Page 4 of Castaway Whirlwind
Davis subtly nods toward Steven, who’s taken a seat on a stepladder, scrolling through his phone when he’s supposed to be scrubbing down a trailer. “You got competition, old man.”
“The hell are you talking about?”
“The pretty little waitress you were sweet on.”
I work my jaw. “Shut the fuck up, I was not.”
“Sure you weren’t.”
“And don’t call her pretty.”
Davis chuckles, turning his baseball hat backward on his head. “Why not? I’m single. She’s—”
“Not. End of discussion.”
Davis leans back against his truck in his plaid button-down tucked into dark jeans. It irks me that he’s a young, good lookin’ son of a gun, undoubtedly the one who made sweet Layla’s cheeks turn pink when she came to our table this morning.
“I was going to say she’s making a mistake tying herself to Steven over there. With his work ethic and shit-stain personality, I doubt he has what it takes to take care of her.”
I sigh and run my hand through my dark hair that started graying a few years ago, losing some of my gruffness. “So you noticed how thin and pale she was, too.” None of that detracted from how pretty she is, but it was certainly concerning.It doesn’t take a medical degree to figure out something’s going on with her.
“Yes, sir. If she were Dolly, Wyatt would have a conniption about her working.”
Wyatt is famous around these parts for how obsessed he is with Dolly—a runaway hitchhiker he picked up from a truck stop a few states away. They’ve had a whirlwind romance, and ever since, the old-timers at the diner have had a running bet on who will get caught up in the whirlwind next. My money’s on Davis, who switched with Wyatt from local to long-hauling so Wyatt could come home to his woman every night. It’ll be over my dead body that he thinks to make moves on Layla, though.
“And if Steven won’t be the kind of man she needs,” Davis says, crossing his square-toe cowboy boots, “then maybe I’ll have to step in and step up.”
I jam my index finger in his chest. “Don’t you think for a second I’m going to let you get anywhere near her, you hear me?”
Instead of getting pissed, Davis laughs. “Why? You have some kind of claim on her already, old man?”
I curl my lip. “No. She’s young enough to be my daughter.” My cock jerks just thinking of her. “That’s sick.”
Davis sucks his front teeth, about to open his mouth to say something, but I’m done with this conversation. I check my gold wristwatch, something else Davis likes to tease me about since I prefer it over my cell phone. “Time for you to get going, son.” I close my eyes, regretting my choice of words again, even before Davis starts chuckling.
I step back so Davis can climb into the red truck cab. After starting the rig, he rolls down his window and says loudly enough for me to hear over the rumbling diesel engine, “Tellyour woman I said ‘hi’ the next time you see her.”
“She’s not my woman,” I grumble, but he’s already rolled the window up, slowly pulling away from the loading dock.
As soon as Davis turns left out of the lot, I bark at Steven, “Get off your ass and get back to work.” I turn toward my office at the front left of the warehouse, but not before I see Steven sneer. The boy won’t last long here or anywhere else, I’m guessing, and then where will Layla be? My stomach drops thinking of what the next twenty years will look like for her if they get married and he loses job after job. Will she be the one taking care of him instead of the other way around?
Not on my watch.
* * *
With it being Dolly’s day off and Davis and Elliott back out on the road, it’s just me having breakfast at Granny’s the next morning. I tell myself I came here for the coffee since the kind Jared keeps stocked at work is bitter and disgusting, but it’s a lie. I sit at my usual table along the back wall of the diner facing the door, tapping my fingers on the tabletop, sipping my third cup of coffee before Layla comes rushing in and disappears into the back employee area.
Two minutes later, she exits behind Violet, tying her cute apron around her thin waist. My blood pumps hot in my veins as the women make their rounds, and my heart does that worrisome palpitation thing again when they get to my table.
Amused, Violet says, “It’s been thirty minutes. Are you ready to order yet?”
I nod, and Layla sets the coffee pots down to pull her notepad and pen from her apronpocket. “What can I get ya?”
The tips of my ears burn as I trace her small features, and I’m pretty sure my mouth is moving, but I don’t know what I’m saying.
Violet sucks in her cheeks, standing just behind Layla, trying not to laugh. “Are you trying to say you want the usual?”
I grunt, and Violet translates, explaining how to write my regular breakfast order in shorthand. And then,good god, the top button of Layla’s uniform flies across the table, pinging my forehead. Almost immediately, the second button goes flying, hitting my chin.
