Exposed King (Boys of Brisley 2)
Chapter One:
Spinach Tears
Walking while intoxicatedwas easier said than done, especially on the uneven cobblestone streets of Domingo, California. I wished I could say I was better at it, but judging by the scuff marks on my favorite shoes, I’d say not.
My knee was bruised already from slamming it against the cab door and my usually perfect, light brown hair was sweaty and clinging to my forehead, but I was Oliver Bishop and I wasn’t going to let a little bit of drunken disorder ruin that for me — not when I was just about to stumble through the doors of my favorite little establishment this side of the Mississippi.
Happy Huevos was a diner unlike any other. Giggle-inducing name aside, it felt like home to me. My favorite waitress, my favorite dish, my favorite jukebox ... it was heaven with spacious booths and weird art.
But when I walked through the doors, that art was gone. The booths weren’t seafoam green like I remembered them, they were bright-fucking-pink, and I didn’t recognize a single face around me.
“How drunk am I?” I mumbled, spinning around in a circle. “It’s like friggin’ nine o’clock in the morning.”
“I was going to ask you the same question.”
I spun again and narrowed my eyes at the hostess to try and get a better look at her. “Well, that depends. How many fingers am I holding up?” I raised my hand and splayed my fingers open, grinning at her as her jaw went a little slack.
“Five, but how does that—”
“Wrong!” I pointed at my thumb. “That’s a thumb. You’re drunk, not me. Now onto more pressing matters. Where are you and what have I done with Happy Huevos?”
She opened her mouth and closed it again, then pointed behind her to a little neon sign that read, “Welcome to Sunday’s.”
“Sunday’s, huh?” I asked. “I see what you did there. It’s not all that clever, you know. Domingo, Sunday ... whatever. Can I sit? I’m starving.”
“Right this way.”
I could tell by the way she scoffed at me that she was already done with my shit, but she’d have to join the club. No one was more thoroughly done with my shit than me, so I tried to stay quiet as she led me to a corner booth to get me out of the way. I couldn’t blame her even though it didn’t exactly help my ego. “Thanks,” I said quietly. “Sorry about this. I’ll sober up once I get some food.”
She slapped a menu down then huffed as she walked back to her spot by the door, and I didn’t have to wait long before someone else came over to judge me.
This one just happened to be one of the most gorgeous women I’d ever seen in my entire, stupid life, and I looked like an asshole and probably smelled even worse. “Where’s Phyllis?” I asked abruptly. “I need Phyllis.”
Intense brown eyes took in my state as she slid her notepad into her light pink apron. “Phyllis retired last month. Why do you need her?”
“Because she’s my happy place. She was like another mom to me and wasn’t ever afraid to tell me to quit being stupid,” I mumbled, flicking my eyes down to her name tag and trying like hell not to stare at her chest — her gorgeous, full, beautiful chest that was barely contained by the buttons on her little black dress. “Do you have any good news for me, Camilla?”
I saw the briefest flash of amusement on her face but it was gone so quickly I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it or not. “My name isn’t actually Camilla. That’s my middle name, but my boss told me I speak too fast and it’s my fault so he hasn’t fixed it. My name is Mia, and if you want someone to tell you to stop being stupid, I can do that for you, Papí. Just stop being stupid.”
“Fuck.” I twitched, my poor kneecap getting abused for the second time as it slammed against the underside of the table. As if my weakness for Latina women isn’t bad enough already. “Tell your boss you don’t talk too fast, he just thinks too slow. Or ... something like that. But fine, Mia Camilla. We’ve established this place is full of lies and misery, so can I order now?”
She pulled out her notepad without breaking eye contact and clicked her pen. “That we can do. How can I help you, Mr. Whiskey?”
“Is it that bad?” I grimaced, then sat back a little. “I came here for my Happy Huevos platter with the little over-easy eyes and bacon smile, but even I’m not drunk enough to think I’m gonna get one of those. You guys should’ve just changed the name of this place to Sad Huevos.”
She laughed beautifully, all musical and carefree, but it was nothing compared to her smile. “¡Ay bendito! You got something right on your first try, at least. What’s your second choice?”
“Waffles,” I said instantly. “Definitely waffles.”
“Coño, our waffle machine is broken. Third choice?”
I deflated instantly. “Seriously? You’re not fucking with me?” When she shook her head, I nearly got up and walked out. “Okay, then. What exactly are my choices, Mia Camilla?”
Her eyebrows raised as she flicked her eyes down to the menu in front of me.
“It’s like that, huh? Fine.” I blindly pointed to something on the second page. “That. I’ll take that, and if you’re out or that machine is broken or whatever, then just surprise me.”
“That, huh?” She bit her lip and slipped the menu away from me before I could look down at what I chose, then spun around and slowly walked away. “Tú eres muy jumeta. You need water.”