Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 130(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
I can’t tell if she’s kidding. “You’re allowed to blink, you know.”
“And waste a split second of staring at them? No, thank you.”
The little hanging bell clangs as the door opens.
A coldness enters the small cafe and it sends a shiver creeping along my skin that feels like old frigid fingers as the two men step in. They look past us to the tables in the back, looking like they own the place and I get a sinking feeling in my gut. I don’t know why, but they’re making me very uncomfortable already and they haven’t even said a word.
They’re not having that effect on Debbie at all. She leaps forward with her chest puffed out as she grabs two menus.
“Hello,” she says as her cheeks start to turn red. “Welcome to Carl’s Diner. I’m Carl. I mean… Debbie.”
I fight back a laugh as I watch her cheeks get even redder.
“We’ll choose our own table,” the guy in the fitted blue suit says as he grabs the menus from her. We turn and watch them as they silently walk to the back.
My muscles are tense and my heart is pounding as I watch them. There’s just something about them that isn’t sitting well with me, but I don’t know what it is.
“They’re so hot!” Debbie says as she grabs another menu and starts fanning herself with it.
“They’re all yours, Carl. I mean, Debbie.”
She hits me with the menu and laughs.
“I have to leave early, remember?” she says. “I have a dentist appointment. I’m not taking any more tables.”
“You’re going to be regretting this when they leave me a million-dollar tip.”
“I’d be more jealous if you got another kind of tip.” I turn back and she’s got a sly grin on her face.
I quickly check them out as I head over to the table. They’re magazine cover hot with beautiful faces, tall slim athletic bodies, and clothes that probably cost more than the diner they’re sitting in. But still, they’re doing nothing for me. Sometimes I wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Even when I touch myself, I don’t think of anyone in particular. I’m always thinking of a loving presence that has no face. I know the feel of him intimately, but I don’t know what he looks like.
“Look at this disgusting food,” the guy on the left side of the booth says as he reads the menu. He seems a bit older, with light gray hair and piercing green eyes. He looks sharp in a fitted designer suit just like his friend.
“I know,” the one on the right whispers. “Leave it to Aylwin to settle down in a shithole town like this.”
“He always was the dumb brother. Probably why he got himself killed.”
“And once again, his older brothers are here to clean up his mess.”
They stop talking and look up at me as I reach the table. These guys look rich as fuck. Rolex watches, designer suits, gold rings—they’re just emanating wealth.
“You boys look like you’re in the wrong state,” I say to them as their piercing green eyes bore into me.
“We’re here on business,” the one on the left says.
“You buying some cows or some chickens? I hope you don’t plan to shove them in the trunk of that nice car because they’ll cover it in shit.”
The guy on the right frowns. “Do you always swear in front of customers?”
“All the fucking time,” I say, but they don’t laugh. They just stare at me as I nervously shift from foot to foot.
“Do you guys want coffee while you’re looking at the menus?”
The guy on the left, let’s call him Mr. Frowny Face, frowns at me. “Is it gourmet coffee or is it swill?”
“Swill,” I say without hesitation. “It’s definitely swill. You’ll hate it.”
The guy on the right, Mr. Snooty in a Suity, sighs. “We’ll take two. Just make sure it’s hot.”
“Two hot cups of swill, coming right up,” I say as I quickly turn around and rush back to the counter where Debbie is waiting with interest.
“What were they like?” she asks as she plays with her hair. “Rich and sophisticated? Hot and smart? Did they wow you with their wit? Are you in love?”
“They ordered coffee.”
Her face drops.
“Don’t use that cup!” She practically leaps on me when I grab a cup with a brown stain on the bottom. “Get the nice mugs.”
“We don’t have any nice mugs.” I’m staring at her in disbelief as she rifles through the mugs, trying to find the whitest, newest ones. “Carl hasn’t bought any since the mid-‘90s.”
Carl is one cheap bastard.
“These are fine,” I say as I grab two mugs from the shelf. “I don’t think we have to worry about turning them into repeat customers. They’re just passing through on business.”
Debbie pulls her phone out of her purse and slides it beside the cash register.