My grandfather figured Rt-12 in Wimberly, about forty miles outside of Austin, Texas would be the ideal place for a twenty-four-hour restaurant. So on August 8, 1957, the Cypress Creek Diner opened its doors, and we haven’t closed since. To this day, we still have the same menu we did when we opened, and three times a year, we do a weekend of ‘50s original prices. It's more to help boost local tourism in the spring and fall than to turn a profit. After all, who’s making money on a twenty-cent hamburger?
“Looks like another fun-filled evening.” Henry’s sarcasm is palatable. I’m pretty sure he came with the kit as the original cook and just never left.
Unlike Henry, I love the graveyard shift. I consider it to be the perfect compromise in my life. I can attend the University of Austin to study law during the day, sleep while most are out partying, and study in peace until morning while I staff the only twenty-four-hour restaurant in a town with a population of less than three thousand.
Rinse and repeat. Besides, I have worked in the diner since I was thirteen and can run the place with my eyes closed. Of course, I didn’t start on the overnight shift, which was a long and hard-fought argument with my dad. He insisted it wasn’t safe for a young woman to work alone overnight. But in the end, he finally gave in since the only customer ever to come in during those hours is the local sheriff. I can’t be safer.
Henry went into the small office off the kitchen, presumably to sleep. If, on the off-chance that I need him to cook something, he is just a holler away. So I pull my stack of books out from behind the counter, spread them out, and dig into Criminal Theory.
At about two-thirty, I catch the lights of a bus pulling into the parking lot, followed quickly by six more.
“Henry!” I yell. “Looks like we’re gonna have company.”
I quickly do the math at what six busses will mean. Even if each only has twenty people, it will be substantially more than our ten booths, and ten counter seats can accommodate. Of course, there is always the possibility that they are just lost and need directions back to the interstate.
I watch from behind the counter as a lone man exits the first bus. When he walks in, the bell above the door dings, and I smile.
“Howdy, friend,” I manage to say in greeting. When the man in front of me smiles back, I nearly forget my name. He is definitely not from around here. Nope, I would remember seeing him around. He stands well over six feet tall, evident by the slight duck he did when he entered.
His hair is long and brown, with a slight curl and lighter brown highlights to it. The kind of hair any woman will pay good money for at a high-end salon in Austin. But on him, I’m sure it’s natural. His jeans are well worn with rips at the knees, and fit him as if they were made for his body. His tight black t-shirt only serves to emphasize his perfectly sculpted body.
Tattoos cover both his arms, thick leather bracelets adorn both wrists, and a slew of silver rings are on each hand.
I would love to be able to see his eyes, but a pair of dark sunglasses covers them. Trust me, it hasn't escaped my knowledge that there is no sun out at 2:30 a.m. in Wimberly, Texas.
“Hey,” he says as he leans against the counter, which only proves to add to his hotness. When he reaches up and removes his glasses, finally revealing the most beautiful set of light brown eyes framed in thick dark lashes—so thick and dark, I almost wonder if he’s wearing eyeliner—I literally forget who I am.
He looks around the empty diner for a moment. “You guys are open, right?”
He must have missed the neon rotating sign saying open twenty-four hours, seven days a week. What a shame—so handsome, yet not very bright. “Open twenty-four hours.” I glance out the window at the busses lined up, idling outside. “Will it be just you tonight?”
He gives me a devilish grin as he eyes me up and down. I fidget with my uniform, realizing I’m standing before a god in my fifties-style gingham dress with a white apron-pinafore. I begged my father to allow me to wear black yoga pants and one of the Cypress Creek Diner tees, but he insisted that the uniform stayed as part of the diner’s charm. Now I want to crawl behind the counter and die.
“Nah,” he says as he points his thumb behind him. “I just volunteered to come in and make sure you can take us.”
I look out over his shoulder at the line of busses. “Oh, well, we can only seat about fifty total, and well, it’s just Henry and me on the overnight, so I can’t guarantee quick.”
He glances down at his watch. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Do you think I can grab some menus for the guys who don’t come inside? We’re a burgers and fries kinda group, so we won’t be ordering anything fancy.”
I can’t help but chuckle at the word fancy. “Well, that’s a good thing because the fanciest thing we make is fish-n-chips, but that’s only on Fridays.” I grab a stack of six menus, one for each bus, and hand them over to him. “They can just write down the number they want, and I’ll have Henry box them up for ya, no problem at all.”
He gives me a crooked smile and a wink, and I’m pretty sure I feel my panties drop to the floor all on their own. “Thanks, I’ll be right back.”
I watch him turn and walk away, my eyes firmly glued to his amazing ass. When he pauses before leaving and turns to catch me ogling him, I want to die again. But he gives me another wink and opens the door.
I drop my head to the counter in mortification before yelling again for Henry. He waits beside me as we watch the buses unload.
“What do you reckon they are, ‘cause they sure as shit don’t look like no tourist group.”
Well, Henry sure hits the nail on the head with that statement. We do, on occasion, get bus groups stopping during the day. But those busses are usually packed full of little old ladies interested in buying magnets for their grandkids.
I watch the men exit the busses, and each one has more tattoos and piercings than the next. Definitely not from around here. “If I have to guess, I’ll say road crew for a band, or prison work release,” I laugh out.
The handsome stranger leads the way and stands at the counter next to me, directing the men as they enter. “Take a seat and be nice to…” He glances down at my name-tag and good Lord, and he smiles again while sounding out my name. “Em-o-gine.”
“Em is fine.” I smile and feel the heat radiate through my cheeks.
“Be nice to Em!” he yells out so everyone can hear his instructions before he takes a seat at the counter.
I grab the menus as the seats fill up and hand them out. The group must listen to their hot-as-hell leader because each table is sweet and polite, and I don’t hear a single cuss word from the group as they wait for their food.
A half-hour later, the diner is silent as the bunch digs into their meals. I’m not sure if he instructed them to order only burgers and fries, but I am happy for the simplicity of the large group and the quick turnaround in the kitchen.
I can feel his eyes following me as I deliver food and make small talk with each table. Usually, I find the attention creepy. But I figure he’s merely ensuring none of the men gives me a hard time.
Once I put the last plate down, I lean my hip against the counter and take a much-needed sip my water. I give the stranger a side glance, which, of course, he catches and smiles as he taps a pile of my books. “Are all these yours?” he asks.
“Oh, my God.” I rush over and clear the piles off the counter in front of his plate. “I am so very sorry. I completely—”
He stops me with a smile and a hand in the air. “It’s okay, and they aren’t in my way. So Em, you’re studying law?”
“I am, which is why the night shift works out perfectly for me. It gives me plenty of time to study.” I look around the crowded diner. “Well, usually.”
“When it’s not invaded by a full-on road crew.”
I smile and forget what he just said as I look at him. He is the worst kind of distraction. The bell above the door rescues me from potentially making a fool of myself. When a young guy ho
lding my menus and a piece of paper steps up, my hot stranger grabs the paper from him before handing it over to me.
“Are those the rest of the orders?” I ask as I peer over his shoulder to see.
“Yeah, I’m just looking it over to make sure no one ordered that fancy fish and chips you mentioned earlier.”
“Did you tell them all to just order burgers? I was only kidding about keeping it simple.”
If I didn’t know better, I would say a flush of color spreads across his face when I call him out. “No, but I did tell them to keep it simple. That it’s just one hot waitress and a cook inside.”
“Oh…” I blush.
“I also might have told them not to hit on you and to be polite.”
At that, I knew my face was beet red. I take the paper in shaky hands and go back to Henry to put the order in, and maybe step into the walk-in fridge to cool off.
When I come back out, I avoid eye contact as I check on the tables. As promised, each is polite and courteous, even though this group doesn’t look like a bunch of alter boys. It appears they would be more at home in a biker bar than at a diner in Wimberly.
I have the check ready, and there is only one person to ask who is going to pay for this night. “So, mister road crew leader, who gets the check?”
“It’s Zach, and I’ll take care of it.”
Zach… I sigh to myself as I hand him the nearly nine hundred dollar check. He glances at it, and I expect him to toss down a credit card or question the cost. But instead, he pulls out a stack of bills and hands me a stack of twenty one-hundred dollar bills.
“Change?” I ask.
He just shakes his head. “No, thanks. For taking care of my crew and me tonight.”
Before I can say anything, the diner starts to empty. One by one, each pats Zach on the shoulder with a “thanks, man” as they pass. It takes me a minute to realize it’s just Zach and me standing there, staring at each other in awkward silence. I don’t even hear Henry any longer in the kitchen. I am willing to bet he went back to rest. This has to be the most work he’s done in thirty years at the diner.
“Do you want anything else?” I smile and fidget with my uniform.
With a devil’s grin, he asks, “Do you have pie?”
Well, duh, of course, he’s standing here wanting something else. Why else would he be hanging around?
“Cream or cherry?” I don’t mean my voice to come out breathy, but I suddenly sound like a southern sex-phone worker.
He nearly spits out the water he’s sipping and it takes me a moment to realize my unintentional double-entendre. Before I can backpedal or hope he didn’t catch the slip-up, an ear to ear Cheshire grin spreads across his handsome face… damn it.
“Oh, I love both.” His words say food, but the hungry way his eyes move down my body says he didn’t miss my faux pas.
I slice him a piece of cherry pie. I’m setting it down in front of him when I notice the lights from all but one of the busses begin to pull away.
“Looks amazing.”
Is he talking about the pie?
“I heated it for you. I hope you like it hot?”
Wait, am I talking about the pie?
“I love it hot.” His intense stare tells me we are not talking about pie.
In my shaky hand, I hold up a can of whipped cream. “Do you like cream on your pie?” I whisper out.
“Fuck.”
He stands, and without another word, holds out his hand. I take it without hesitation and let him lead me to the small hallway at the end of the counter that leads to the bathrooms. I’m not a woman who sleeps around, and I certainly never go into dark halls with complete strangers.
But here I am, leaning against the wall, looking up at Zach, waiting. The hallway is narrow, just over three feet wide, and with his height, he’s leaning against the opposite wall, but his feet are resting on either side of me.
“I’ve been dying to kiss you since I walked in the door,” he confesses.
“You have?” I manage to squeak out.
“I wanted to tell everyone to eat faster and get the hell out.”
I swallow and pray that he can’t hear my heart about to beat out of my chest. “And now?”
He takes a step forward, wholly invading my personal space. I watch as he takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes as if he’s trying to get control of something. When he opens them, they are lust-filled and I feel my knees go weak.
“Now, this little uniform you’re wearing is turning me on so much, I’m afraid one kiss will never be enough.”
I nod in agreement. It can’t be enough. “I’m be okay with that.”
I am not sure who this brazen woman is who has invaded my body, but I am in total agreement with her need to seduce the hottest man on the planet.
Without another word, he leans down and captures my lips with his. His lips feel so soft against mine that when he momentarily pulls back, a sad squeak escapes from my throat.
He smiles and kisses me again…once, twice. By the third light kiss, I’m wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him into me, deepening our kiss.
The spark ignites quickly into an inferno of passion, and he lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he presses me to the wall. We’re both completely taken over by a primal need. When I feel his hardness pressing against my panties, I rock into him, trying desperately to get some relief from the heat building between my legs.
His kisses travel down my neck, and I feel his tongue glide up until he’s nipping at my earlobe. “I’m going to fuck you against this wall if you don’t stop rubbing that sweet pussy against me.”
With my legs wrapped around, him, he keeps one hand wrapped around me, holding me up and the other he trails up my bare leg until his fingers graze the lace of my panties. I know I’m soaked with desire, and I’m moments away from begging him to make me come.
His fingers glide over the wet material of my panties. “Fuck, Em, you’re soaked.”
I feel his fingers slip under the wet lace, and when they graze my swollen clit, I nearly scream out in ecstasy. Before I can beg him for more, he slides two fingers inside me, flicking them against my inner walls, driving me insane.
“Fuck you’re so tight,” he growls into my ear as I ride his fingers like a sex-starved vixen.
“Please,” I breathe out. I feel my walls begin to quiver and tighten as my release builds. “Please. More,” My voice is husky as I continue to let Zach fuck me with his fingers. But it’s not enough.
“More what?” he whispers in my ear.
I push away to look into his soft brown eyes, and they’re hooded and lust-filled. The words that leave my lips shock and surprise me.
“Please fuck me.” I’m fumbling with his belt before he can even answer.
He roughly pulls my panties to the side, and I hear them tear, but I’m too far gone to care. His jeans and belt hit the floor with a clang, and I feel his bare skin between my thighs.
He’s hard and thick, but I’m so ready when that when he lines himself up at my entrance, he slides into the hilt with barely any effort. He fills me to my limit and with his first thrust, I can’t help but yell out.
It only takes us a minute for us to find our rhythm. I’m riding him, and he’s thrusting deep into me. My clit is throbbing, and when his finger begins to flick and tease it, I’m falling over the edge of pleasure and moaning out his name.
I feel his playful light bite against my neck, then harder. I’m not one who likes to sport a hickey, but his lips on my neck feel too good to care. His thrusts quicken and when I feel his cock swell and pulse inside me, I’m coming a third time.
We both struggle to catch our breath, and I feel his tongue glide up my neck as he whispers in my ear, “You’re amazing.”
He slowly pulls out of me and places me back on my feet. It’s then I realize the enormity of what we just did as I feel wetness run down my legs.
“Oh shit,” I say in a panic. “Oh, my God
, we didn’t use a condom. I’ve never had sex without a condom.” I rush into the bathroom, trying not to cry at my stupidity. Zach follows close behind.
I turn on the sink and wet a paper towel and begin to clean myself up. My mind is racing. I have never done something so reckless in my life.
“It’s okay. I’m clean.” I hear Zach try to reassure me, but isn’t that what everyone says?
“Oh, well, that’s just great. But I’m not on any birth control, so you being clean is only half the issue.” The tears I didn’t want to flow, begin, and I can’t stop them.
“Shhhh, sit down.” I sit, and he kneels in front of me, rubbing my arms as he tries to calm me. Tears flow uncontrollably down my face. “Look at me, Emogine.”
Cupping my face between his hands, he brushes away my tears with his thumbs. “I swear to you on my life that I’m clean, and I know for a fact that I’m shooting blanks.”
“I just can’t believe…”I take in a deep breath the tears subsiding. “You swear?”
“On my life,” He kisses my forehead, my nose, then my lips. “We made only happy memories.”
He finishes cleaning me up and then himself. It’s an awkward silence. I know this was just a quick fuck in a hallway, but it was the most fantastic sex I have ever had. He takes my hand and leads me back into the empty diner.
The sun is just beginning to come up and I see Zach look out toward the lone bus waiting for him. “Fuck, I have to go.”
He pulls me into a tight embrace and gives me one last kiss before he's heading to the door. “I’ll see you around, Emogine,”he says with a sad smile.
“I’ll see you around, Zach.”
He turns around before he pushes through the door, holding up my black lace panties. “I’m keeping these as a memory.”
“All yours,” I say, but I’m not sure I’m talking about the panties or something more.
He gives me a smile, and a wave before the door to the bus closes, and it backs up out of the parking lot. I stare out the window until I can’t see the taillights anymore.
Jaxon (Blood Angel Chronicles Book 1) Page 26
