Page 14 of Lust

“What are you looking at?” He takes a long swig of beer.

“Nothing.” I shrug. “Just wondering whether it’s time to get a new couch. That one’s getting creaky.”

“Like we have the money.” Brent tilts his can to drain the final drops, then looks back up at me. “You look different today. What did you do, change your makeup or something? Get a haircut? Wait—” he laughs. “Don’t tell me you lost five pounds.” This comment is apparently hilarious, because he throws his head back and laughs so hard his belly jiggles.

Rolling my eyes, I turn and walk back to the kitchen.

“Someone sent us a Christmas card,” I call back over my shoulder. But when I pick the thing up and look at the return address, I see that it’s from my dentist. The card features a tooth wreathed in holly berries. ‘May Your Christmas be as white as your smile’ reads the caption underneath.

I fasten it to the refrigerator with a magnet shaped like a little sandal.

“Who’s the card from, that lame guy you work with?”

“No. My dentist.” I ignore the jab at Manuel.

“Wow, big deal, so glad you told me about it.” Brent turns up the volume on the TV. “When’s dinner getting here?” he shouts over the roaring crowd.

“Fifteen minutes,” I reply, even though I know he can’t hear me.

Aaron

The camera in Ruby’s bedroom mirror does not disappoint. After spending the day at my father’s funeral, watching her is a blissful reward. Her smile while she’s wearing my earrings ignites a spark in me that thaws frozen places deep in my heart. I can’t wait until she sees what else Santa has in store for her.

Buzzing with energy, I wrap the rest of her presents. Sheets of ornate tissue paper and shiny strands of ribbon cover every surface in my suite as I hum along to Rachmaninoff. The world seems swollen with promise.

By five o’clock in the morning, a pile of perfectly wrapped packages covers the long desk in the corner of the living area. Satisfied, I finally flop onto the large sofa. A loud growling from my stomach quickly reminds me I haven’t eaten since dinner, though. Time to visit Deelite’s Diner. It’s been years. I can’t wait to find out whether the coffee still resembles jet fuel.

I throw on a wool coat, grab my keys, and head out into the morning chill. It’s still dark when I leave the hotel, but by the time I exit the highway, streaks of peach color the low clouds that hang above the foothills in the East. I pull into the back entrance at Deelite’s and park behind the building.

The diner is surprisingly full for such an early hour. A tired-looking woman whose gray bun is surrounded by a haze of loose hairs grabs a plastic-coated menu and gestures for me to follow her to a booth at the back. On one side, an archway leads to “cowboy” and “cowgirl” labeled restrooms. On the other, a half-door made from uneven wooden planks swings open every few seconds as waiters pass through with steaming plates.

Everything looks enticing, but I know what I want. I set the menu down and watch the waitstaff hurrying past. Finally, a tall woman, probably in her late twenties, pauses and stares at me, jaw momentarily slack. After a heartbeat, she shakes her head quickly and continues into the kitchen. She reappears moments later, holding a small pad of paper, a pencil tucked behind her ear.

“Sorry for staring earlier.” Her cheeks turn a rosy pink. “You looked familiar.”

“I have one of those faces.” I scrutinize the name on her red plastic tag. “Delilah.”

Squinting, she tilts her head to the left while her eyes comb my features.

I hand her the menu.

“You don’t want to order?” She raises her eyebrows.

“Au contraire, Delilah. I do want to order.” I smile. “I’d like a three-egg omelet with mushrooms, olives, and feta cheese. I’ll also take a steak— medium-rare—a yogurt parfait, and three slices of extra crispy bacon.”

She writes quickly, nodding while she jots down each special request.

“Anything to drink?” She doesn’t look up.

“A cup of your grungiest diner coffee. And a pitcher of cream.”

“I’ll bring you some honey, too, sir.” She looks at me and winks, then shoves her pencil into the thick twist of blond hair at the nape of her neck.

This is what I get for talking to the press: strangers know my drink order.Sigh.So she did recognize me.

Pulling my hood over my head, I shrink into the corner of my booth. It was one thing to hide in plain sight when I was a gangly teenager. Sixty pounds of muscle later, hiding under a hood often makes me look menacing. But maybe that’s not a bad thing. I roll up my sleeves, revealing my tattoos.

“That’s pretty cool ink.” Delilah sets a tray on the table, then unloads a carafe of coffee, a small pitcher of cream, and a little glass jar of honey.

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