Page 15 of Pray for the Damned

She rolls her eyes at the show of emotion. “It’s just business, honey.” She stalks off before I can say anything else, and I lean back on the counter behind me. I only have another hour of my shift, and then I’ll be able to go home and try to forget this day ever happened. Well, not quite. I’ll go home and try to figure out how I can make some extra money now that my hours are going to drop.

Taking an unsteady breath, I move back onto the floor and survey my tables, making sure no one is trying to get my attention, before I spot an occupied table that wasn’t there before.

For fuck’s sake. Cynthia should have told me she seated someone in my section.

I rush across the perpetually sticky floor, my notepad in my hand as I dodge one of the regulars when he tries to grab my ass on the way past. Maybe a few less hours in this shithole won’t be the worst thing in the world.

It’s only when I’m a few feet from the table that I recognize the dark eyes that are staring back at me.

Emmett sits in the booth with the menu closed in front of him and a smile spread across his beautiful face. It can’t be legal to look like that.

It takes me too long to realize I’m standing at the edge of his table, staring at him like an unhinged stalker, which has amusement playing on his lips.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, looking over my shoulder to make sure Denise and Cynthia aren’t looking this way.

“I had some meetings this morning around the corner and needed a late lunch,” he tells me, and I eye him suspiciously. There’s no way this is a coincidence. I don’t believe in them at the best of times, but when a sinfully hot priest ends up at my table at both of my jobs within twenty-four hours, that’s just too good to be true.

I force myself to nod. “What can I get you?”

He smirks, his eyes moving over the front of the menu. “What do you like from here?”

Nothing. The word almost escapes my mouth without permission, but when the shitty greasy foods are the only meals you’ve been able to afford for the last year, you get real sick of them real quick.

“The club sandwich is good.” And the only thing that isn’t swimming in oil.

He nods. “Very well. I’ll have one of those and a cup of coffee, please.”

“Coming right up.” I swallow and turn on my heel, but before I can take a step away, his hand grasps my wrist, and heat scorches my entire body. I turn back to him with a steadying breath. “Is there something else I can get you?”

“Do you have a break soon?”

I shake my head but don’t elaborate. We don’t really have breaks here, no matter how long the shift is. Denise doesn’t like us having to cover each other’s tables for long enough to shovel some food into our mouths, so we only get a break if there’s no one in the diner, which is rare.

“What time do you get off work?”

“In an hour,” I tell him quietly, and I’m not sure why I gave him the information.

His smile grows. “Can I give you a lift home?”

I shake my head. “That’s not necessary, I can walk from here.”

The inky pools of his eyes darken, as if the idea of me walking anywhere personally offends him. “I’ll take you,” he insists just as Denise shouts something from the kitchen, and I cringe.

“Okay,” I agree, tugging my arm from his hold and moving back toward the front of the diner, the feel of his skin on mine haunting me with every step I take.

I’ve always shied away from touch. But for some reason, I crave his like I never have anything before.

The last hour of my shift drags on for an eternity, but I think that has more to do with the eyes that follow me everywhere I go. I feel his gaze on me as I clean the last of my tables, as I deliver food to other customers, and as I ring up a few tables that left pitiful tips and almost make me glad my hours are being cut.

Maybe if I can get another job with better pay, I can make it work.

Part of me is still holding out hope I’ll hear from Elias or Wyatt, but I don’t buy into the notion that no news is good news. I’ve checked my home answering machine three times today with the work phone, and there’s nothing other than the power company threatening to take me to collections if I don’t repay my debt. If I got the job, I would have heard something by now, and I curse myself for getting my hopes up. I know better than that.

I untie the apron from around my waist and shove it in my locker, taking hold of my handbag before slamming the doorshut. Emmett is waiting for me by the front entrance. I saw him when I came back here, but now I’m not so sure about letting him take me home. He’s already done me too many favors, and I haven’t even known him for a full day. How many more before he starts demanding something from me?

A shiver racks through my body at the thought.

Maybe it’s time I moved on.

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