Hard Rider

“What are you doing in Louisiana? The last I heard of you, you were still in Arizona. You made one hell of a wrong turn on your way to New York.”

The rowdiness at the other booth had hushed down. They were listening to every damn word I was saying, and I quickly recognized why this place was making me feel so uneasy.

Eyes were on me.

Kate noticed them too, tensing up without turning. “I told you, pal. I don’t know you. Now, are you going to order anything, or do I need to have you tossed out? We don’t take to overnight squatters here…”

My eyes filtered over her shoulder and to the other waitress, popping bubble gum and watching with mild amusement. As we made brief eye contact, she winked slyly, licking her lips.

I ignored the open invitation. “I’ll take…” I lifted the menu again. “How’s your steak?”

“It’s shit,” Kate shrugged.

“…Oh.”

I glanced quickly over the rest.

“What about your pork chop?”

“This is Waffle Shack. Do you seriously think you’re gonna get a prime piece of meat at a place called Waffle Shack?”

“Point taken. Waffle.”

“What kind of waffle?” She smirked.

“Your best kind.”

Kate glanced over her shoulder and called over to the enclosed kitchen. “Chocolate chip waffle, peanuts on top.”

“I have a nut allergy,” I reminded her.

“Oh, you do?” She turned back, disguising a sly glint of amusement in her eyes. “Good thing you told me, I’d have never guessed.”

Before I could remind her of when I’d nearly choked to death on my seventeenth birthday from a grocery store cake, she quickly shouted over her shoulder again.

“Junior Shack Waffle, the works, hold the nuts!”

Kate turned to me again.

“Any sides?”

“Hash browns,” I answered civilly.

“We’re out.”

I glanced around her at an elderly woman at the countertop, happily scooping a heaping of cheesy bacon hash browns into her mouth.

“Fresh out,” Kate clarified coolly.

“Sausages, then.”

She smirked. “You don’t want them.”

“I don’t?” An eyebrow lifted.

“I don’t know, do you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” I retorted.

“Trust your waitress,” she chuckled. “I know what goes on with the meat back there. You don’t want ‘em.”

I watched a nearby, cheery older trucker pause, a half-eaten chunk of sausage on his fork, and stare at it with confusion.

“Fine,” I replied. “What about grits?”

“I thought you didn’t like grits?”

A half-smile crept across my face as I watched the cogs spin. When she realized what she’d done, she narrowed her eyes.

Kate growled to the kitchen.

“Add a side of sausages!”

“That’s a little more like it,” I muttered, taking a sip of the finest warm tap water this side of the Mississippi river.

The tension was still in the air, but I kept to myself at that point. With time, it started to fade down, and I even heard the backwater punks in the booth behind me riling up a bit when Kate sauntered over with their side plates.

While they were preoccupied, I turned slightly and summed them up.

The brutish ringleader of the pack stunk of self-righteous bullshit. He was giving Kate trouble, trying to swat at her ass or pinch at her until she put him in his place. Even when she verbally knocked him down a few pegs, he’d drunkenly laugh it off.

But there was something dark about him, and I noticed her body language. She was afraid of him. I couldn’t help but feel like he had hurt her before, either physically or mentally, but I couldn’t be sure.

I made a mental note of this and glanced at the others in his group.

There were three of them, all cut from the same kind of cloth. Like slobbering dogs given human form, the animals were eager for a piece. While they came in different shapes – one tall and lanky, one short and gruff, the last one broad but stupid – they were all parts to the same beast.

It was a beast to steer clear of.

The entire group disgusted me. As I noticed the stupid one plainly looking at me with a boorish smirk on his face, I calmly turned my gaze away from their table.

I heard the scuffle of boots against the tiles. I sighed inwardly, resigning myself to violence.

It was my own fault.

I had been watching them for too long.

“You got a problem, asshole?”

It was the brains of the operation talking, if you could call him that. I was taller than most, but he had two inches on me… and six inches on my stomach thanks to his lazy ass beer belly. I could tear this man apart limb from limb, but I didn’t want it to come to that.

“No problem,” I responded calmly.

“Then why’re you lookin’ at us?” He demanded, a slight slur to his words. “Think I’m pretty? Somethin’ on my face? What is it, asshole?”

“I’m not here for any trouble,” I replied honestly. “Nothing to do in this joint, thought I’d take a look around.”

The thug looked like he was going to try something, but just laughed. “Yeah, they broke the damn jukebox a while back… fucking morons. Can’t enjoy a goddamn meal in peace with my boys on the juke anymore…”

I held back a growl. This guy was going to be a problem, sooner or later. “Shame, that.”

“Yeah… I know, right?”

“Yeah,” I nodded.

He looked apologetic for a split second, but amped up the macho shit again. “Just… keep to yourself, outsider. Don’t start nothin’, won’t be nothin’, y’heard?”

“Crystal clear,” I said.

The fucker either ignored or didn’t hear the menace in my voice, because he looked satisfied as he waddled back to his booth. It was then that I noticed two things. We were the only patrons left in the diner now, and Kate was pretending to not watch our little exchange while sharing words with the cook.

She was hiding her concern well, but I knew that she was anxious about the little verbal spat. Maybe she didn’t want a fight in her restaurant.

I made a little promise to myself that I wouldn’t let it come to that… I’d take things outside, if necessary.

My Junior Shack waffle with sausages came shortly afterward. Kate’s coworker brought it over while she was tied up with the brutes at the other table.

A frown crossed my lips when I saw it.

To my irritation, it came without butter or maple syrup. Instead, the toppings were a generous dollop of whipped cream, caramel, a drizzle of chocolate syrup, and a cherry. The sausages were almost bigger than the goddamn waffle, and I’d had a hard ride for hours since the last motel stop…

It was a tiny fucking thing. She’s served me up a goddamned kids meal.

“Here you go, sugar,” the little waitress cooed as she wiggled her ass over, placing the plate in front of me. Her thumb grazed the tip of the whipped cream, and she thumbed her mouth, “accidentally” leaving a small streak on her lips. She licked them clean with a graceful flick of the tongue, her eyes filled with unbridled desire.

“If that’s not enough for ya, I think I might be able to whip you a little something up in back…”

With the subtlety of a cinderblock, she flashed a lustful smirk, bent over the table with her palms down and her fake tits practically begged to be nibbled and suckled.

But that’s not the kind of man I am.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I calmly shut her down with a stern glance. While she pouted her way back behind the countertop, I took a grimacing look at the sugary waffle abomination in front of me.

What the fuck is this shit?

Kate wandered over a moment later, rolling her eyes at some comment from the other booth. “How is it?”

I glanced up from the uneaten

plate.

“Send this thing back to Hell.”

She paused, but I noticed her stifle a small chuckle. “You wanted the best. Well, here’s the best. Eat up.”

“Kate, I haven’t seen you in years. Why are you playing games?”

“I told you, I don’t know you,” Kate hastily grunted. “Now, eat up, pay up, and piss off.”

Something snapped inside.

My shoulders sagged.

“Fine,” I answered, pulling out my wallet and slapping a ten-dollar bill on the table hard enough to make her jump. I pushed the plate back across the table.

She looked hurt for a moment, and I almost regretted my outburst. But then that veil fell over her soul again as she pursed her lips, glaring at me.