3
To call things frosty might have been an understatement. It felt like I'd wandered into an Alaskan blizzard and was about to be eaten by a large, angry bear. Lucas, my date, hadn't bothered to open the car door for me. He also blasted some offensive heavy metal music by a band whose vocabulary consisted of three words: Fuck, yeah, and anarchy.
So...definitely not what I had in mind for a first date with a supposed soul mate. The music was so loud we couldn't talk, but honestly, by now that was fine by me. I should have just turned him around and ushered him off my porch when he showed up looking like a reject hillbilly, but that would have been an insult to hillbillies everywhere.
I reached over and turned the radio down. "Where are we going?" I asked him. Stupid of me not to ask before, but I'd been a little blindsided tonight.
"Pete's," he barked and reached over to turn the music back up.
Pete's was a hole. Great.
I reached over again and turned it down. "Oooh, Pete’s. My favorite," I crowed, while silently trying not to die inside.
Lucas turned to me with a raised brow. "Really?"
"Yep," I said. "You never know if it's Mystery Meat Monday. Plus, it's like a guessing game to see who's trying to conceal the biggest weapon."
To my surprise, Lucas let out a little snort. But that was all I got from him. He turned the radio back up.
"FUCK YEAH ANARCHY!" the radio screamed.
Ten minuteslater we pulled into Pete's, an establishment of ill repute and a place where you never knew where your food came from on any particular day. I steeled my stomach and gave it a good talking to before I shut the truck door, loudly, much to his annoyance and my delight. Then, for good measure, I accidentally scraped my zippered butt up against his paint job. Gently. Enough to leave a scratch, but also light enough to come out with a buffing. I noticed his lips pressed together and his eyes tightened at the corner.
Ha.
He didn't walk beside me or try to take my hand. Instead, he lumbered up to the door and was tall enough to ensure my short little legs couldn't catch up to him without getting winded.
Lucas, so far, was a massive jerkface.
He let the door slam in my face and I took one breath. Two. Three. I opened it and followed the bastard in. To his credit, he waited for me at the hostess stand, though one eyebrow rose like I'd inconvenienced him. The woman standing there looked like she'd gotten run over by a steam roller and then shaken by a dog. Her jowls sagged with both age and what had to be the effects of a centuries long smoking habit. Her eyes were rheumy and her hands shook as she tried to count out two menus. She kept having to stop and start over. I felt sorry for her, but I felt even sorrier for myself because I was probably going to end up in jail for date homicide before the night was over. However, I was so pissed I couldn't let myself walk away. It was in my nature to make him just as miserable as he was making me. What could I say? Stubbornness, Grace was thy name.
The woman came out from behind the hostess stand with a weird, rolling gait. I narrowed my gaze in confusion only to see she had a peg leg.
"Jesus Christ," I murmured to myself, only to see Lucas wince.
Interesting.
We followed the aging pirate to a dirty table, of course, situated right next to the bathroom. I hurriedly slid into the seat farthest away from the eye watering smell and forced Lucas to sit closest to it. His lips thinned, but he sat down and speared me with a glare.
The woman slapped down two sticky menus, said something garbled, and wobbled away, her bleached blond and pink hair moving in one piece.
"She was lovely," I said as I thanked my lucky stars I'd remembered to bring my hand sanitizer.
"Truly," Lucas said. His expression was still blank, but his tone was droll.
Was I being pranked here?
I carefully scanned the menu, being uber cautious about avoiding anything that had a hint of seafood in it. What could I order here that wouldn't kill me?
Fried. Something fried.
I finally found a chicken fried steak and potatoes, decided on that, but also decided to avoid the bread basket an equally unsavory waitress sat down in front of us. Lucas' face couldn't quite hide his distaste.
I felt something about this to be very off, so I studied Lucas as discreetly as I could. His hands told a story of never having to do a day's worth of hard labor in his life, something that belied his current state of hipster farmer dress. His build was lean and powerful but didn't seem gym made, more life honed. That could mean physical labor, but I didn't think so. If I had to guess, I'd say maybe swimming or some form of martial arts. The thing about me was I could read people, whether they wanted me to or not. Part of the clairvoyant territory. Even when I wasn't having a premonition, people unwittingly told me their story with just the way they looked and the things they said.
And every single thing right now was telling me Lucas had absolutely zero desire to be here right now.
I let out a loud sigh. "Out with it," I barked.
