by Mara Lynne
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Copyright © 2016 by Mara Lynne
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A Wallflower at the Diner
Damien’s POV
Shouldn’t Have Asked
By: Mara Lynne
©Mara Lynne 2016
A Wallflower at the Diner
“Dude, you’re paying for my Purple Room access for a month, okay?” Danny laughs. “I don’t get why we have to eat sausages and pancakes tonight.” He flings the menu across the table.
“But in all fairness, I think they do serve the best strawberry crepes in town,” Mike remarks as he scrolls down the menu then shifts his attention in an instant to the girl at the bar, prodding me in my arm. “And they got Sister Angel from the Convent of the Virgins in a skimpy skirt!”
Well, Angel Mohr, despite the lack of face, has a great figure. I could see from here how her work uniform badly tried to hide her shape, but men always know where to look and how to use their vision to the full extent when in dire need, and Mike and Danny are no strangers to this. I’d say they do this better than me.
“Angel Mohr…” Mike starts, “She’s in your class, Damien, isn’t she?”
I nod as though I do not care, but my gaze is fixed at this girl who’s absolutely clueless of my presence. How could she easily give out her annoying smile to just anyone who goes to see her at the bar when she could barely notice me?
She’s not that very pretty in my opinion. Nothing spectacular or attractive about her face. She's too regular for my taste, I must say. What’s worse, I didn’t even know she’s in my class until that day she asked for sex.
Angel Mohr.
I think I’ve heard that name a couple of times from my fellows in the Student Council. They speak highly of her as if she’s the queen of the Nile. Well, Angel Mohr has always been good with school, now that I recall. Though she’s not competition, and I doubt she will ever be, she excels in a lot of things. But she’s not just that interesting enough.
“She spoke to you last time, didn’t she?” Mike adds without knowing that I was no longer paying attention to him but to Angel who is now doing some calculations on the cash register, looking rather different — absurdly different and disturbingly odd. A large section of her hair falls to the other side of her face, allowing the pristine softness of the skin on her neck and collarbone do strange things to my tummy. There seems to be a bizarre riot happening at the pit of my stomach as I watch Angel Mohr at the register as she glistens in my eyes. Her face makes a cute little expression while, I assume, she makes an error with the counting — her forehead wrinkles and her lips pout.
Angel Mohr. A wallflower… always been invisible to everyone’s eyes.
But not tonight. She’s the epicentre of my universe. I see her differently as I used to see her at school. She did not look at all like that girl who was shaking and pale when she asked for that one-night stand. She’s shining and rosy. She’s smiling brightly to random strangers who must have felt blessed to have been smiled upon by this damsel at the bar.
“Damien!” Danny almost knocks me off the chair when he shakes me by the shoulder. “Weren’t you listening to Mike?”
My throat opens and lets out a heavy puff of air. It is such a delight to be arrested by something I would not call ethereal by now, but unexpectedly beautiful. But it is alarming as well to find myself reacting to Angel Mohr that way.
“I was,” I tell them, my eyes still at the bar.
“Then, what do you think?” Mike asks.
“What do I think what?”
“Let’s bet on her.” Mike points her head toward the innocent Angel Mohr. “Whoever takes the first base, gets to date Chantal on graduation day.”
“She won’t be difficult,” states Danny.
“Fuck Mohr, you mean?” My voice sounds cold and rough.
“Fuck Mohr, dump her, and date Chantal!” Mike says. “Double the fun, Damien! Are you in?”
Before I could even utter a single word, my eyes catch Angel talking to a tall but lean man at the counter. I do not know what they are talking about, but he appears to be paying through his bank card. However, he does not leave even though Angel has returned the card to him. He keeps the conversation going half a minute long until I feel my blood surging to my head.
As soon as the man leaves, Angel turns to my direction. When she sees me, her eyes broaden with surprise, and her face goes white. The annoying smile on her face is replaced with terror. Then in a few seconds, scarlet spreads across that pale canvas of hers before she turns her back on me. She runs towards another man, who I recognize to be her friend. She grasps him by the arm and pulls him to some place my sight could not reach.
“How about you get Chantal?” I tell the boys. “I don’t find her interesting at all.”
“What? Chantal Owen?” Mike bursts into laughter.
“Seriously, you can have her.”
“But she’s so into you, Etheridge.”
“Well, I don’t feel the same.” Mike and Danny’s faces do not look amused, and Mike’s visibly disappointed.
Seconds later, Angel’s friend comes walking towards our direction with a notebook and a pen in hand.
“Hi, guys!” he says, flashing a wide, infectious smile. “My name’s Ray by the way. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. We’re short staffed. Everyone was busy.”
“She does not look busy,” I tell him as I catch a glimpse of Angel hiding behind the fridge.
“Who?”
I point at the fridge.
“There’s no one in there.” He lets out a laugh.
“Oh, so she’s gone to the kitchen now pretending she did not see me?”
“Who? Angel Mohr?” Mike interjects.
“Look,
just tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you,” Ray says.
“Can I have Angel?” I tell him boldly, leaning my back against the cushioned chair and crossing my arms over my chest.
“She’s not a product, Etheridge,” Ray asserts.
“I’m not saying she is. I just want her to take my order. That’s all.”
“She’s busy with the dishes. She can’t be disturbed.”
“You know what, Ray? You get her for me, or I don’t leave this place until she comes here and gets me my fish and chips.”
Fire seethes out from his nose, and he stomps his way away back to the kitchen.
“What was that, Damien?” Danny asks.
“Are you fucking Mohr?” In shock, Mike keeps his voice low as the abyss.
I stand on my feet and turn my head toward the boys. “I have some serious business with her, and you know I do not like interventions, especially from you two. Now, you can have Chantal but not Angel. If I hear rumours about tonight, you know what you will get, and you do not want that.”
“Hey, don’t tell me you’re playing that game of yours now,” Mike teases.
“It’s too early for games,” I respond before I walk towards the counter where a large man in a checkered top is mixing drinks.
I’m not sure what I am doing, but Angel wanting to avoid me got me curious. If she plainly wants sex, she will not hide from me. I don’t know her that well, but with what I saw a while ago with how she smiles to random strangers… No, I don’t think she could have asked somebody else. She does not appear to me as a person who could easily sell her soul and body to just anyone. She does not even act like a slut. To be fair, I don’t think she even knows how to flirt. She’s Saint Angel, as what people call her. She’s too pure.
But why ask to have sex with me?
“Excuse me, Mr…” I pause, reading his nameplate on the left side his chest, “Maxwell.”
“Yes? How can I help you?” His puffy cheeks seem to explode with every word he utters.
“Damien Etheridge by the way,” I say, offering my hand to him.
“Etheridge? You mean the mayor?” His eyes sparkle with interest.
I scratch the top of my head as though embarrassed by the man’s discovery. I am supposed to be discreet of my identity despite my fame, but I only did it to achieve my goal.
I can see the thrill in the man’s gesture as he tries to offer me a drink.
“Actually, I’d like to know if I could talk to one of your staff.”
“Oh, why so?”
“She’s got my order wrong. I asked for a tuna sandwich, and she gave me a plate of prawn salad. Not that I hate it, but I am allergic to prawns.”
Aghast, Mr. Maxwell’s face turns red.
“Don’t be too hard on her. It’s nothing much really,” I say. “I think she got my order and another interchanged. I just want my tuna sandwich.”
Touching his shaven face, the man replies, all calmed now, “I’ll get you your tuna sandwich myself.”
“No!” I blurt out instantaneously. “I think it’s best if she does it. You’re quite busy.”
“No, really. I am responsible for this. I’m the owner.”
“Mr. Maxwell… just call Angel for me, okay?”
Our gaze meet, and I think he quickly understands what I want to happen. I could see he’s a little intimidated by me so he goes to the kitchen to find Mohr. From the counter, I could hear Angel’s troubled reasoning to Mr. Maxwell. I hope she does not always get this treatment from her boss. Ray sounds quite supportive of her, trying to help her out.
Poor girl. I don’t think she’s got the gall to defy her boss, and as she goes out of her haven and faces me, I gave her a grin.
Her eyes narrow at the sight of me. She must be fuming with anger, but seeing her so fired up makes my body so alive, I thought I could jump in place without stopping.
Just a few meters away from me at the counter, she stands erect like warning me not to mess with her. With her glare and the look on her face, she doesn’t seem all that amused of my behaviour.
Why does she hate to see me when she was the one who asked me to have sex with her in the first place? This is just not right!
“Why are you here?” Her brow arches as high as her hairline, and the bitter tone of her voice threatened to slash my throat.
I move my fingers briskly as though calling her to come near me.
“Come here!” I call in a slightly raised voice as I see her not responding.
She’s not just peculiar but stubborn, too, I thought.
She does not give in. Her gaze bores so deep into my soul that I instantly know that day she asked for a one-night stand was no more than a mistake to her. I just know that she regrets it and hates anything related to it — most especially me.
Not allowing to be faltered by a girl’s grit, I take a small card from my pocket. I don’t really know why I did it. It’s as if my hands have a mind of its own, and it took the risk of earning Angel Mohr’s ire. With both my fingers, I slide the card across the counter until she could see what it is.
“For you,” I say.
“And why do I need your number?”
“In case you need me,” I reply. “I have my apartment’s address there so you know where to find me when you’ve made up your mind.”
Her eyes twitch, but before she could hit me, I quickly turn my back and leaves.
Hurrying to the car park, Danny and Mike are laughing their ass out.
“What were you trying to do with her, Damien?” Mike asks. “You’re not fucking her, but you gave your calling card. What is that?”
“Did you see her face? She was so shocked, all the blood in her body left her,” Danny says. “She looked like a ghost!”
“Why did you even do that? What for?”
“I have no idea why,” I say.
It does not seem like a regular day. Surprisingly, I feel a lot cheerful today than yesterday. My excitement for Hayne’s class has exceeded its limit that I have to miss a meeting with the College Director just to be on time for my presentation.
There she is sitting on her chair with her complete attention on her papers. She does not even budge when the room quickly filled in. I sat three chairs behind her. While others read their essays, Angel keeps her focus on her paper.
Haynes clears his throat after one boy, whom I barely know, went off the platform.
When it’s her turn, Angel heavily breathes in and out. Her breathing slows down as she catches a sight of me, and she freezes.
“Ms. Mohr,” calls Mr. Haynes.
I wink at her, and she holds her nose up high.
She reads her essay in a well-modulated voice. It seems that she’s done quite some research about Edward de Vere as she talks comprehensively about him. It surprised me that we share the same opinion about the man behind the Great William Shakespeare. She’s one of the smart heads in my class, and it’s only now that I’m taking a special notice of it.
“Who’s your candidate for the real Soul of the Age?” Haynes asks as he sits on the edge of the table, taking a pair of moon-shaped glasses from his chest pocket.
“Edward de Vere, sir,” she says, her voice unyielding. Well, she’s the only one so far who’s taken de Vere as her candidate.
“Is there anyone here who has de Vere in their paper?”
Quickly, I raise my hand.
“Yes, Etheridge! Read to us your paper,” Haynes says.
Without hesitation, I went up the platform and starts reading my paper. There’s one thing running in my head as I read my essay. I wanted Angel to think that my paper is as good as hers because she did fairly well, exceeding my expectations. So I take my eyes off my paper and start talking everything I know about de Vere.
I’m quite sure she’s impressed because her gaze never left me the entire time I did my speech, and that’s what I wanted to happen.
“Congratulations, Mohr! You got yourself a partner,” Haynes interjects.
Just as I wanted to happen.
“Etheridge and Mohr, defend de Vere. Submit your work next week, Friday,” Haynes says before leaving the room.
Haynes is actually doing me a favour, and I like it.
“Hey!” I lightly nudge her by the shoulder.
Angel steps back as though avoiding every contact I make with her.
“What do you want, Etheridge?” She said in a raising voice, her gaze slowly turns threatening.
“We’re partners, Mohr,” I respond.
“I heard that.”
“I have plenty of Shakespeare materials in my apartment…”
“And you can secure us tickets to England to see fifteenth and sixteenth century de Vere accounts in their National Library,” she cuts me before I can even continue.
But in fact, she’s quite right. I can actually do that for her if she wants extensive study about de Vere. It’s not too hard to get tickets to England.
“Well, good thing we have the powerful Google nowadays so we don’t need to waste a single dollar for that.” As always, she’s never scared to speak her mind. I never knew she has this side to her. I thought she’s just meek and silent. To find her shooting arrows at me is impressive.
“Well then, I’ll see you tonight.”
“For what?”
“For research.”
Her face makes various expressions that make me think she’s nearing her limit. I wonder how she’ll respond to me once she’s met her threshold. How does a girl like Angel get mad?
Girls don’t get mad at me for long. They want my attention so they don’t keep me waiting by letting me down with their caprices and vanity.
Just how Angel Mohr works?
Is she like those girls who keep their claws at me so they could keep me and milk me?
“For your information, Etheridge, I have internet at home, and I’m not an elementary student who needs guidance for assignments. Let’s work on this separately, okay?”
