Chapter 1
Liza
“I am so, so sorry, again, Mr. Humphry,” I apologize for the fifth time. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything else?”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “No, Liza. I don’t want to risk another lap full of pie.”
I cringe but nod my head. “I understand. Again, I’m so—"
He holds his hand up to stop me. “I really don’t want to hear it. Are you sure you should be a waitress? You’re always spilling things and breaking things.”
Shrugging, I continue to clean up the blueberry pie that is now splattered all over the floor. It’s not the first time someone has brought up the fact that I’m clumsy as fuck and probably shouldn’t be a waitress. In fact, it’s not even the first time he’s brought it up. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t still hurt every time I hear it.
I can’t help the fact that my feet seem to catch on everything, or that sometimes I get really animated when I talk and end up flinging my arms into things. I swear, I really do try to prevent these sorts of things from happening. But, as you might guess, I usually don’t realize what’s happening until I’m face first on the floor. Or in this case, dropping a plate of blueberry pie on a very pissed off Mr. Humphry.
He’s one of our regulars, a middle-aged banker who comes in on Tuesdays and Thursdays for pie and coffee. Mr. Humphry is handsome enough, tall, blonde hair and broad-shoulders. But he’s a total asshole. Usually, Sarah knows better than to seat him in my area – he’s made it abundantly clear how he feels about my waitressing skills, but we’re short staffed today so Mr. Humphry got stuck with me.
He scoots his chair back and watches me clean up my mess, crossing his hands behind his head and stretching his legs out, crossing them at the ankle. A power stance if I ever saw one. Like I said. He’s kind of an asshole. I finish scrubbing the floor and look up at him. He’s staring at my chest and I feel the need to put a sweatshirt on or something. I’m only wearing a v-neck t-shirt, nothing sexy at all, but with all the curves I’m rocking, I’m sure he got a bit of a show while I was bent over. Perv. Why is he still here? I told him his meal was on the house.
Mr. Humphry licks his lips and I look away.
“Damn,” he rumbles under his breath. “Your mom has nothing on your curves, Liza.”
I freeze. My mom has been sleeping with Mr. Humphry for a few months now. I’ve bumped into him around the trailer a few times, but I generally try to be around there as little as possible. He’s eyed me up and made some suggestive remarks, but never so out in the open like this.
I roll my eyes and try to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s not like he’s going to do anything – it’s three thirty on a Tuesday afternoon in a crowded diner. It’s still concerning, and just one more reason I really need to get the fuck out of my current living situation.
Finally, he gets up and steps over me, looking at me like I’m a dog that needs to learn who its master is. He could easily have gone around me, but in another power move of his, he wanted to show me that he’s above me. Literally. Too bad for him, he miscalculated where to put his foot, and he comes down right on my ankle.
“OW!” I shriek, grabbing my foot.
Mr. Humphry stumbles a little and bumps into a chair before steadying himself.
“Goddamnit, look what you made me do!”
How the fuck is this my fault?
“You need to leave,” a deep, smooth voice booms from behind me.
I don’t turn around to see who it is, instead I stare right at Mr. Humphry as he tries to maintain some sort of dignity in this situation.
“Are you serious?” His face is red I see the muscles in his neck strain. “This is her fault, if she didn’t—"
“Now.” The man behind me says. His tone leaves no room for arguments, the slight Russian accent only adding to the authority of the command.
“This bitch spilled—"
I swear I hear the man behind me growl. Like a bear. I wonder if he’s gnashing his teeth too? The thought almost makes me giggle, despite the tense situation I’ve found myself in.
Mr. Humphry shrinks back and puts his hands in front of him as he backs out of the diner.
It’s then that I notice everyone staring at me. Well, at us. I haven’t turned to look at my growly hero yet. I’m not sure I can take it. I hate being the center of attention, which unfortunately happens a lot when you are as clumsy as I am. I can feel my face growing hot and red as I busy myself with looking at my ankle.
A large shadow falls over me and then I feel the heat of someone crouch down next to me. I can’t look up, knowing it’s the guy who told Mr. Humphry off. I can’t explain it, but I feel like once I see him, everything is going to change.
“Are you hurt?” His voice is gentler now, but still unmistakably masculine and commanding.
I shake my head no, still looking down at my foot. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his massive hand moving towards me. He puts two fingers under my chin, in a barely-there touch, and guides my head up so I have to look at him.
I’m instantly hit with his whiskey colored eyes. They pull me in and I forget who I am, where I am, why I’m even here. What year is it again?
I realize he’s waiting for me to say something. He asked me a question, I think.
“Uh, no, I’m good, it’s fine,” I stammer like an idiot.
His lip twitches up on one side while his eyes sparkle and one eyebrow lifts slightly. I have a feeling that’s about as much of a smile as he’s given anyone in a long time. Which is too bad, because the longer I openly gape at him, the more of his gorgeous features I see.
He’s got wavy chocolate brown hair that’s slightly longer on the top and full, thick eyebrows atop his whiskey eyes. I didn’t even know eyes could be that color. He has a few days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks and cut, angular jaw. It’s sexy as fuck. Without permission, my eyes drop to his mouth. Of course, he has perfect lips too. They look soft, even though the rest of him is hard and angular. Chiseled, really, like I’m sure all of his muscles are underneath his clothes.
Oh my god, stop thinking about this man without clothes on. What is wrong with you?
I force myself to look up into his eyes again, and I see that he’s been studying me the same way. I wonder what he sees? A plump, ditzy waitress fawning all over the hottest guy she’s ever seen? God, he could be with anyone he wants and I’m sure he doesn’t want me.
He seems to snap out of his thoughts around the same time I do, blinking and rubbing his hand down his face.
“Can I see?” He asks.
My mind goes to all sorts of dirty places. If I were a bolder person or had literally any experience flirting or doing anything with the opposite sex, I might have said something like, “What would you like to see?” and then I’d bend over slightly and push my breasts together.
But, this ain’t no romance novel, and I’m just me. So I just sit here and feel heat creep up my neck into my cheeks while I try to figure out what he wants from me.
“Your ankle,” he clears his throat.
Of course. My ankle. God, I’m such an idiot.
I remove my hand from where it was wrapped around my sore ankle, and he ghosts his fingers over the swollen joint, a bruise already forming over the bone. Now that I’m not reveling in Mr. Humphry’s embarrassment or drowning in the whiskey eyes of my handsome hero, I can feel the pain throbbing in my ankle and foot.