by Bijou Hunter
“You won’t kill him. You lack weapons, training, and upper body strength.”
“Not to mention I have no killer instinct.”
“I doubt the perp at Flamingo Exit would agree.”
“Yeah, but that was a once-in-a-lifetime moment.”
“Asher Ferrer doesn’t know that.”
“And he still wants to date me, so I’m fairly certain he won’t murder me. After all, why choose a tough victim?”
“For the same reason people trust weirdoes they meet on Craig’s List,” Mallory says, standing up and then retrieving her Hot Pocket out of the microwave. “The world makes no sense.”
Despite her grumpy stance, my asexual friend will beg for all the juicy details after the date. With no interest in dating herself, Mallory relies on my exploits for entertainment.
I suspect Asher will provide many enjoyable minutiae to share. If not, I’ll skate away from him as I’ve done with the few men who’ve come before.
CH 5
❁ Asher ❁
Dating never interested me because I can’t tolerate the charades people play on them. I won’t laugh at jokes I don’t find funny or pretend to be moved by shallowly uplifting stories. First dates are about selling your best self to possible investors.
I refuse to act as a product searching for an owner. Instead, I put my worst foot forward by focusing on my date’s faults and remaining silent about my successes. Few people are surprised to learn I rarely date.
They’d be even less stunned to learn I’m tense while on my way to meeting Junie. After all, I’m an anti-social introvert while she’s a touchy-feely woman who wears roller skates to restaurants. Rather than a match made in heaven, we’re built to fail quickly.
Yet even if I know how it’ll end, I still long to see her again.
I arrive at Willie’s Burnt Toast—a dive on the west end of town where dives are common, and food chains are not—twenty minutes early. Leaving James Cotton playing on my phone, I close my eyes and coax my racing heart to slow.
Nerves settled and heart steady; I remind myself that I’m not a teenage boy. I can handle a new person in a new location. As much as I prefer to remain locked behind the doors of my penthouse, Junie is worth the effort of leaving my home.
Despite my internal pep talk, I feel my confidence disappear as soon as I’m standing at the restaurant’s front door and a fetchingly sloppy Junie skates toward me. There’s something appealing about how she hasn’t put more effort into this dinner than she does for her waffles at the diner.
Junie’s thick hair perfectly frames her oval face, and her hazel eyes shine even in the shadows under the restaurant’s awning. Despite her simple white shirt and black boot cut jeans, she exudes exotic beauty.
“You’re already here,” she says, rolling in my direction. “I thought I’d beaten you.”
“Did you skate here?”
Junie’s bare pink lips lift into a wide grin. “I don’t live close enough for that.”
“So how did you get here?” I ask in the same forceful tone I use for peons at work.
Smile unfaltering, Junie points to the parking lot. “I drove in a car.”
“With skates on?”
Junie’s hazel eyes search my face for something.
“Oh, are you nervous?” she asks, taking my hand and tugging me toward the door. “Don’t be. I’m really very nice. At least, I will be on the first date before I’ve tired of you.”
Snickering at her joke, Junie enters the restaurant. She heads straight for an open table even though a sign asks people to wait to be seated. I sit across from her and look at the plastic menu nailed to the wall.
“I like their French dip,” she says, finally letting go of my hand. “If you’re too shy, I can order for you.”
Wary of touching the clearly sticky tabletop, I mutter, “I’m not shy.”
“Then what’s wrong with you?”
Her question doesn’t startle me as much as the way she sits back and waits for my answer.
“What’s the deal with the skates?”
“The world is more fun when I roll. Maybe if you rolled, you wouldn’t be so self-conscious.”
Cocking an eyebrow, I ask, “You think I’m self-conscious?”
“Yes, that’s why I said you were self-conscious.”
“And do you see yourself as a free spirit?”
“No. I’m just me.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, leaning forward.
Junie studies me, maybe finding my movements too aggressive.
“I am who I am, and I don’t care what others do. I like wearing roller skates, so I wear them. Nothing more complicated than that,” she says and then takes my hand in hers. “Is your life very complicated and that’s why you think everyone else’s is too?”
“You know skating at restaurants isn’t normal, right?”
“Wait, what? Is that why no one else is doing it?” she asks, glancing around while wearing a grin.
Leaning back in the uncomfortable, cheap chair, I sigh, “So you do it to be different.”
“I do it to be me. When I want to skate, I skate. When I want to walk, I walk. See how that works?”
I enjoy how her long fingers cling possessively to mine. Returning my gaze to Junie’s face, I find her smiling at the approaching waitress.
“What do you want?” the woman asks.
“French dip and root beer.”
“Fries?”
Junie’s smile widens. “That’s the only option with the sandwich.”
“I know.”
“Then why ask?”
“Some people don’t want them,” the waitress grumbles.
“But they have to pay for the fries, so why not get them anyway?”
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I.”
The twenty-something waitress unleashes a hellish frown on Junie who is now focused on me.
“Do you know what you want, Theo?”
Hearing her say my fake name reminds me of how I’m the one testing her.
“I’ll have the same.”
Junie doesn’t look at the waitress who stomps to another table.
“That’s the owner’s daughter,” Junie says, tapping my knuckles. “Just in case you were wondering why they’d hire someone so awful.”
“I wasn’t wondering that at all.”
“Are you still thinking about the skates? Do I need to explain my reasoning again?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Are you, though?”
Junie gives me a half-smile, clearly amused by my edginess. Since my success, women trip over themselves to please me. Of course, those women always knew who I was and how much I’m worth, while this one thinks I work minimum wage.
Stripped of my money and influence, I’m an average man romancing a beautiful woman with plenty of options. This is a game I hadn’t considered when I chose to lie to avoid another gold digger.
Is a minimum wage-earning Theo enough to win over the hyper-confident Junie?
‧:❉:‧ ♂ ♀ ‧:❉:‧
❁ Junie ❁
Asher wears the conflicted frown of a liar worried he’ll get caught soon. Despite wondering how he expects to keep up his ruse for much longer, I have no intention of outing him. Instead, I decide to torment him a little since he was such a wiener about my skates.
“Do you like your job?”
“It’s fine. You can call the Gold Mart and ask to speak to the manager if you want.”
Fighting a giggle, I ask, “Why would I do that?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Do you know why I agreed to go on a date with you?”
Asher narrows his eyes, waiting for an answer he won’t like.
“I find you attractive. So, let’s say you’re lying about working at Gold Mart. So what? If you’re telling the truth, I don’t care either. My interest is right here,” I say, waving my hand in front of his sexy face.
“Most women want to date a man capable of taking her to better places than this one.”
“What’s wrong with Willie’s?” I ask, leaning back. “The food is plentiful, yummy, and cheap. Any woman with standards above this place is a woman pissing away money simply for show.”
The corners of Asher’s mouth twitch and I sense he’s fighting a smile. “Is that right?”
“Yes, and dating in Dietrich is too much of a sport already. Everyone is focused on racking up high numbers, but my mother always says dating should be about quality versus quantity.”
“Does your mother live in Dietrich?”
Unfortunately, we’re veered into a topic I’m unwilling to discuss. Without missing a beat, I nod and then ask a question to refocus the conversation on him.
“Do you have friends?”
“Of course,” he mutters, disliking my insinuation.
“Anyone I know?”
“Likely not.”
“Do you have a best friend?”
“Men don’t talk like that,” he says, threateningly gripping my hand.
“I’m not asking how you talk. I’m asking if you have one friend who is closer to you than all others.”
Asher furrows his dark brow, but I only smile at his displeasure.
“My closest friend was Garrett until he got enough money in the bank and ditched Dietrich.”
“Where’d he move to?”
“Seattle. He’s married and has a kid now.”
I vaguely remember reading how Asher and Garrett started the company together out of college. The former was the idea man, the latter in charge of the money.
“So, he hit it big and left behind the one person who knew the real him.”
Asher’s expression remains sour even as he nods.
“Do you like his wife?” I ask.
“There’s nothing to like. She rarely speaks. When she does, it’s about shopping. They have nothing in common. She’s his trophy wife, and he’s her golden goose.”
“Money allows people to create their fantasy life. Mannequins instead of friends and family. Plastic beauty instead of raw emotion.”
“Fuck yes,” he says, pointing at me like I’ve solved an unsolvable math problem. “Plastic is exactly how I feel about his life. Nothing feels real. Instead, their life is an ad with Garrett as the average looking dad who married out of his league.”
“How did their kid turn out?” I ask, thinking of how cute my ugly friends’ babies are compared to how ugly my beautiful friends’ babies always seem.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” I say, giving him a wink.
“Garrett’s genes proved stronger. Though truth be told, I don’t know how much of Paige is original.” Asher tilts backward, fighting a grin. “I don’t usually gossip.”
“Gossip and cattiness aren't all bad. In fact, girls in high school made fun of me which inspired me to care less. If they had been nicer, I might waste a lot of time worrying about people’s opinions.”
“Made fun of you how?”
Asher’s smile fades, and his gaze hardens. The man has a protective temper. He just got fifteen points hotter in my eyes. Too bad I’m about to be brutally honest with the now sexier bastard.
“I’m hairy,” I say, running my fingers over my forearms. “Well, hairier than the girls at school. My parents are of Hungarian descent. In fact, they were set up by my nagymama Aggie, who wanted her sons to marry Hungarian women. Of course, that means we’re wonderfully hairy people. My paternal nagypapa told us to be proud of our fur, but my sister, Oona, let people’s opinions get to her.”
“Get to her how?” he asks while his gaze focuses on my arm. Rather than judging me, he looks more interested in touching my skin. Unfortunately, Asher chickens out and keeps his hands to himself.
“Oona would get up an hour earlier than everyone else, so she could pluck and tweeze and wax and bleach until she was a perfect Barbie. Well, not the real blonde Barbie, but Barbie’s not as special, brunette friend. Anyway, while Oona hoped if she looked the right way that no one would make fun of her, those wieners still talked crap. Except they attacked how much work was involved in getting rid of all the hair. Even seeing what it did to her, I worried too and started doing the same thing.”
“What changed?”
No more avoiding this ugly topic, so I jump in with both feet. “Oona died, and my best friend, Mallory, moved in with my mom and me. My hair-obsessed sister was replaced by a girl who lives in her own personal Idaho. Once Oona was gone, I realized how she wasted too much of her life trying to please the slags at school.”
Asher’s dark eyes study my face while he considers his next question. I don’t know what the hold-up is, but I wish I could hurry him along.
“How did your sister die?” he finally asks, and I realize he wasn’t certain he wanted to keep strolling down my gloomy memory lane.
“My rich uncle took my dad and Oona for a flight in his small airplane, and the engine had a kind of mechanical failure. My uncle was the only one to survive, but he remained paralyzed until dying a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are,” I say, patting his hand and giving him the affection he’s too chicken to demand from me. “You’re very considerate, Theo.”
The corners of Asher’s mouth curl up. He suspects I know he’s lying. He can’t ask, though, and I am more than willing to play along with his game.
“Are you very lonely now that Garrett moved away?”
“I spend most of my time alone, yes.”
“Have you made any friends at the Gold Mart?”
“No, not yet. I’m still new there.”
“That would explain your soft hands,” I murmur, running my fingers over his. “And how your face isn’t weather-burned.”
“Give it time,” he says, lifting an eyebrow as if to say he won’t reveal the truth unless I force it out of him.
Our waitress, Alana, was one of the uppity slags who mocked my hairy arms in high school. Now she’s serving me food. I smile brightly when she drops off our sandwiches, but Alana doesn’t smile back, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she spits in my food. I take the sandwich and lift it to my mouth while holding her gaze. A bite later, I wipe my mouth and announce, “Tastes perfect, dear.”
Stomping away, Alana is what Mallory calls a waste of space. I don’t know if I’d go that far. In any case, Alana’s existence saves me the effort of putting in my order and carrying the food to the table. The slag really does have a purpose in life.
“Have you ever had the chance to travel?” I ask Asher.
“Yes.”
“Anywhere interesting?”
“No. How about you?” he says, clearly wanting the focus away from him.
“Mallory and I started with quick trips to New Orleans, San Francisco, and New York City. Then we tried Puerto Rico, Mexico, and Argentina. Last year, we spent two weeks visiting Ireland, England, and France. We’re saving up right now to go to Italy.”
“What do you do for a living?” Asher asks, looking over his food.
Still smiling, I consider lying so he’ll still think he’s putting one over on me. Lies aren’t my thing, though, and I’ve never been very good at selling them.
“I work at IT Zen.”
“What do you do there?” he asks without missing a beat, and I wonder if he’s had me checked out.
“I’m a system technician. Repairs, reinstalls, that sort of thing.”
Asher smiles casually, barely hiding how he already knows my stats. I mimic his smile before devouring my delicious sandwich.
I don’t care about his lies. The only question I have is whether he enjoys the French dip? His reaction to my favorite sandwich will tell me more about Asher than his real name and net worth.
‧:❉:‧ ♂ ♀ ‧:❉:‧
❁ Asher ❁
Junie must have my number, but her behavior betrays a gold digger looking to impress a weal
thy man. She shared her hairy arm problem, brought the conversation to a sad note with the deaths of her father and sister, and is now devouring her food.
“When did you start skating everywhere?” I ask before biting into my sandwich.
“You’re very focused on the skates. Do you have a roller skate fetish?”
Junie’s grin tells me she loves busting my balls. If not for her smile and the sandwich, I don’t think I could tolerate Willie’s Burnt Toast for much longer. The place is too small and crowded while the floors stick to my shoes. Everything about the restaurant alarms my already raw senses, but I force my gaze to focus on Junie until the noise around us disappears.
“I’m curious where the habit started. Why won’t you tell me?”
“I’m worried I’ll bore you and the date will end on a snooze-worthy note.”
“If I’m that easy to bore, wouldn’t it be best to find out now?”
“Very true,” she says, wiping her mouth. “After Oona and Dad died, my mother fell apart a little. Mallory was basically living with us, but it wasn’t official yet.”
“Why was she living with you?”
Junie shrugs and glances lovingly at the sandwich she longs to return to. “Mallory’s family is bizarre. They can’t keep jobs or pay their bills. I’ve never been clear if they’re purposely weird or if there’s something wrong with them. I just know they weren’t capable of handling a kid, let alone a teenager smarter than them.”
“How did you meet Mallory?”
“In my freshman year in high school, she was in a few of my classes. The first time I saw her, it was instant friend lust. She seemed so cool with her short haircut and tough girl denim jacket. I was such a wiener compared to Mallory that I thought her having two studs in each ear was badass.”
I can’t help smiling at her obvious pride while sharing her high school lameness.
“Mallory isn’t a tough girl, though. She’s fun and loyal and the best friend anyone could ever hope for, but she isn’t a badass. Not even compared to me.”
The blissful look on Junie’s face makes me hope I create such happiness in her one day. I imagine her wearing such a smile while telling someone the story of how we met.
