One More Time

Greg backed up and glared at me with white hot hate in his eyes. He spit a glob of blood out on the ground as he looked back at me, shaking his head.

“Fuck you, man,” he said, pointing his finger at me. “This ain't the end of this shit. Watch your back, Crane.”

He headed back toward the club, and I watched him go. I half expected Casey to be gone when I turned around to face her again. I was surprised though, to find her still there, watching me closely. Her jaw was still clenched, and she still had that look of angry defiance on her face, but at least she was still there.

“Think your macho bullshit is going to impress me?” she spat.

“Not at all. Not why I did it,” I said, running a hand through my hair as I smiled at her. “Impressing you is the last thing I'm trying to do. But, I'm glad to see that you stuck around.”

“I like seeing assholes getting punched in the face, what can I say?” she said. “Hey, something we have in common then,” I said.

Her lips pulled back in a wry, half smile.

“Oh, look, you can smile!” I teased. “I was starting to think you didn't have it in you and that your only expression was one of pure derision.”

“Shut up,” she said and actually laughed, playfully smacking me in the chest.

I pretended it hurt, holding a hand over the spot she'd smacked with a look of exaggerated pain on my face. Her smile widened, and she quickly looked down at the ground.

“I still don't need a chaperone,” she said. “I can get home just fine.”

“I know you can,” I said. “I get that you're a tough, strong woman. But, I thought we could maybe celebrate your newfound freedom.”

I looked around the street, looking for something, anything, that would help me spend a little more time with her. Finally, my eyes landed on a hole in the wall, twenty-four-hour diner. The place was probably a health hazard, but it was about the best I was going to do.

“Let's grab something to eat,” I said.

“Nah, I'll eat when I get home,” she replied.

“It's on me,” I said. “Come on. My treat. Call it my way of saying I'm sorry for everything that happened tonight.”

She hesitated, looking around, as if contemplating whether or not to turn me down. The wheels in her mind were spinning and I was afraid she was crafting some elaborate excuse about a sick mother she needed to get home to or something.

So, I decided not to give her the option. Taking her arm in mine, I started to pull her toward the diner. She hesitated, not walking with me at first, but then she gave in and walked beside me. For once, she didn't fight me.

CHAPTER EIGHT

CASEY

Given the current situation at home, I'd be a fool to pass up a free meal. When you're not sure where your next meal is coming from, free food is the one thing you'll never turn down. My stomach growled ferociously as we sat down at a corner booth, and I glanced up at Malcolm, afraid that he'd heard the rumbling.

If he'd had, he ignored it, which won him some points in my book.

The diner was your typical greasy spoon; worse than some in the city, better than others. Here was the thing about Hollywood – parts of it were super nice and fancy like Obelisk was. But, if you went over a few blocks, you’d find crappy diners, tenement buildings, hookers and junkies both looking for their next score, and homeless people begging for anything they could get.

The diner we were sitting in wasn't so bad, but Malcolm looked incredibly out of place there in his designer jeans, dark blue dress shirt and black dinner jacket. His sandy blonde hair was moist with sweat and clung to his naturally tanned face. He looked up from the menu and caught me staring, blue eyes sparkling in the bright fluorescent lights of the diner.

I'd slipped into the restroom before we sat down to clean up the blood on my hands, but my shirt was stained with it. Patrons looked at me as I tried to cover up the mess with my arms, but then quickly looked away, unimpressed. Obviously, seeing a woman covered in blood wasn't anything new or particularly exciting.

“Here, take this,” Malcolm said, slipping his jacket off and passing it to me.

“I can't. I'd get blood all over it,” I muttered. “I'll be fine.”

“I insist,” he said.

When I didn't take the jacket, he stood up and walked around, and stood behind me. I glanced up into his baby blue eyes as he slipped the jacket over my shoulders and felt a warm current of energy gently roll through me.

“It looks expensive,” I said.