Saving Della-Ray Read online

  “What’s the special for today?” he asked, his gaze on the menu spread in his hands.

  I stared at his dark head, shocked at how disappointed I felt that he didn’t remember me at all. Or if he had decided I was too unimportant to acknowledge. From the corner of my eye, I could see Gloria watching us and felt my cheeks go red with embarrassment. “Breaded chicken cutlet,” I responded, my voice small. “It comes with mashed potatoes and the Chef’s special chicken gravy.”

  “I’ll have that,” he responded, and shut the menu.

  Our pitiful three-fold menu was tossed across the table and I felt a sort of kinsman-ship with it.

  “Coming right up,” I muttered to the back of his head and turning away, I made my way back to the kitchen. I didn’t miss the gloating look Gloria shot me from the table she was wiping down at the end of the aisle. She could see I had been utterly dismissed.

  It was a slow afternoon so I was able to remain in the kitchen until the Chef, Allan had his plate ready. When I carried it over to his table, he was on his phone. As I put the plate down, I realized I hadn’t been so flustered to see him that I hadn’t even asked him what he wanted to drink.

  I hovered over him for a few seconds waiting for his gaze to meet mine so I could ask his choice of refreshments. He raised his eyes to me, and the two, ocean blue balls of sheer beauty regarded me. He was watching me, but listening to whomever he was talking to, and I shifted from one foot to the other, wondering if I should just leave him. But he kept watching me, his face expressionless, and the intensity of his look made my mind go blank.

  I began to sweat. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I turned around to take my leave.

  His hand shot out suddenly and captured my wrist.

  I froze.

  “Sure,” I heard him say, but I couldn’t turn around. “I’ll update you soon.”

  He let me go when he was done with his call. The part of my skin he had encircled with his touch felt like it had been seared. Fighting the urge to hold it with my other hand I turned around and gave him a polite smile. “I forgot to ask earlier. What can I get you to drink?”

  An odd expression passed in his eyes and it reminded me of a line from a song about tombstones in someone’s eyes. Every hair on my skin stood up to attention and my throat was suddenly parched.

  “I’ll have what I had the first time we met,” he said.

  “So you do recognize me?” I asked in a hushed voice.

  Della Ray

  “Does anyone ever forget you?”

  Once again, my brain got scrambled. What did he mean by that? Perhaps it was solely in reference to the humiliating incident at the store. “I suppose it must be particularly hard to forget someone who owes you money.”

  “Forget the milk. I’ll have water. Make it cold,” he responded, his eyes boring into mine.

  I blinked at the sudden change in topic. “Uh, sure,” I replied, slightly offended. I went to fulfill the order and wondered if he was aware that he’d made me this flustered. His words the last time we had met about wanting to fuck me had rattled my peace. I had replayed the scene again and again in my head. To be honest, I had been completely and truly unable to get him out of my head.

  I returned with his glass of iced water.

  He was already well into his meal, fork digging into the cutlet and knife cutting it into neat pieces which ended up in his wonderful mouth.

  I wanted a reason to linger, but he gave me none. He didn’t even lift his head to look at me as I placed the glass on his table. It irritated me that he could so easily turn me on and off again. I glared vindictively at the head of dark hair before taking my leave.

  Whilst in the kitchen, I continued with the rest of my buckeye pie, but I had lost my appetite. Chewing despondently, I thought about how I was going to pay him back his money.

  I had no cash on me and his meal wouldn’t even be up to twenty percent of the amount he paid to settle my grocery bill. I resolved then to come to some sort of agreement with him. Maybe I could pay for his meals here so he could eat here for free until he reached $62.30.

  At that moment, an elderly couple in matching blue Hawaiian t-shirts took a table in my section and I quickly busied myself serving them. So much so that I only realized he had finished his meal and was leaving when the whiff of his scent called all my senses to attention as he walked past.

  I turned to look at his table and saw the bill on it.

  “Please excuse me,” I said to the couple in the midst of taking their order and hurried over to see what trouble he had stirred up this time around. I found a crisp hundred-dollar bill on the table. Annoyed, I sprinted out of the diner and caught him just as he was about to kick start his big bike to life.

  “You can’t keep doing this,” I said.

  “Doing what?”

  I held up the hundred-dollar bill. “Why would you leave a hundred-dollar bill for a meal that isn’t even fifteen bucks?”

  “Okay,” he responded calmly. “Your diner has a policy against tips?”

  I was stumped for a moment, then I took the bull by the horns. “Of course not, but a hundred dollars? Are you trying to make me more indebted to you than I already am? I’m not a charity case.”

  With his eyes narrowed, he folded his hands across his chest.

  I tried my very best not to notice the clench and flex of his thick biceps as they strained against the leather. One did not need too much of an imagination to conclude that beyond the layer of clothes he had on was a hard body, sculpted with slabs of muscle and intoxicating virility. There was absolutely nothing tender about this man.

  “Help me understand what the problem is,” he stated quietly.

  “I already owe you. I should be paying for your meal. Instead, you’re leaving me a disproportionately massive tip.”

  “So?”

  There was no winning with this man, so I stepped forward and placed the money on the seat of his bike, but a gust of wind caught it and carried it away. If I had thought about it for even a moment, I wouldn’t have chased after it like a mad woman. When I returned, my face was flushed with embarrassment and rage at myself for being so unladylike.

  He was in the exact same position I had left him in, his gorgeous eyes filled with amusement.

  I wished I could tear up the bill. That would wipe the sarcastic smile off his smug face. “Just freaking take the money,” I yelled.

  For the longest time he simply watched me, his expression veiled, then to my surprise, he reached out and accepted the note from my hand.

  I jumped back like a cat coming upon a cucumber when his skin touched mine.

  Luckily, he caught the bill before it could be sent on another flight up the street. “I thought you’d abandoned the groceries,” he said as he tucked the cash into the pocket of his jeans.

  My eyes innocently followed his hand but when it got close with the one part of him I definitely did not want to be caught staring at, I shot my gaze back up to his face. I could have sworn his eyes flashed with a glint of cruel amusement. He seemed to be mightily entertained by my lack of sophistication.

  I straightened my shoulders. “Well, it would have been a shame to just leave them there … wasted.”

  “Hmm,” was all he said in response. Then his gaze lowered to rev his machine to life.

  At the deafening sound, I took a step backwards and tried to ignore the panic that was arising at his early exit when we were still yet to come to an agreement. “After deducting your meal, I still owe you …” With my eyes raised to the sky I rushed to make the calculation in my head and to my surprise he waited. “I still owe you about forty-eight dollars. Would you like to keep coming for some more free meals?”

  “Nah, this is not my kind of place, after all.”

  For some weird reason that hurt. It meant he didn’t want to see me again. “So how do I get the rest back to you?”

  “What’s wrong with now?”

  My cheeks burned. It was horrible be
ing poor. “I don’t have any cash on me.”

  “No problem,” he responded.

  Instantly, I felt the sting of my situation. Whether unintended or not his aloofness made me feel like a beggar before him. “I will pay you back,” I said through clenched teeth. “I’ll get it to you the moment I’m done with my shift. Send me your account information.”

  He laughed. “All that for forty-eight dollars?”

  I blinked. “Well, how else am I going to pay you?”

  “You’ll have to figure that out yourself, lady.” Now he just sounded bored.

  My eyes narrowed and I gave him a dose of his own derogatory medicine. “Fine. I work late night shifts at Sinkhole. It’s on East Main street, close to the pawn shop. If you stop by tonight, I’ll have your cash ready for you.”

  “I’ll be there,” he said quietly.

  I watched as he slipped his aviator sunglasses on the bridge of his Roman nose, completely shielding me from whatever was lurking in those blue eyes of his. I wanted to walk away as if I didn’t care, but my legs wouldn’t move. I stood there like an idiot and watched as he backed out of the lot and zoomed off into the late Saturday afternoon with a frightening speed.

  It was almost a few minutes later before I was shrieked back to my senses. I turned to see Gloria angrily calling out to me from the door of the diner. “You damn well have customers to attend to!” she screamed, green with resentment.

  “I’ll be right there,” I answered, and hurried back to work.

  Della Ray

  I had always considered waiting tables at the diner to be a decent enough gig to fill out my days, but as the clock ticked with excruciating slowness towards the end of my shift at 5pm, I started to feel restless and irritated.

  As I slammed my notepad on the pickup counter, Allan arched his eyebrow at my aggression. "What’s up? You exhausted?" he asked, surprise in his tone.

  "Yeah," I lied.

  "Already? What about your gig at Sinkhole? You have at least five more hours of grinding before you can call it a day."

  "More like six or seven, but I have energy for that I'm just tired of ... here. The time drags, doesn't it?"

  His mouth filled up with air as he debated on how to respond to me. He decided on teasing amusement. "Well, you have been working here for almost two years and you've never commented about the time dragging. You have something to look forward to tonight?”

  "Rest. A long hard rest," I lied again, and turned my gaze to the red clock on the wall as it crawled its way in seconds to the strike of five.

  The moment it struck the hour, a big smile spread across my face. Heck, my heart was fluttering with uncontainable excitement. First, I would go home and see my little angel, have a shower, put on some make-up then I was off to the Sinkhole.

  "See you guys tomorrow," I sang out, as I untied the little white apron from around my waist.

  * * *

  An hour later, I was hurrying into Sinkhole with more zeal than was normal to feel after just completing an eight-hour shift at the diner.

  "Hey, Nick," I greeted the boisterous, broad, bald bartender I worked with as I strolled into the back-alley club just off East main street.

  "Della-Ray," he bellowed and for once, I matched his level of energy, with a huge smile.

  I headed to the back room to change and minutes later I was out in my black polo shirt uniform and tight, black jean shorts to begin my six-hour shift as a cocktail waitress. The low serenade of Paul McCartney filled the air as I followed the four women who strolled in just then and subtly cajoled them into sitting in my section.

  "What can I get you?" I asked brightly.

  It was almost three hours later before I had the chance to take a proper break. The place was filled with the din from the chatter of its patrons winding down after the long and hard work day. Everyone was relaxed except for me.

  Nursing a glass of ice cold cranberry juice I stretched my neck and looked towards every dimly lit corner I could see from where I stood behind the bar, and still there was no sign of him. I couldn't remember him giving me a time for his arrival, but still it was nearing midnight and I had to face the fact that he was most probably, not coming.

  The adrenaline of wanting to see him again died away and suddenly, I felt exhausted. I noted a group of businessmen walk in. They were laughing and had obviously been drinking elsewhere before they came here. I quickly downed my drink and went after my bread for the day. Soon, they were seated and I was at their service.

  One of them asked why I wasn’t part of the menu, and I gave the same answer I always gave to their incredibly unoriginal and banal question, “Because you wouldn’t be able to afford me.”

  "Oooo … feisty," they cackled, elbowing each other like they were teenagers.

  Obviously, they were more inebriated than I’d first thought. “So what’ll you have this evening, gentlemen?” I asked crisply.

  They gave their orders between snorts of amusement and suggestive noises.

  “Be right back,” I said with my usual dazzling smile.

  But as I turned to leave, one of them tapped my ass and the smile instantly faded from my lips. Any other day, I would have turned around and told him where to get off, but that day I was disappointed and a bit blue, so I carried on walking towards the bar.

  As I arrived at the bar, Lena the other waitress was walking away with a tray of six Sex On The Beach cocktails.

  "You feel like taking over table fifteen?” I asked.

  She glanced towards the promising businessmen, and looked back at me surprised. "That's going to be a big tip."

  "I know but I can't deal with that today, not even for the money. I might smash one of their heads."

  With a smile, she handed the cocktails over to me, and I took it over to the young group of women.

  I served them their drinks and went on with the rest of the night, my mood becoming gloomier and gloomier as the minutes passed. The bar would be closing by one and by midnight, I’d given up on him ever showing up. After handling what I hoped was my last table for the night, I headed over to a corner of the bar with my tray and plopped down on one of the seats.

  Plopping my elbows and hands on the counter I rested my head on my hands and tried to catch some rest. I felt utterly defeated and tired.

  "Rough night?” I heard someone ask. I’d intended to ignore the inquiry until I realized ...

  My head shot up to meet the hot blue gaze of—I didn't even know his name.

  Even with no name, he had become important enough to cast such a shadow on my evening just from not turning up. I couldn't think of anything to say as I took him in. His hair had been slicked back neatly. I followed the clink of the ice swirling around in his glass.

  "When did you get here?" My voice was an exhausted whisper.

  "What?" he asked, and leaned forward so I could whisper my question into his ear.

  "When did you get here?" I repeated, dazed by the scent of him.

  He leaned away and looked into my eyes. "A while. This is my second drink."

  “Why didn't you look for me?"

  "You were occupied," he stated. "I didn't want to intrude."

  I wanted to be furious at him, but just like that, he had taken the logic out of my annoyance. "I'll go get your money," I said and walked away. A few minutes later, I returned with the envelope. Whatever excitement I had nursed for so many hours had completely dissipated. When I returned, his glass was sitting at the bar, but he was no longer there. I looked around, wondering where he had gone off to, but I couldn't see him.

  Suddenly, I felt a hand slip around my waist just as I was pulled roughly against a body.

  My heart instantly seized at the sudden intrusion. For a fraction of a second, I wondered if it was him, but the disgusting reek of tobacco and beer hit my nostrils, and I immediately tore the hand away and spun round to face the last person I ever wanted to see.

  Della Ray

  Michael!

  Wea
ring a wide smile. He had replaced the broken part of his premolar with a gold tooth. “Angel," he said in that insufferably patronizing voice.

  How I’d ever been able to stand his voice, was still beyond mysterious.

  "Missed me?" he asked.

  I was helpless to stop my eyes from rolling up towards the ceiling, but his gloating expression didn’t falter. Hell, the man had a rhino’s hide. My first thought was how long would it take to get rid of him. I definitely didn’t want biker guy to think I was with him. Ugh.

  "No, I did not miss you. I’m working now, so please can you leave me alone?" I turned to walk away.

  He reached out to grab a hold of my hand.

  I had anticipated that move and in response, I swung my arm away.

  It appeared he had this figured out, because a second later, his other arm circled tightly around my arm. He yanked hard and my body slammed into his.

  I lost my temper. Using all my strength, I jerked away and turned on him furiously. "How dare you?" I spat.

  He swung his head around us to see if anyone had seen the rejection he had suffered. When his eyes returned to me, the amusement had faded from his face. "How dare I what?" he snarled.

  I rubbed the place where he had gripped me and stared at him silently.

  “Touch you?” he asked nastily.

  Damn, why did I let him get to me? I shouldn’t have reacted to him. Clearly, I had given him the very ammunition he was looking for.

  “Are you kidding me? You poverty-stricken bitch? You still have that air about you, don't ya? As though you're worth more than that sour slit between your legs. You turn anymore guys away and that hole is going to dry right up and wither away. Hell, I can't fucking believe I wasted my time on a frigid little bitch like you." His voice was deliberately loud and his teeth were clenched with fury at what he considered to be disrespect from a mere woman. People were starting to look at us. The last thing I wanted was a scene.