She takes a step back. “Stop.”
I chuckle. “You used to get so flushed back then, too, when I said things to you. So flustered. Fucking hot for me.”
“Jesus, Ross, is this a joke to you?” Her voice is hushed, faint.
“Life’s a joke, sweet cheeks,” I mutter, my mouth still on smartass autopilot. You believe that or go crazy, right? “Better remember that.”
“You really are an asshole.” Her mouth is trembling, her eyes defiantly dry. “Getting off on others’ humiliation.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” And suddenly a wave of sickness hits my stomach. It doesn’t feel so good, upsetting her. Reminding her of the past between us. Why doesn’t it feel good? “Pour some more hot coffee on me if it will make you feel better.”
“It won’t.”
“All right.” I chuck the bunched-up napkin on the table, my scarred knuckles stained with coffee and blood. Fuck, looks like I reopened some scabs. “I’ll have my usual, then. Pancakes.”
“What would make me feel better is for you to understand what you did, how you hurt people—”
“Just pancakes, woman.” I work my jaw, but remain slouched back, still pretending to be relaxed and in control. “That’s what I want.”
“Oh my God. You...” Her mouth opens and closes, like she wants to tell me something more but can’t decide if it’s a wise move. Finally, she says, “I’ll tell Mike.”
That catches me off guard. Again. She keeps doing that to me. “Tell him what?”
“That you’re not paying for any of this. Taking advantage.”
She can’t be serious. “What? Come on. I pay, end of every month.”
“Stop lying. Stop playing me for a fool. And here I was starting to think you were different. Starting to worry over you.”
Wait, she’s worried about me? There’s a sting in my chest at her words, the thought she was concerned about me. “Luna—”
“No. Just... go buy your food and coffee elsewhere. We’ve all had enough of your bullshit.”
Fuck. I sit back, aware of several pairs of hostile eyes on my back from the customers and the staff of the diner. “You can’t do that.”
But she’s already gone, powerwalking between tables, her cute ass swaying just a little, and fuck my brain for still noticing such things when she’s more or less kicked me out, after chewing me over.
Kicking back my chair, kicking the table for good measure, I stalk out of the diner.
Damn, I knew she was mad at me, and with good reason, but I thought we’d turned a corner, that she wouldn’t look at me with such loathing in her eyes anymore, and I thought...
Yeah, what did you think, Ross? Come on, come out and say it. That she’d forgiven you? That she liked you? That she’d ever let you touch her, talk to her, spend time with her? She forgot who you really are for a second, but now you’ve gone and reminded her. Shown her your true face.
Jesus Fucking Christ, I’m a moron. Then again what else is new? Dad always told me so, punctuated it with his fists to drive the point home. In between his drunken bouts of yelling about his bastard kids with that other woman in town—my half-siblings—he told me all about how I was a worthless piece of shit he had the misfortune of being burdened with.
Can’t blame him for that. I was a little shit growing up, always getting into trouble. A mean, stupid kid. I deserved the belt. Deserved his scorn.
Just like I deserve the scalding coffee splashed on my hand, a mistake though it was, and then Luna’s cold gaze. I’ve always been a mistake, and I’ve been blaming others when there was no-one to blame but myself for the pain.
***
Should I give a shit about what the pretty brunette threatened? Should I consider the diner off limits?
I could ignore her and pretend nothing happened, but if Mike is pissed off with me for whatever reason and calls the sheriff, well then, I’m royally screwed.
Fuck.
The sheriff’s been waiting for an excuse to lock me up again, and I’m not going back there, no fucking way. The beatings I’m taking here are a cakewalk compared to the viciousness of my jailmates, the boredom, the tension, the fucking hopelessness.