Page 52 of Twisted Little Thing

And with more affection for him.

"Fuck!" I cry out as I accidently drop a tray full of dirty dishes that I just collected from one of the tables.

The few customers who are eating here at this time give a round of applause as the dishes shatter on the floor around me. I jump aside in time to save my foot from being hit by a knife – just for it to slip a second later, twirling my arms in the air as I gracefully plant my ass on the floor next to the broken dishes.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I repeat, close to tears.

Fuck this! Fuck Evan for doing this to me. I could laugh about all of this and write him off as just another sexy adventure – if he hadn't captured my heart the way he did.

I feel manipulated.

I don't want to think about him every fucking second of the day. I don't want to do his stupid homework, and I don't want to be photographed while leaving a hotel with him while he tells me to run off and hide like a dirty little secret.

Is he ashamed of me? He could have handled the situation so much better. Why did he not tell them to just fuck off, put his arm around me and protect me from their intrusive behavior?

Instead, he distanced himself from me and told me to get lost as quickly as possible.

"Geez, Nicky," my coworker hisses. Stephanie, another waitress, drops down on her knees next to me. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," I utter. "Damn this fuckin –"

"Nicky!" she silences me. "Calm down for God's sake. There are customers here."

I roll my eyes. "Sorry."

"Now, let's clean this up," she suggests, and starts picking up the pieces to carefully place them on the tray I dropped.

Stephanie casts me ongoing looks of concern as she helps me clean up the mess I created.

"Are you okay?" she asks eventually, when we are alone behind the counter. "Did something happen? You've been out of it all day."

"No, it's nothing," I try to assure her. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little tired."

She smirks at me. "New guy, huh?"

I turn around and look at her, alarmed. "Why would you –?"

She nods toward my bruised neck. I am wearing a light scarf and tried to cover up the marks with make-up as best as I could. Even when I left the house, I knew they were still visible, but I was hoping that it would go unnoticed. Someone would have to take a really close look at me to recognize the marks for what they were.

Apparently, Stephanie looked closely.

I adjust my scarf and clear my throat.

"Well, yeah," I utter. "But it has nothing to do with that."

"Of course not," Stephanie says, winking at me. "It never does."

"It really doesn’t” I insist. But who am I kidding, I sound anything but convincing, even to myself.

"Must be intense," Stephanie adds. "It looks like he's been trying to eat you alive."

I blush and instinctively touch my neck. She casts me a knowing grin, very similar to the one I received from Yuka when I got home that night.

I try to dismiss the conversation.

A new order is ready and saves me from yet another situation I would like to escape.

"Yours," Stephanie says, glancing at the two dishes that have been placed in the service hatch.

---