Crowned (Girls of Wonder Lane Book 2)

by Christina Coryell

“If you’re sure…”

  “He’s a good guy, I promise you. No worries.” Duke obviously meant his comment to make her feel at ease, but accepting a ride from a man she just met didn’t seem particularly intelligent. Still, if she went inside, maybe she could convince him to let her use a phone.

  Rising, she followed him into the restaurant, where he began wiping down the counter while she stood uncomfortably near the door.

  “It shouldn’t be a minute. Tiny seemed tired, so I sent him home and told him I’d lock up.”

  “I’ve never seen you here before.”

  His shirt sleeve moved up as he rubbed his rag over a stubborn spot, revealing more of his tattoo and scrolling letters. “I’m never here on Fridays. Tiny’s brother’s usually in the kitchen, but he’s under the weather tonight. Anyway, it’s all good, because now I’ve finally laid eyes upon Tiny’s favorite customer. I can sleep a little more soundly tonight.”

  “Funny,” she muttered, crossing her arms over her abdomen protectively. “What days do you usually work, then?”

  “Every day,” he offered, but then laughed when she squinted in his direction. “Not here, though. I’m only here on special occasions, when Tiny needs some extra assistance. Plus, I need the cash.”

  “He wouldn’t let me pay him for the burger. Can I pay you?”

  The suggestion caused him to let out a quick breath, and he shook his head. “If Tiny said you don’t pay, what kind of man would I be if I let you pay me after he left the building? You are his special friend, after all.”

  “He said that?”

  “No, but he stayed open an extra half-hour after everyone else left waiting on his little reporter, so I surmised as much.”

  Feeling guilty, she glanced at the floor. “I’m really sorry about that.”

  “Why? I thought it was fascinating. Now I’m wondering if you’re fascinating.”

  “Because?”

  “Because Tiny’s right.” He straightened up and gazed over at her, staring her right in the eye. “There’s got to be some story behind you showing up here every Friday night.”

  She wasn’t overly fond of the way he was looking at her, as though somehow he saw directly through her.

  “Or maybe I just like greasy food,” she offered.

  “Perhaps,” he agreed with a slight twinkle in his eye. “Here’s the thing, though… You don’t look like you usually eat a lot of greasy food. Also, I happen to be a pretty good listener, and I have ice cream.”

  “Ice cream.”

  “Yep. You haven’t had ice cream until you have a Caramel Delight via yours truly.” He offered up an irresistible grin, and she couldn’t help but return a small smile. “You can’t say no.” Stepping toward the kitchen, he turned back and pointed to her in an effort to gauge her answer.

  “What? I thought I couldn’t say no?”

  “Yes,” he said with a wink, disappearing around the corner. Feeling slightly flustered, she pulled a chair out and sat down gingerly, placing her elbows on the table. She should have wanted to get to Annie’s so she could relay the events of the evening and make sure she hadn’t overreacted to Kip’s announcement, but she strangely felt planted to that chair.

  “Okay, I know you like chocolate,” he stated, returning from the kitchen. “Well, Tiny said you always get a chocolate bar after you eat. But he also said that you give it to Duke when you leave, so do you not really like it? I should have asked you that before.”

  For the first time he looked a little unsure of himself, and she tried not to smile. “I love chocolate, actually. I had no idea Tiny did so much spying on me. Here I thought I was incognito.”

  Rather than reply, he set a glass bowl in front of her. “Caramel, chocolate, secret ingredient.” Sitting across from her, he pulled off his stocking cap, revealing hair that was falling to his shoulders in the center but short on the sides, like a massively overgrown mohawk.

  “Wait, secret ingredient? No, I can’t eat it. I mean, I’m allergic to nearly everything imaginable. What’s the secret?”

  “What specifically are you allergic to? I can’t give away my secret.” One corner of his mouth crept upwards, and she glanced at her ice cream.

  “Honestly, nothing. I just wanted to see how easily you’d crack.”

  “Well played,” he said with a shake of his head. Reaching for his spoon, he paused when he heard her laugh quietly. “What’s funny? Is it my hair? I have hat hair, don’t I?” Lifting both hands, he raked his fingers from the front to the back of his head.

  “No, your hair is very…whatever vibe you’re going with there.”

  “Ouch.” Dragging his spoon over the ice cream in his bowl, he mixed the flavors together. “I take it you don’t approve.”

  “Hmm…” She lifted her index finger to her lip and pretended she was thinking. “Are you a tattoo artist?”

  “No.”

  “Are you with the carnival?”

  He began laughing as he put his hand on his cheek. “Um, no.”

  “Are you now, or have you ever been, in a rock band?”

  “Perhaps. Does that make a difference?”

  “No, actually,” she said, offering a manipulative smile. “I just wanted to torment you a bit.”

  He appeared to think things over while he placed a spoon of ice cream in his mouth. “So, wait… Does that mean you like it, or you don’t?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are a horrible person, you know that? You’re easy to talk to, though.”

  Harley paused with the ice cream partway to her lips, because his comment came as a surprise. No one ever accused her of being easy to talk to. He was looking down at his bowl, so she took a few seconds to study his face before she answered. He wasn’t classically handsome in the traditional sense like Denton, but there was something about that face that told her she could just stare at him for hours. Unnerved by her own thoughts, she shoved the spoon in her mouth and paused while the trio of flavors melted against her taste buds.

  “I’m not a horrible person,” she finally told him. “I mean, I hope not. I was trying to be funny, but I actually really like your look. Not for the masses or anything, but on you. It sort of fits.”

  “As long as I work in a tattoo parlor,” he retorted with a grin. “Oh well. At least I’m not one of those news reporters, you know, running around stepping in chicken poo all day.”

  “Now you’re making fun of me,” she said, digging into her ice cream again.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. What’s a girl like you hanging around here on Friday nights for anyway? You don’t have some high-powered lawyer or doctor boyfriend to take you out on the town?”

  “Oh, I go out every Friday night,” she stammered, feeling a bit of heat rise into her neck. “Usually, but then I come here afterwards. It’s my end of the week reward, so to speak.”

  “Reward for?”

  Yikes, I’m not sure. Keeping up pretenses?

  “A job well done, I guess. A good week. Anyway, I do have a boyfriend, or I did, but I’m not sure if I do now.”

  “Do I want to know?” He offered a smile that caused a little flip in the pit of her stomach, and she tried to pretend she didn’t notice.

  “Why am I talking to you about this? I don’t even know you.” When he took that opportunity to wink, she rolled her eyes. “Okay, if you must know, he decided that he wants to run for political office.”

  “How could he?” he teased, shoving a heaping spoonful of caramel into his mouth.

  “And,” she continued with a slight glare, “he wants me to stand by his side and be supportive.”

  “The nerve of some people.”

  Laughing, she slapped her hand on the table. “Will you let me get through the explanation without a running commentary, please?” He gave a sheepish look, and she mentally regrouped. “So, as I said, he wants me to be supportive. The problem is, when I asked him which ticket he was running on, he said he was going to choose the one he imagined
was most likely to get him elected. He has no backbone. He’s not willing to stand up for what he believes, if he even believes in something. That feels like a deal breaker. Am I overreacting?”

  He sobered a little and looked like he was giving the idea some serious consideration. “So he’s basically being a politician.”

  “Would you date a wishy-washy politician?” she wondered, feeling a need to defend herself.

  Shaking his head, he stopped eating and focused solely on her. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  “Well, then we have something in common,” she muttered, going back to her ice cream. For a moment he was silent as they both spooned through the last of their caramel, and then he stood to retrieve her bowl. Without a word, he leaned down just enough that she noticed a faint hint of cologne along with the greasy food smell, and a warm feeling rushed over her as she inhaled quickly and turned her face the other way.

  I know you did not just get all swoony over a guy who smells like a hamburger. Wake up, Harley!

  “I stink, don’t I?” he asked with a quick chuckle, and she turned precisely in time to find herself inches from his face.

  “Um, no.” Thinking quickly, she glanced at his arm. “How many tattoos do you have?”

  “Wow,” he breathed, leaning his backside against the table and remaining dangerously close to her. “That’s a pretty personal question.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, averting her eyes.

  He began pulling his shirt up over his abdominal muscles, and she fought the urge to bolt.

  “One,” he stated, pointing to the side of his ribcage. “Anchor, I think it’s kind of cool. And hope, because hope’s the anchor for the soul and all that.”

  So my attempt to distance myself wound up with him placing his bare abdomen in my face. Nice.

  Leaning back, he lifted his shirt higher, until it was almost to his neck. “Two, forgiven.” He pointed to the word that started at one collarbone and stretched to the other. “Pretty self-explanatory.”

  With one deft move, he had the front of his shirt down and had lifted the back over his head, so it was bunched around his neck. Twisting, he turned his back to Harley. “Three, eagle—rise up with wings like eagles.” He gestured to indicate the tattoo on his right shoulder blade, as though she didn’t already know. “And four…the cross. Saved.” When he turned and motioned to the final tattoo, she could see that it stretched from his upper arm all the way up to his shoulder and halfway to his neck.

  “A simple ‘four’ would have sufficed,” she mumbled, watching him replace his shirt. “You obviously have no filter.”

  “Sorry,” he said, dropping his head and shaking it solemnly. “I’m not usually so forthcoming, but you’re just…”

  “…easy to talk to, I know.”

  Rather than respond, he simply carried the bowls into the kitchen, and Harley stood and put her palms on either side of her head.

  Knock it off, Harley. You are not allowed to be attracted to a fry cook who is covered with tattoos and has an unconventional hairstyle. Are you insane?

  Gazing out at the street lights, she looked toward the bench on the sidewalk and noticed that Duke was gone. Her mind drifted back to Ryan giving him the burger, and the thought made her feel a little warmer inside.

  “Ready?” he asked, startling her enough that she jumped a bit. “I’m all done in here, if you are.”

  “Yes, of course. Listen, thanks for the ice cream.”

  “Any time, seriously,” he said with a hint of a smile, and Harley had a sneaking suspicion that he meant it. He led her out the front door and locked it carefully behind them before dropping the keys in the pocket of his jeans. They strolled a few feet down the sidewalk, and then he swung himself over the park bench, sitting at the top with his feet resting on the seat. “So, back to this boyfriend of yours.”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” she insisted, feeling immediately ridiculous for having done so.

  “Ah, I like this turn of events, I think,” he added flirtatiously, practically begging her to sit on the bench just by pulling her in with his eyes. Unable to stop herself, she sat along the edge, far enough away that she couldn’t see his face. He countered by lowering himself to the seat and sliding a little closer.

  “What about him?” she wanted to know, feeling slightly nervous at his closeness.

  “Why him? What was it about him that first got your attention?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. It never seemed serious, so I didn’t give it a lot of thought. He was just a diversion, really.” She could feel his eyes upon her, and she responded by focusing her gaze out onto the street.

  “You don’t seem like the kind of person who would go after diversions.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she questioned, turning to face him. “I’m a fun person when the opportunity presents itself.”

  “Whoa, who said you weren’t fun?” he wondered, wrinkling his brow. “I just meant you don’t seem like the time-wasting type.”

  She fought to drag her eyes away from his, and when she managed to do so, she realized with a jolt that her gaze was drifting across his cheek, his nose, his lips…

  “No,” she said more forcefully than she intended. “I’m not really the time-wasting type.”

  “You like music?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You asked if I was in a rock band, so I thought maybe you were a closet groupie or something.”

  “Very funny,” she said with a short laugh. “No, I’m not a groupie, but I like music. Quite a lot, actually.”

  “What are you passionate about?”

  Her heart leapt to her throat, and she fought to swallow. At the moment she couldn’t quite work past the passionate desire to drag her finger across that little trail of hair under his lip. Fighting a blush, she attempted to smile.

  “Wow, I don’t know if anyone’s ever asked me that,” she began, pausing to collect her thoughts. “I guess I’m passionate about finding out the truth, uncovering things, digging under proverbial rocks, so to speak.”

  “Why?”

  What was it with this man?

  “Why?” For some reason she thought back to dinner at the club, and she had to stifle a giggle.

  “What’s funny?”

  “I was just thinking about my first dinner tonight, with the ex, when he asked me what I believed in. You want to know what I said? It was so stupid. ‘Truth, justice, and the American way.’”

  “You’re Miss U.S.A.”

  “I know, it’s so pathetic,” she whispered, shaking her head. She glanced at him, and those blue eyes were locked on her in an entrancing way that broke through her defenses. “You want to know what I’m passionate about, Ryan? I want to be important enough to make a difference.”

  “Except you don’t have to be important to make a difference,” he replied, looking at her pensively again.

  “Maybe not, but it sure makes things easier.” Taking a deep breath, she dared to stare boldly at him. “What about you? What are you passionate about?”

  The corner of his mouth stretched into a hint of a smile, and she could have sworn he inched closer.

  “I just want to help people, really,” he said. “To be there in their moment of need.”

  Like with Duke, she thought.

  “Miss U.S.A.,” she muttered teasingly, and he laughed as he exhibited a full, straight-toothed smile. “Actually, in reality, I like that. Very noble. Most guys your age would say they’re passionate about football or making money or getting lucky.” He continued looking at her, and she started to feel self-conscious. Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she averted her gaze. “Quit staring at me, you’re making me nervous.”

  “Sorry, but you’re…” Breaking off, he turned his head and looked at the street.

  “I’m what?” she prodded. His eyes returned to her face in a way that penetrated her attempts at resistance, and she couldn’t pull her own away.

  “You’re beau
tiful.”

  “On TV,” she offered, completing his sentence.

  “No. I mean, yeah, on TV of course, but not like right now. Without the makeup and the hair and the clothes, you’ve just got this ethereal quality about you.”

  “Ethereal?” She hadn’t meant to repeat him, but she was entranced enough that she couldn’t help herself.

  “Please don’t make me explain that.”

  “You don’t have to…” she began before a lump rose in her throat. “Thank you.”

  “Maybe I should just get you home,” he assessed with a smile, rising to his feet. He reached for her hand, and as she took his, the pulse of electricity that flowed through her veins surprised her. As though he sensed it himself, he stood there for a moment, her hand in his, both awaiting something.

  “Harley…”

  Ugh, why can’t I feel this way with Kip? Or Denton? Or someone…appropriate?

  “Ryan, this has been a really, truly lovely conversation.” Her words brought a smile to his lips.

  “Okay.” He breathed out quickly. “I get it. I’m parked out back.” Releasing her hand, he led her to the back of the restaurant, where she glanced around to look for his car. Instead, he stepped over to an older model motorcycle, grabbing a black helmet.

  “You don’t have a car,” she stated the obvious, staring at the bike.

  “No,” he answered with a shrug. “I had a truck, but I really needed some capital in a hurry, so I sold it and picked this up. It works for now.”

  “Do you live far from here?” Lifting an arm to her neck, she covered her heart as though she could shield herself from the truth.

  “About five minutes. I had an apartment not too far, but…”

  “Let me guess,” she interrupted. “You needed some capital.”

  A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, but he forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m with my parents for the time being.”

  Of course. A fry cook who doesn’t have a real vehicle and lives with his parents. Nice one, Harley.

  He offered her the helmet, and she reluctantly took it, pulling it onto her head. He started his bike and then motioned for her to move behind him while he asked for the address. She gave him Annie’s street name and then settled against him. Within seconds, they were rolling down the street.