer opened the cell door and waved to me.

  As I walked toward the door, Hunter took out his phone and snapped a few pictures.

  “Delete those or I’ll break your phone,” I said.

  “They’re in the cloud now, brother,” Hunter said.

  “Fuck the cloud. Fuck you.”

  “Easy now,” the police officer said. “Take your lover’s quarrel outside. Unless you both want to spend some time together in here.”

  I glanced back at the alien guy. He was still staring at me, really letting what I said sink in.

  I looked at the officer. “Is that guy going to be okay?”

  “Yeah,” the officer said. “When he stops taking drugs. Finds a job. Cleans himself up. Stops thinking that aliens are coming - and that they’re here.”

  “So, easy shit,” I said.

  The officer grinned. “Go.”

  Hunter threw an arm around me and we left the police station. I shook him away, but he grabbed my shirt.