Page 1 of Grave Games

Chapter One

Weekend Warrior

“Hey, Shiloh. He’s here again.”

I looked up from the task of pouring water into the commercial-sized coffeemaker to my friend and fellow server, Heather, who tilted her sable-brown head toward the back of the diner. Automatically my gaze followed the gesture and ran slam-bang into a pair of eyes the color of a storm-tossed sea.

Romeo again.

Though “Romeo” probably wasn’t his real name. It was just the name on his leather jacket, along with a bunch of other patches that told me bits of information about him. For starters, he had a yen for rebellion, if the pair of middle-finger patches he sported were anything to go by. He also liked retro art, considering the patch of a Rockabilly woman on the left side of the chest. A couple more patches ballyhooing the beginning of Route 66, which was right here in Chicago, hinted at him being a native, since he showed so much pride in that historical landmark. And lastly, he didn’t belong to any actual motorcycle clubs—the only plus, as far as I was concerned.

No one belonging to a real MC would dare to wear a jacket like that. The patches this guy wore could be picked up at a Hobby Lobby or a Love’s truck stop. He was a wannabe biker, a weekend warrior who probably lived the suit-and-tie life five days out of the week. If he ever crossed the path of a real biker, he’d find himself in a world of hurt… after they stopped laughing at his fake patches.

The thing was, I didn’t like bikers.

Not even pretend ones.

“Great.” Mouth tightening, I swung my attention back to the coffeemaker before I accidentally reenacted the Great Flood. “Don’t suppose I could ask you to swap sections with me?”

“We tried that last week, remember? He just moves so he can be withyouuuu.” Heather sang the last word, then moved toward the front when a couple came through the frost-covered glass doors. “Face it, honey. It’s true love. Be sure to invite me to the wedding.”

“You’re hilarious.” I glared at her retreating back, listening to her laughter before admitting defeat. Setting the coffee to brew, I made sure my order pad and pen were in my apron’s front pocket, then found myself checking my hair in the distorted reflection of the coffeemaker’s chrome plating.

Stupid, I immediately chided myself and turned my back on my warped reflection. Who cared if my frizzy, not-blonde-but-not-brown hair was still holding up in its bun? As long as it wasn’t falling into my customers’ food, that was all I needed to care about.

Refusing the urge to smooth a hand over the annoying curls above my temples that tended to look like devil horns if not nailed down with gel or bobby pins, I tried for a calm expression and made my way to where the wannabe biker sat alone in a booth.

“Hi, welcome back to Buzzby’s. Would you like to start off with something to drink while you look over the menu?”

“Don’t you know my order by now, Shiloh?” All smiles with eyes full of flirty playfulness, Romeo leaned back in the booth and draped an arm along the backrest. “Gotta say, I’m disappointed. I’m going to have to do something about being so damn forgettable.”

“You’re hardly that.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Then I sucked my lips in as if that would somehow pull the words back. When that didn’t help, I decided to power through like nothing happened. “We have a new special this month in honor of Elvis Presley’s birthday, peanut butter and banana pancakes with a cream cheese drizzle—”

“Damn, I think I became diabetic just listening to that,” he snorted, shaking his head. His dark brown hair brushed his shoulders, and I couldn’t help but notice it was just past the point of shaggy and tucked behind ears pierced with a pair of black titanium rings. “Black coffee, as strong as you can make it, a club sandwich with double bacon, and fries with brown gravy. Same order as yesterday, just as it’ll be that same order tomorrow.”

“You are a creature of habit, I’ll give you that,” I remarked, writing it down, though I was sure by now everyone in the diner knew the order by heart. “Extra pickle spear on the side, right?”

“See? I knew you remembered what I like.”

I fought a blush. Why the hell did he have to make it sound so intimate, like I knew a secret about him that only a lover would know? The dude liked pickles. BFD. “Okay, I’ll be right back with your coffee.” I bit my tongue to stop from promising not to bring him any cream. He’d no doubt think that meant we were on the verge of being engaged.

I could swear I felt his eyes on my back—or more specifically, my backside—as I hurried away, put the order in with the cook and headed back to the coffee area to get him his drink. As I reached for a mug I paused, stunned, when I saw the faint tremor in my outstretched hand. Then I closed my eyes, took a slow breath, and grabbed up the mug with a determined calm and filled it up.

I was being ridiculous. So incredibly ridiculous to get this wound up over a customer. A customer, more to the point, who was so obviously not my type. Anything remotely related to the biker world—even an embarrassingly obvious store-bought wannabe—was radioactive to me. Ihatedthat world. It would be a blessing if I never had anything to do with it again.

Then again, maybe Romeo, the weekend warrior wannabe, wouldn’t want anything to do with that world either if he knew a few hardcore truths about the average 1%er. If I took him out for coffee—coffee that wasn’t here at Buzzby’s where Heather could laugh at me—I could try to educate him on just how foul that closed-off, hidden world was. Then maybe he’s lose interest in it and… and…

What, exactly?

Be the perfect guy to date?

Was I seriously giving that a thought?

Maybe. Just… maybe.

“Hello, Shiloh? Beep-beep, you’re blocking traffic.”

Startled, I glanced behind me and saw Heather, two mugs in hand, waiting patiently behind me as I stood blocking the coffee machine.Crap. “Whoops, sorry.”

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