Page 13 of Unbelonging


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Clutching Chucky, I shoved open the car door. The rain was still falling in torrents. If Lawton said anything afterwards, I didn't hear it, because a moment later, I was sprinting toward the Parkers' front door, with Chucky squirming the entire time.

After I closed the door behind me, I carefully set down Chucky and tiptoed to the front window. The shades were drawn, and the house was dark. Lawton couldn't see me, but I could still see the glare of his headlights through the blinds.

What was he waiting for? With a huff of annoyance, I stalked to the nearest lamp and turned it on. A moment later, I heard the rumble of his engine, and the headlights disappeared down the long driveway.

So he'd waited for me to get inside and turn on the lights? Was that good or bad? Either hewasa gentleman, as Brittney had claimed, or he was the worst kind of opportunist. Probably, he was waiting for me to grill up a steak, rip off my clothes, and run outside to tell him I'd changed my mind.

It didn't matter. I was smart to run when I did, because if I were being completely honest, that whole twosome idea was sounding way too good.

Chapter 8

Chomping on my gum, I squeezed into the red vinyl booth that was already occupied by two couples about my own age. I grabbed the pencil from behind my ear and said, "So, what'd'ya want, make it snappy, will ya?"

Yeah, it wasn't the politest approach, but that was part of my job. The Two-Bit Diner was a retro burger and breakfast joint, complete with roller-skating delivery outside during the summer months, and inside-dining all year round.

But it wasn't your average diner, and it wasn't your average waitressing job. In a way, it was like a dinner show, with everyone playing a part. Along with a dozen or so other girls, I played a big-haired, big-mouthed waitress with attitude. I went through a bottle of hair spray a month.

The job was a lot trickier than it sounded. There's a fine line between rude and sassy, and finding that middle ground was a nonstop balancing act. Take the act too far, and people would get pissed off. Take it not far enough, and they'd complain they didn't get their money's worth.

The food might've been simple, but it wasn't cheap, so just because I was allowed to be louder and sassier than your average waitress, it didn't mean I was allowed to be slow or incompetent. Plus, you had to be a damn good waitress just to keep everything straight, especially the alcohol, which flowed freely in spite of the diner theme.

It never said so in the help-wanted ads, but to work here, you had to have a certain look. My co-workers were all exceptionally good-looking. I'd never been short of male attention, but I'd never thought of myself in that way. To be honest, there were days I felt more than a little outclassed by the beautiful girls I worked with.

The uniforms were a total nightmare – bobby socks, short pink skirts, and tight white blouses that showed way too much cleavage whenever I bent down to lay a dish on the table.

But the tips were amazing. Theyshouldbe amazing, given the price we charged for a burger. Those tips had paid for most of my college education, along with countless other obligations along the way.

Still, I'd expected to be long gone by now. I'd graduated from college months ago, but here I still was. In spite of respectable grades, my accounting degree was getting me nowhere.

I'd been interviewing for months and had been offered a couple of jobs. But the salaries had been laughable, less than minimum wage when you calculated it by the hour. I made triple the money waitressing. Sure, the hours stunk, and it was getting me nowhere in my so-called career. But I couldn't afford the pay cut. Not now, anyway.

Still, as I hustled through the place, taking orders, and delivering burgers, pancakes, and a whole bunch of drinks and side items, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd made a mistake by staying. Maybe I should've taken that payroll processing job. A girl had to start somewhere, right?

It was just after midnight, and I still had five hours left on my shift. I was putting together a tray of drinks when Josie rushed over and nudged me in the side.

"Oh my God," she whispered, motioning out to the dining area. "Is that who I think it is?"

I was too focused on my drinks to look up. "Who?"

"Lawton Rastor. In booth seven." She sounded breathless as she said, "I'd heard he was living around here, but I didn't expect to actuallyseehim."

My whole body went still. "Lawton Rastor?"

"Oh c'mon," she said. "Don't tell me you don't know who he is."

"Uh –" I couldn’t think. I'd just seen the guy a few hours ago. I'd been sopping wet with no makeup. And yet, for some reason, the thought of him seeing me this way, with big hair and blue eye shadow, was infinitely worse.

Josie rolled her eyes. "God, you're so pathetic." She said this with a smile. She'd been teasing me for months about my lack of pop culture savvy. "He's that guy fromHard World. You know, that reality show from a few years back?"

"I never saw it," I mumbled

Sure, I'd read about it, and that was more than enough. He'd slept with practically every girl in the household. But it wasn't the off-screen sex that had people watching. It was the fights. Not fights with him. Fightsoverhim. The show was abruptly cancelled after one girl threw another one through a plate glass window. She'd survived, but the show hadn't.

"Well, you missed your chance," Josie said. "He's gone total mainstream. He's got a string of fitness centers or something."

From what I'd read, the fitness centers were just the tip of the iceberg. He also had a line of workout equipment and sports apparel, with nonstop publicity fueled by mixed martial arts events.

"I used to have a poster of him in my room," Josie said. "It drove my parents nuts."