Rayne (True Lover's Stories)

Rayne chuckled. Man, she was a pistol. Gutsy and up-front. She followed him back to his seat and sat beside him, still picking off his plate.

“I won’t have to worry about you hitting on me, and you don’t have to worry about me copping a cheap feel of your ass.”

Rayne almost choked on his oatmeal raisin cookie. “You really are forward, aren’t you?”

“A blessing and a curse,” she sighed. “So what’s your deal, man? Why are you so quiet?”

Rayne stared down at his plate. “Not much to say, I guess.”

“I think you have a lot to say. You’re just terrified of what people are going to think when you do.”

Damn. What is she, psychic? That’s exactly why Rayne preferred to listen and learn but not share. His story wasn’t like everyone else’s. He wasn’t addicted to the physical contact of sex and the gratification of it. He was obsessed with how easily he could manipulate people with it. When he fucked his marks, he turned all feelings off. It was disgusting and trifling what he’d done to so many innocent, unsuspecting men. And instead of telling Chelsea, she’d hit the nail on the head. He kept his eyes on his food.

“You know what, Rayne.” She crossed her leg over her knee, letting her high-heeled pump dangle off her toes as she glanced unimpressed around the room.

“What?” he mumbled, snapping a baby carrot between his teeth.

“Fuck people.”

Rayne chuckled, allowing a lightness to fill his soul. That was the second time he’d gotten that advice from two pretty kick-ass individuals.

“Are you busy after this? Do you gotta get to work or something?”

He wished he had a job to get to. “No, why?”

“You wanna go somewhere and talk? Maybe get some real food or something? I could use a big hunk of beef right now and maybe a loaded potato. Damn these raw vegetables.” She grimaced and tossed another cucumber in her mouth, chewing noisily. “Besides, my shift doesn’t start for another four hours, and I don’t wanna go back home right now to my empty condo.”

It didn’t take Rayne long to realize he wasn’t eager to go back to an empty trailer either. There was nothing waiting for him there. “Sure. I could use a hunk of meat myself.” He found himself chuckling at his double entendre along with Chelsea. He didn’t have much money for eating out, but he had a feeling he shouldn’t turn her down. It seemed as if she needed him as much as he might need her. And he did need to talk to someone who wasn’t his sponsor or Wood.

“So, tell me all about yourself,” Chelsea said no sooner than they were sat in their booth at the Cheesecake Factory in Town Center, a ritzy part of Virginia Beach that Rayne didn’t get to visit much anymore.

He casually unbuttoned his shirtsleeves and folded them midway up his forearms, shaking his head at how eager she seemed. Her hands were clasped together on the table as she damn near bounced in her seat. He laughed, glad that the restaurant was just about empty. “Can we order our drinks first before you ask me for my life’s story?”

“Oh. I don’t drink.” She came back fast.

Rayne put one hand up. “Oh, me either. Well, not at one in the afternoon anyway. But I was thinking some iced tea or a ginger ale.”

She rolled her eyes, and he found it charming. Chelsea gave off a very positive, encouraging energy that Rayne was drawn to. His counselor had also claimed he needed to be more social with individuals of similar interest as him. But it was hard for him to put his real self out there to a stranger, unsure if he’d be judged. He was just now learning that he had to stop caring about what others thought of him, or else he’d never find the inner peace he was searching for. Where he could accept the real him. Whoever that is. Rayne guessed he’d donned so many identities and personalities that he’d fooled even himself.

“Good afternoon. My name’s Dean, and I’ll be taking care of you guys today,” their waiter said, placing down two iced waters on coasters and a basket of assorted bread. He wore the standard server uniform, but his strong frame filled out his black slacks and crisp white shirt. He had a smile that was just as clear and brilliant, his light blue gaze bouncing between them before lingering on Rayne. “First-timers? You must be because I have a feeling I’d remember you.”

Of course, with my recent luck, why wouldn’t I get the flirty server. Lately, Rayne was beginning to feel as if his life was one big fucking test. He lifted the thousand-page menu to his face and started flipping as if he didn’t know it well enough. He’d already decided on ordering a side salad and the stuffed mushrooms appetizer. But he needed to focus on anything but their waiter. The guy smelled good as he stood inches away from the table, putting his pelvis too close to…

Rayne gulped a breath, his cock filling. No, no, no. Their server wasn’t even his type—at least, he didn’t think he was. Dean was just a handsome man, and Rayne had been without for almost a year. If Rayne slipped the server his number, he wouldn’t have to pay for his meal. Stop! He inhaled a silent breath before he felt Chelsea’s hand touch his knee beneath the table. He lifted his gaze to find her nodding in reassurance, and he slowly exhaled. He wasn’t alone, and she knew… knew what he was experiencing and wasn’t judging or pitying him. Rayne cleared the lump of anxiousness from his throat, “No. Not my first time here.”

“Ahh.” Dean grinned. “Maybe I should work more day shifts, huh?”

“Geeeez,” Rayne muttered under his breath.

“Hey. Mr. Overzealous-tip-earner,” Chelsea threw out. “He’s starving, and I’m hungry enough to eat the ass out of a rag doll. Can we like order some food now?”

Rayne did his best to stifle his laugh behind his menu.

Dean’s eyes widened as a ruddy flush covered the bottom of his smooth cheeks. His tone was still pleasant, but he had a deep crease between his brows as if he was confused at what just went wrong. “Of course. If you already know what you want, shoot.”

“I’ll have avocado egg rolls and a strawberry lemonade.”

“And for you, sir?”