“Thanks a lot, jackass,” Blake mutters.
“Hey, I was only trying to saveyourmarriage,” Alex yells back.
Marriage.The odd sensation crawls up my spine again. As my friends start to bicker in earnest, I stare through thewindow at the rows of buildings flashing past, trying desperately to locate the source of the feeling. Yeah, I’m hung up bad over Charlie; I wanted to marry her when I was younger. Was even stupid enough to tell her that. But that was about it, right?
A more serious smile forms on my lips as I soak in the amusement. If I ever see Charlie again, I’m going to lock her up and fuck her silly. Not get down on my knee and ask her to marry me.
Yeah, I want her. Just not that way anymore.
I can’t allow myself to feel that way for anyone ever again, anyway.
From the ages of thirteen to seventeen, I was desperately torn up over a girl who was dating my brother. Everything about Charlie appealed to me. Hell, I could have lived off her smile. She was my damn world. I got hooked on her the way people get hooked on crack… Or the way sullen teenage boys get hooked on the first person to show them a hint of affection.
Only, it wasn’t just that. Charlie and I were the outcasts in our homes. We understood each other better than anyone else could. That’s what made it such a kick in the stomach when she got together with Kali. For years, I waited for her to realize that my brother was a jackass. That he wasn’t good enough for her. Until it became clear that she was never going to see it herself.
My stomach buckles and twists as I rememberthatnight.
When I was finally done waiting.
Embarrassment wells up within me at the memory of stealing into the room that night, armed with nothing but crazy hope and a heart swelling with love. I can still see myteenage self sitting on my twin’s bed, holding a girl who was never going to be mine, pouring myself out in a way I’d never done before.
Add that to my list of regrets.
“Why don’t we eat here?” Alex says suddenly, interrupting my thoughts.
Relieved at the distraction, I look through the windshield. He’s currently pulling up in front of one of the buildings flanking the roadside. The huge signboard reads “Mellie’s Furniture Store.” I open my mouth to ask Alex if this is his idea of a joke, but then I realize that there’s another, smaller signboard just next to it. In tiny, cracked letters, it says, “C’s Kitchen”
“The place looks…dead,” Blake says tonelessly.
I nod. The sign isn’t peeling as badly as the brown-painted walls of the building. The windows are large but dark, and it’s hard to tell if the place is open or closed. Alex, however, does not share the same reservations.
“Yeah, I told you,” he says to Blake. “All other restaurants around here lost their customers. This one must be the last one standing. Itcouldbe fine. If it’s horrible, we’ll just leave,” Alex says, stopping the car and getting out.
“You sure?” Blake mutters to me. “Looks like the owner might literally kidnap us for want of patrons.”
I’m grinning again, my mood a little lighter. I’m going to force a thousand laughs like this and it’s going to be okay. I managed to get through her crushing my heart to dust before. I’ll get through the memory of a night of wild sex too.
We reach the entrance, and Alex pushes aside the sliding glass doors. My first thought is that the owners have done as good a job as they could polishing up this place. The interior of the restaurant looks much better: brightyellow walls, creaky-looking wooden chairs arranged neatly around tables, and a serving counter in the center of the space.
Yet, it couldn’t be clearer that the restaurant is not doing well. For one, the only other person here is a bored-looking waitress behind the counter applying her lip gloss and checking her reflection in the transparent display of an empty showcase.
“Yeah, let’s leave,” Blake says. Just then, there’s a loud crash, and the waitress snaps to attention, noticing us for the first time.
“Hi,” she says, perking up. She looks surprised to see us. “What can I get you?”
“Nothing, thanks,” Blake starts to say, but then there’s an even louder crash from an inner room. She turns toward a door behind her labeled “staff only.” Listening closely, I can hear the voices of two people arguing furiously behind the door.
“Really, you should sit…” She tapers off suddenly, her eyes narrowing at us. “Wait, I know you guys. You’re the Philly Titans. You’re Ken Edwards, right? I’m ahugefan. And Blake White!” Her eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Gosh, I love Faye Strummer. I listen toallher albums on repeat.”
“Me too,” Blake mutters under his breath. “Now, we’ve got to stay. Thanks for nothing, fuckwads.”
I bite back a grin as the girl attempts to persuade us to stay with even more enthusiasm. Still, it’s hard to ignore the crashing in the kitchen. Ten seconds later, the “staff only” door flings open, and a burly man wearing a chef’s apron storms out. He’s instantly identifiable as one of the people making the noise.
“If you’re going to fire me, do it now,” he spits tosomeone behind him as he walks on. “God knows this place won’t last another month, anyway.”
“Shut up, Troy,” the waitress, whom I just notice has a nametag that reads “Haley,” whisper yells. “We’ve got customers.”
“You better run for your lives.” He turns to us, looking us over. “The fucker who owns this place isn’t going to rest till she fires all her employees and poisons all her patrons.”