by Lux Miller
Yeah, I know. Most men would drink away their sorrows, but I don’t like the way that shit makes me feel. At least the cake and I have always parted on good terms. I may feel a bit heavier in the morning, but it’s nothing a good run and a lot of bag punching can’t work off. Besides, I’ve got a few days to make myself sweat to make sure I stay in the Welterweight category.
I’m humming to myself as I walk into the restaurant. I scan the crowd to see if anyone here might recognize me, but this doesn’t seem to be the kind of crowd who likes watching grown men beat the shit out of each other. Nah, this seems more like families and young couples canoodling in the casino. Until my eyes land on a familiar face - the bookie that I probably just cost a few grand, at least.
I’d be willing to bet the house lost a small fortune on that fight, and he probably lost out on ten or twelve grand in bonuses if I’d won . Easy peasy, guaranteed win is what they were saying. Oops. I guess everybody fucks up royally from time to time. Boy, does he not look pleased to see me. In fact, if his heaving shoulders are any indication, he’s about to Hulk out right here in the restaurant. Maybe I should find another place to make myself sick on sweets.
I’m not scared of a scrawny dude like him, but I’m also not about to get into a fight in the middle of a restaurant full of young kids and impressionable teens. Especially since the bookie’s here with a date. No sense in getting a woman involved in a dude’s squabble. I’m about to turn around and leave the restaurant when the woman sitting across from him turns around, and I find myself staring into the concerned face of the cocktail waitress from earlier who took my breath away. Shit…
FIVE
Poppy
Seeing Braxton Storm standing in the entrance to the restaurant where Brad insisted we come is both surprising and a bit intimidating. The only time I’ve seen the man in person, he was sitting in a chair. No, I take that back… based on the enormous form that fills my vision, he was most definitely slouching down into that chair so far, I’m surprised he didn’t slide out of it on his ass. This dude is enormous. He’s not muscle-bound like a bodybuilder, but he most definitely has muscles for days. Long, languid muscles that are on full display between the joggers slung low on his body and the loose tank top that’s barely clinging to life on his body.
My guess is he’s probably just been released by the casino’s medical team. Brad’s spent the last several minutes droning on about how Storm threw the fight and faked an injury. But from what I heard whispered around the employee break room, Storm didn’t just go down; he went down hard and didn’t get back up. I drag my eyes away from the man whose attention is still on me and turn back to Brad. “Look at the guy, Brad. There’s no way he faked that. He still looks dazed.”
Brad frowns, slamming his fist down on the table. The silverware clatters around and one fork jumps off the table and bounces up under Brad’s chair. The rest of the sparse dishes rattle around as Brad continues to grumble about cheaters and liars and some other crap that I tune out. “Ugh, Brad, get over it already. He lost the fight, so what,” I interrupt him and you’d think I told him I ran over his dog with the look of betrayal that blooms on his face.
I roll my eyes at him and turn back around to find that Storm has disappeared. I feel a pang of guilt bubble in my stomach. It quickly evaporates as Brad leans across the table and grabs my wrists so tightly that it hurts. I yelp and whirl around to give him a look that could wither a cactus. “Ow Brad, let go. That hurts.”
Brad narrows his eyes at me. “So are you thinking about fucking him?”
I yank one of hands back across the table and grab an errant fork from beside my plate. I narrow my eyes right back and glance down at the hand of his that’s still firmly wrapped around my wrist. “What? No, you nincompoop. When would I have time to worry about having sex with someone else? You’re either on top of me or talking about being on top of me. I haven’t had sex with anyone but you, Brad. Now let go…”
Brad growls and yanks on my wrist, pulling me halfway across the table. As he does, my untouched glass of wine spills over, staining the pristine white tablecloth underneath the basket of rolls he forbade me from eating. He throws my hand back at me as he scoots his chair out from the table to avoid getting wine on his uniform. “Look what you made me do, Poppy!”
I sit up in my chair and scoot it out from the table too, my chest heaving from the shock of nearly being dragged onto the table. The jubilant chatter that was humming throughout the restaurant has quieted now to a low murmur, like whispered words of concern that nobody can seem to raise their voice to say.
I can feel the eyes of the other patrons on me as men and women alike turn to stare in our direction. I hold up a hand and laugh nervously, swatting at the air, “Oh, I am so clumsy! My, look what I’ve gone and done now. No worries, folks! Y’all go back to your dinners and we’ll get this mess cleaned up.”
I close my eyes, fighting back tears as a small child’s voice rings out in the silence, “Mommy, why’d the man try to put the lady on the table? Was he gonna eat her?”
I stifle down a sniffle and open my eyes, praying my mascara isn’t running from the wetness in my eyes. I glare across the table at Brad, but he seems nonplussed by the scene we’re making. Several people are still cautiously staring at us and the waiters from the restaurant have gathered near the swinging kitchen door. It’s a stare down between myself and our young waiter, who is poised with a phone in his hands. I shake my head quickly, silently pleading with him not to make the phone call I know he wants to make. The phone call he should make.
“You know, on second thought, I’m not all that hungry. Let’s just go home, Brad. The wine was lovely, but I think I’m feeling a bit tired and I’d like to lie down.”
I reach into my apron and pull out the seventy-four dollars in tips I got tonight, including the sixty from Storm, and drop it onto the table as I attempt to mop up the dark red mess pooling in the center of the table. Brad stands up out of his chair with huff, “Fine, you’ve gone and ruined my appetite anyway. I swear, Poppy, I can’t take you anywhere. You’re like an animal. It’s a wonder you’re even housebroken.”
I close my eyes as I inhale and exhale slowly, trying to keep a lid on my own temper. There’s no point in giving Brad what he wants and that’s a fight. I sigh and toss the handful of napkins that I’ve been trying to clean the table with onto its surface. “Fine, just please keep your voice down. People are staring.”
Brad tosses both of his hands in the air, letting go of the fork in his hand that sails across the table and bounces off of me. I wince in response. Even though it doesn’t hurt by any means, it’s still startling to have an object essentially thrown at you by your angry husband. Brad growls as he skirts around the table and snatches my arm, “Let’s go.”
Though the previous chatter of the dining room has resumed, I can still feel dozens of eyes on me, watching my every move. I look beyond Brad and see a young girl, maybe ten or twelve, watching me with piqued interest. Her mother is snapping her fingers in front of her face, trying to get her to turn around and stop staring, but her eyes are glued to us. Time stands still and for a moment, and I’m a kid again, watching the scene that Brad and I are making in this restaurant. I’m learning right now how a man will treat a woman.
I blink and I’m thrown back into my body, a searing pain tracking up my arm from where Brad has a death-grip on my wrist. I shake my head quickly, my voice barely above a whisper as I mutter, “No.”
Brad recoils like I’ve slapped him, but he doesn’t let go of my arm. Instead, he digs his manicured fingernails into my skin, causing tears to prick at my eyes. “What did you say?”
I swallow and shake my head, taking several steps back from Brad, but I can’t go far. He refuses to let go of me, so I raise my voice. “I said no. No, I won’t come home with you. You’re drunk, Brad. And you’re hurting me.”
Brad snarls as he lets go of my arm like he just got electrocuted. “Fine, bitch, but whe
re are you gonna go, huh? You gonna go screw that guy you were flirting with at work earlier? And you wonder why I stumble into the beds of other women. It takes a cheater to know one.”
I gasp as Brad levels his accusations. My voice is quiet, but close to hysterical as I respond, “You’re blaming me for your behavior?”
Brad takes one step towards me and raises his hand. I duck behind both of my hands, but the impact I expect to feel from his hand never comes. I do hear a lot of chairs scraping and women gasping as there’s a flurry of activity around me. I open my eyes to find a solid wall of man between me and Brad. I peer around the man who’s blocking me from Brad and see that several men have restrained Brad and are leading him out of the restaurant as he continues to spit insults at me. “I don’t care where you go, Poppy… but don’t you dare come back to my house. You’ll find the door locked.”
I just stand there dumbly, my eyes closed tightly as I helplessly try to force back the tears that threaten to stream down my cheeks. Gentle hands come to rest on my shoulders and I tense up at the touch. “Don’t cry for him. He isn’t worth it.”
My eyes fly open in surprise as I recognize the voice. “Storm? Why are you here? What are you doing?”
Storm motions to one of the waiters, then whispers in his ear when the boy gets close enough to him. The waiter nods and murmurs, “Follow me.”
I know I must look a fright right now, but Storm just stands there and waits until I finally begin to shuffle my feet in the direction of where the waiter disappeared. He cautiously rests a hand big enough to be a paw against the middle of my back and though I tense up when he touches me, I let him guide me into the secluded room the waiter ushers us towards.
Storm pulls a chair out from the impeccably set table and motions for me to sit down. “Water? Wine? A dartboard with that jerk’s face on it?”
I sit down and swipe at my face, smearing some of my makeup as I laugh nervously. “Water’s fine. I hate wine.”
Storm turns to the waiter and nods. “A water for the lady. You know what, make that two. And a giant slice of that double-chocolate cherry cake. With two forks.”
The waiter bows his head silently and disappears from the room. Silence falls over the room as Storm sits down across from me, his mouth set into a thin line.
I know I probably look a fright right about now, but something about Storm’s unassuming gesture of offering me a tissue sets my frazzled nerves at ease. “Thanks,” I murmur, laughing at how stupid I must look as I dab at my raccoon eyes. “He’s not always like that, you know.”
Storm nods solemnly, but doesn’t say anything for several minutes. Finally, when the silence becomes too unbearable, I start into my normal apologetic spiel. “I’m sorry you had to see that. It must have looked like we were bad actors rehearsing for a play that’s guaranteed to be a dud.”
Storm doesn’t reply. He just keeps his expression stern as he watches me lie through my teeth. And I suspect that, judging by the arch of his eyebrows, he’s not buying one bit of it.
He clears his throat as the waiter brings in two glasses of water and the most enormous piece of cake I’ve ever seen. I can tell that Storm’s not impressed by what just happened, or my attempts to smooth things over like they never happened, but when that cake hits the table, I hear his stomach growl and he chuckles softly, apologizing, “Uh, sorry about that. My dinner didn’t exactly… sit well with me, so I’m starving. And this cake… it’s the perfect for all kinds of evil.”
I nod nervously and motion to the cake, “Don’t hold back on my account. Seriously, this cake will make you forget about all your troubles, at least while it’s still in your mouth.”
Storm reaches across the table and places a fork in my hand. I flinch when he touches me, but try to play it off with the fakest laugh to ever tumble out of my mouth. He frowns and nods at the cake, but I shake my head and put the fork back down on the table. “I can’t… do you know how many calories are in that? Brad would...”
Lightning flashes across Storm’s face as his expression becomes thunderous. “Brad? The asshole’s name is Brad? That’s not nearly pretentious enough for that prick. Please tell me that wasn’t your husband…”
I smile nervously, sucking in a breath through my teeth and Storm yanks his hand back across the table, balling it into a fist. “You don’t deserve a man like that…”
I gasp and look up at him in shock. He sounds exactly like Brad sounds when he’s trying to knock me down a peg or two. Storm frowns and shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. No woman deserves to be treated like that.”
I gulp, dreading the answer I know he’s going to give me, but I ask the question anyway. “Like what?”
Storm shakes his head as he grabs his own fork, then motions to mine on the table again. “Like trash. His actions were not those of a man in love. They were the actions of a man in possession of something he’s afraid to lose.”
I swallow hard and nod slightly, picking the fork up in my hand and twisting it around in my fingers. Storm’s voice is gentle, but firm as he insists, “Try the cake, Poppy. Misery calories don’t count.”
I can’t help but laugh nervously at his words. I nod and stab at the cake with the fork, “Fine. I’ll try it for your sake, but don’t expect me to…” I trail off as I pop the fork into my mouth and the flavor explodes on my tongue. I chew hastily and stare at Storm in shock. Finally, I get my mouth working right again and exclaim, “Holy crap, that’s good!”
Storm nods. “Told you.” He cuts off a large chunk of the cake and scoots it off onto a napkin, then pushes the plate across the table to me. “I love this place for their cake. Every time I’m in Atlantic City, I get this cake. Truthfully, it’s the only thing I’ve ever eaten here. It will take me three hours to work it off tomorrow, but I could use a good run anyway. Enjoy it. You seem like you could use something good in your life right about now.”
SIX
Storm
Watching Poppy scarf down the cake like she’s been starved is almost alarming. She’s not overly skinny, but a few pounds on her lithe frame probably wouldn’t even show. And after the display I just witnessed between her and that jerk, it makes me wonder what the fucker does behind closed doors. He certainly wasn’t very restrained with all those people watching. I shudder to think what kind of abuse she’s been subjected to if that’s her husband. Maybe he was just an overzealous co-worker? I know it’s wishful thinking at its best and it’s probably none of my business, but if there’s one thing I absolutely cannot stand in this world, it’s a man that uses force to get what he wants.
She polishes off the rest of the cake on the plate and sits back in the chair, her eyes wide as a smile slowly creeps across her face. “That… was… the best cake I’ve ever had!”
I nod and push the piece I’d portioned off for myself over to her. “I know, here, finish it up.”
She shakes her head, looking almost alarmed. “Oh my gosh, I couldn’t! You said you came here just for the cake and you haven’t even had a bite yet…”
I shrug and push the napkin all the way over to her, patting her hand gently as I nod at her. “You need it more than I do. Besides, I’ve kinda lost my appetite.”
She nods solemnly and pokes at the cake for a minute with her fork before her resolve crumbles and she digs into the rest of the piece. I wait until her mouth is full of cake before I pry. “So… Jerky McFuckFace… is he the husband you mentioned having?”
She stops chewing for a moment and her eyes dart to mine. They’re swirling with emotions, and if I’m seeing things correctly, colors too. They almost seem to morph right in front of me. I could be seeing things, too. I did just take a nasty kick to the head that worried the unshakable Joe King to the core. He’s seen a lot of injuries, including my own, and I’ve never seen him worried like that. The one thing that’s undeniable though, is that Poppy’s kaleidoscope eyes are wet with unshed tears. No man should make a woman cry. But that’s exactly what’s ab
out to happen.
Poppy sniffles softly as she swallows down the bite of cake before shoveling another forkful into her mouth. She’s doing her damnedest not to have to talk to me, but shit, if this woman cries, I’m done for. I cannot stand to see a woman cry. Especially not when I can see written all over her face the reason why.
I sigh, dragging a hand up over my jaw, then back down again. “Don’t cry, please. I’ll stop asking questions if you promise not to cry.”
She bursts into a nervous laughter as she finishes up the cake. “Tough man can’t watch a woman express emotions?”
I shake my head quickly. “Tough man’s got no problems with emotions. Tough man doesn’t handle seeing a woman hurt by a man who’s supposed to love her and honor her and protect her. If those tears were happy tears, tough man wouldn’t have a problem, but we both know they’re not. You shouldn’t shed a single tear for that bastard. Husband or not, he’s an asshole.”
She drops the fork to the table and looks at me seriously as she swipes at her eyes. Damnit. “I’m not crying.” She waves her hands in front of her face in a desperate attempt to fan herself, but I can see from the way her delicate features twist in agony that it’s pointless. She’s gonna cry and I’m gonna have to dig deep not to lose it like a feral beast and track down that jerk and pummel him into the ground.
