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I gaped at him, not sure how to respond to that. . . then my anger flared. "You said we weren't friends. Just roommates, remember. " I couldn't quite keep the venom from my tone.
He cocked his head to the side in a distractingly attractive way. "You changed my mind. You can be very. . . persuasive. " He dropped his voice seductively. "Would you like to persuade me again sometime?"
Abruptly I stood, the chair squeaking noisily against the floor as I did. Kellan calmly released my hand and watched me, while Denny called in from the living room, "You okay?"
"Yes," I called back, feeling more than a little stupid. "Just going upstairs to take a shower. I have to get ready for work. . . for Emily's shift. " I had the sudden urge to wash every bit of Kellan off of me. I glanced over at Denny. He had already turned back to the TV, completely oblivious to the mood in the kitchen.
"Would you like me to join you? We could continue our. . . conversation," Kellan whispered, grinning devilishly as my heartbeat irritatingly quickened. I gave him one last glare, then strode stubbornly from the room.
I mulled over the problem that was Kellan while I took an obscenely long time getting ready for my shift. What had I done? What on earth was I thinking? I should have let him leave. . . why couldn't I? Why had I been incapable of letting him slip into his car and why did I let him slip into my. . .
I sighed. I really didn't want to think about that right now, my stomach hurt enough.
He had just said the oddest thing in the kitchen too. What was it. . . maybe you do want this? This? What did he think we were. . . besides a disastrous mistake. Well, apparently we were friends now, according to him. It irritated me a little that that was what it took for Kellan to consider me a friend. In my head, we were the entire time. And now we were good friends? And he may not have said it, but I sure heard it, like he had shouted it from the rooftops - good friends. . . with benefits. Well, sorry, I thought, as I harshly brushed my hair and threw it up in a ponytail, we are not those kinds of friends. Well, not again anyway.
Denny gave me a ride to work, but was called by Max just as he was parking his car to come inside with me. Shaking his head irritably, he sighed and told me he had to go in for a few hours, but he would pick me up after my shift. I nodded and said that was fine. What I had done to him had pretty much evaporated any resentment I may have had at Max, for taking away his time. What I had done to him was so much worse. I still felt ill. I clutched my stomach lightly as I watched his taillights pull out of the parking lot. A part of me was relieved to see the lights fade away; I needed to struggle through my guilt alone.
And at Pete's on a day shift, I was pretty much alone. Not physically of course, the place had a fairly brisk lunch crowd, but I didn't know any of these people. If Pete's is a large family, then the day shift and the night shift were distant cousins. Yeah, we saw each other on holidays, but we really didn't hang out much. The bartender on shift was an attractive man who nodded politely at me as I entered the bar. I believe his name was. . . Troy. . . but I wasn't sure enough to call him that. No need to look like an idiot by calling someone the wrong name. "Hey" would work for now. The two other waitresses on staff were older, and had apparently been here since the beginning of time. Both had gray, fuzzy hair and called everybody "Hun" or "Sweetie", so I decided they wouldn't be offended if I called them that. They were really nice though and I felt comfortable pretty quickly.
The crowd that came in was different too. The night crowd was mostly drinkers. These people were mostly. . . eaters. I popped my head into the kitchen more times that one afternoon than my entire time at Pete's. The evening kitchen was run by a shy guy named Scott. He was tall and lanky and oddly thin for a cook, but man, could he cook. Pete's put out some of the best "bar" food in the area. The reason for Scott's talent in the kitchen, ran it during the day - his dad, Sal. Sal was equally tall and equally oddly thin, and was an equally (if not maybe a little better) amazing cook. He was a funny guy though, and always had a joke and a wink whenever I came in with an order.
Things were running smoothly and I was enjoying my shift with my extended family, when I swear I could feel the air molecules thicken. I knew before I saw. I knew the very second Kellan Kyle walked into the bar.
He came up right behind me and I didn't turn to help him. He could sit and wait like everyone else. . . preferably, not in my section. He didn't though. He just continued to stand behind me as I waited at the bar for some sodas. I noticed that Troy was eyeing him with a half-smile and that irritated me a little. Was everyone attracted to this man? Eventually, I felt a hand curl around my upper thigh. . . around my bruised upper thigh. I stiffened and turned to face him. I had planned on slapping him, but seeing him caught my breath, quickened my heart, and I dropped my hand.
He was freshly showered, his hair wild and messy, but still damp around the edges. He had on midnight black jeans that sharpened the contrasting redness of his perfectly tight t-shirt - a shirt that teasingly showcased every curved layer of his broad shoulders, emphasized the amazing Pecs that any male model would kill for. But it wasn't his smoking body that held my attention. It was the eyes. They practically. . . simmered as he held my thigh, a crooked grin on his lips as he studied me.
I hastily brushed his hand from my leg, hoping that the loss of contact would calm my wildly beating heart. That may have worked, except he snatched my fingers instead. From the corner of my eye, I could see Troy watch us curiously. Well, Troy watched Kellan curiously.
"What are you doing here?" I said lowly, trying to separate my fingers from his.
"I was hungry. I heard the food is good here, and the staff is. . . accommodating. " His grin widened as he managed to interlace our fingers together.
I gaped at his comment. "Accomm. . . " I couldn't even finish the word as I started blushing and stammering. He laughed once and then tucked a strand of hair that had fallen from my ponytail behind my ear. I actually closed my eyes it felt so nice, but then I sprang them open immediately and yanked my hand from his. "Then go sit down! Your waitress will be with you shortly. "
He smiled and shrugged. "All right. " He flicked a glance up at Troy, nodded politely at him with a small smile on his lips, and then sauntered back to his regular table. God, was there anyone the man would not flirt with?
I avoided it as long as I could. I helped everyone else in the bar, as he watched me with a smug smile on his face, arms crossed over his chest. He was enjoying my reluctance to be near him entirely too much. More to get him out of the bar than to actually help him, or as he put it, "accommodate him", I finally approached his table.
"What can I do for you?"
He raised an eyebrow at that and I blushed fiercely. Focusing my mind on the pad of paper in my hands, I tried to block out the intimate thought he had just successfully put in my head. Ugh, why did my brain go to such a dirty place when he was around? Why was his in such a dirty place all the time?
"I'll take a burger. . . fries. . . beer. . . " He let the tail end of that sentence trail off, like there was more to it, and I'm sure I blushed even deeper.
"Great. I'll get that started for you," I whispered.
I turned to make my hasty exit when he stopped me. "Kiera?" Reluctantly, I turned back to him. "Do you have any aspirin here?" He cringed and brought a hand to his shoulder blade. "My back is really killing me. " He grinned wickedly at the end of that and my heart stuttered.
The image of me digging my nails deep in his flesh leapt into my head so vividly, that I thought I might lose the ability to keep standing. I gasped and did the girly hand over the mouth thing, and then turned and fled without answering him. Embarrassment flashed through me, followed by guilt, followed by. . . desire? I hurried to get his order placed, praying he would leave soon.
Finally, and after an agonizingly long lunch that would have rivaled any seven course meal, both in length and in personal attention (not only did Hun bring him a glass of water
and Sweetie refill it, since it was clear I wasn't going anywhere near his table again, but Troy personally brought him another beer, a small, shy smile on his lips as he handed it to him and a charmingly crooked grin on Kellan's, as he accepted it) he stood to leave the bar. All of it made me roll my eyes. If anyone needed personal attention less. . . it was Kellan.
Coming over to me, he silently slipped a bill in my pocket. I hadn't even gone over to bring him his check. . . and honestly, he could probably start a tab and have Pete send him a statement monthly, he was here so darn much. He only smiled as he paid me and then turned to leave the bar, which I swear made Troy sigh. I grabbed it from my pocket and started walking around the bar to the register (my sigh from relief that he'd finally left), when I noticed what bill he had given me. A fifty.
A fifty? Really. Instantly irritated, I stormed out of the bar.
The harsh crunch of my footsteps on the pavement, matched my annoyed mood and courage shot through me with each step. I walked, well, strode would be more accurate, right over to where he had his hand on the handle of his black, impossibly sexy Chevelle. He heard my approach, or was expecting it, and turned to look at me, a small smile touching the corners of his lips. That smile slipped when he noticed my expression - which was most definitely not a smile. He straightened and waited with an odd look in his eyes.
I stopped nearly toe to toe with him. "What is this?" I held up the offending bill.
The small smile reappeared on his lips. "Well, ummm. . . it's a fifty dollar bill. You exchange it for goods and or services. "
I took a deep calming breath. Smart ass. How many times would I feel like slapping this man today? "I know that," I said through clenched teeth. "What is it for?"
He cocked his head and smiled fully. "It's for you. . . and my bill. Obviously. "
I took another deep breath. "Why? I barely waited on you. I didn't even bring you your food. " I had let Hun take care of that, faking an emergent need to use the bathroom.
He frowned slightly, leaning against his car and crossing his arms over his chest. "Sometimes a tip is just a tip, Kiera. "
Yeah, right. Not with him. . . not today, not after last night. Ignoring how attractive he looked, leaned back casually against his car like that, I snapped at him, "What is it for!"
His voice oddly serious, but his face casually smiling, he said, "For everything you've done for me. "
I immediately threw it back at him and stormed into the bar. He may have said it with a sweet smile on his face, but I felt the insult behind it. And it hurt that he felt the need to. . . compensate me, for anything.
Denny picked me up after work and told me about his vital assignment that couldn't wait until Monday - it involved flowers and an impossibly difficult to reserve restaurant for some girl that Max was currently attempting to win over. Denny looked as happy about that as I did. I faked a smile for him though, and reassured him that at least his day was over. Guilt mixed with tension as I realized that my horrid day would only continue, we were headed straight back to where Kellan was.
But he wasn't home when we got there. When he still wasn't home when I was getting ready for bed, I started getting irritated. Was he out with the guys, or out with a girl? I pushed the irritation aside. Did it matter? It was when I was about to wash my face, and hopefully wash away my stress, when I found the paper hiding behind my cleanser. It was a note in Kellan's neat handwriting that simply read, "I meant no offense," and a twenty dollar bill was tucked inside it.
Wow. . . a pseudo-apology. That's new.
The next morning I was a little more rational about the tip incident and I felt sort of stupid for how I had acted or overreacted. Maybe he had just meant to be nice with a large tip, and it in no way was a reference to our night together. It was so hard to tell with him sometimes, especially with how mean he had been after our first time sleeping together. Ugh, I hated that I now had a first time and a second time to reference. At least there would be no third. Nope, no trifecta here.
I went downstairs cautiously, wondering what Kellan I would see today. He was, as usual, already there and drinking his coffee at the table, smiling casually and watching me silently as I entered. I was glad for his silence, happy that he wasn't going to mention the incident yesterday either. However, he watched me in a way that made me feel completely naked. It was unnerving. It was exciting. It made me feel guilty.