Casting Stones (Stones Duet #1) (6 page)

Images of the woman named Jade flood my mind. Everything about her body was incredible. From her flaming red hair, those big round tits, flat stomach and perfect ass. The fact that she’s a stripper doesn’t change the fact that she is gorgeous as hell. I reach for the bottle of conditioner and stroke myself to an easy and quick release.

I GO IN SEARCH
for something to eat. Every cabinet door is opened and closed. I have no food other than instant oatmeal and that won’t satisfy the rolling of my stomach. I dress quickly, throwing on a T-shirt, shorts and a pair of sneakers. Not my running sneakers; there’ll be no running today. I’ll be lucky if I can walk in a straight line.

Thirty minutes later the bell on the door rings as I enter the unusually crowded diner. It’s a Saturday morning, but for some reason it seems busier than usual. I glance at the clock and realize it’s almost nine o’clock. I’m usually here around six thirty, but that will have to change once school actually starts and I have to be in to work at seven. I’m going to have to rearrange my schedule to run after work; there’s no way I can run, shower, eat breakfast and make the bus to take me across town all by seven. It’s not like back home where I can get around the small town in twenty minutes flat.

I plop myself onto the only empty seat at the counter and push the remnants of someone else’s half eaten food away from me. The waitresses scurry around dropping off plates of hot food, refilling coffee and clearing the tables. I wait. I’m in no rush. Anyway, I don’t mind the extra few minutes to watch the petite waitress brew a fresh pot of coffee. She’s cute even though her blond hair is almost as short as mine. While I wait, I scroll through my phone and listen to the murmurings of people sitting nearby who are talking about last night’s game.

“Morning!”

I look up and am greeted by the waitress with long brown hair whose name tag says “Jenna”. I smile and respond with a “Good morning” while she clears away the dirty dishes. “Coffee?”

“Sure.”

She turns abruptly to fill a mug when I call out, “Actually, can I have a Coke instead?”

“Can or fountain?”

“Fountain. Extra large. Lots of ice.” I grin.

“You got it.” She smiles, setting a menu down in front of me.

I don’t open the menu; I know what I want.

“Blueberry muffin?” Jenna asks, placing the soda in front of me.

I’m surprised she knows what I usually order, but then again she is a waitress and I have been coming in every day for the past few weeks, always eating the same thing.

“Not today.”

“Oh! Okay, what can I get for you?” She pulls a pad and pen from her apron and presses the pen into her chest, clicking it.

“I’ll have four eggs scrambled with extra cheddar, home fries well done, six pieces of bacon and four slices of toast with extra butter.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “You trying to give yourself a heart attack?” she asks through her laughter.

“No. I went a little overboard with the alcohol last night,” I chuckle, pulling my ball cap lower on my head.

“And women?”

“Excuse me?” I ask, not sure if I heard her correctly.

“Alcohol and women. Don’t they go together for most guys?”

I shake my head and shrug my shoulders, “I’m not most guys.” I give her a pointed look, letting her know she’s misjudged me.

“Okay, then,” she replies and walks away to place my order with the cook.

While I sit and wait for my food, I get a text from Collin, who tells me he’ll be flying into Logan International on Monday afternoon. I already told him that he could crash at my place for a while. It’s not a five star hotel; it’s a pull-out sofa bed and a clean shower. There was a time in my life when an old sofa bed would have been Heaven on Earth.

I cross my arms on the counter and drop my head onto them, hoping the room will stop spinning sometime soon. Then I hear a voice. “Here you go,” I look up when I hear the other waitress’ voice. She doesn’t sound happy to see me.

I adjust my hat, lifting the brim slightly so I can really see her. Her light skin is smooth and flawless. She’s the type of girl who doesn’t need make up to look good. I smile in appreciation.

“Can I get you anything else?” she sighs heavily, seemly annoyed at my presence.

A taste of your lips?
A touch of your skin?
I glance around for ketchup and see none. “Ketchup.”

She turns, grabs a bottle and sets it down with more force than necessary. “Anything else?”

Although my head pounds, I tease her. “Uh…yes…” I have her full attention. “No, never mind. I’m all set.”

She narrows her eyes before walking away.

“Hey,” I call after her and wait for her to acknowledge me, “thank you.”

The only response I get is the pursing of her pink lips and a rolling of her eyes.

I wolf down my food in silence, devouring every last morsel while a steady stream of diners come in and out. I sit back in the vinyl seat and pat my distended stomach.

“Hungry much?” The dish is cleared away by Jenna, the friendly waitress.

I remove the plastic lid of my empty soda cup, tip back a piece of ice to relieve my cotton mouth, and bite down hard, crunching the frozen cube with a grin on my face.

“You know what
that
means, don’t you?” She scribbles on her pad, totaling up my order and sets it down topped with a white mint wrapped in clear plastic.

I look at her over the rim of my cup as I chew more ice. My raised eyebrows indicate that I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“Ice chewing,” she states as though it’s obvious.

“What about it?” I mumble as the ice melts on my tongue.

She leans forward like she’s revealing a huge secret. “C’mon! Everyone knows it’s a sign of sexual frustration.” With a quick wink, she’s off as her name is abruptly called by the cook who is putting plates under the food warmer in the window.

Muffled laughter consumes me. I shake my head and smile at her words.
Sexual frustration.
I’m not sexually frustrated. It’s been a few weeks, but I get enough from time to time.

I finish my ice and pull a twenty out of my pocket. I throw in a ten and a few fives, too. When I look up, I see those green eyes watching me with her arms crossed over her plump chest.

“Are you leaving a fifteen dollar tip again?” the petite blonde asks, moving closer. Her sharp words match her body language as her hands fly to her slim waist.

I count the money in my hand and look up to answer her. “No.”

“Good!” she sneers as her green eyes widen, her neck rolls and her chin rises in defiance.

I dig deep into my pocket, reaching for the loose change. I pull out a quarter and set it down on the counter along with rest of the money before I leave. “Have a good day.” I smirk and walk out.

Remy

I WATCH HIM
as he holds the door open for Mr. Johnson and his regular Saturday morning breakfast companion. The younger man carries in the chess set that will have their attention for hours on end.

“Thank you for your service, sir,” Mr. Abercombie model says as he shakes the old man’s feeble hand. The smile on each of their faces is genuine. He really is even more gorgeous than the man I dream about at night even though I don’t want to.
I’m an idiot.
You’re an idiot.
I chuckle at my unspoken joke as I recite a line from my favorite childhood Christmas movie starring Jim Carrey as the Grinch. With a heavy sigh, I get back to work and force myself to pull myself together. I grab the money, go to the register to cash out and count the dollars along with the loose coins. My brain is a jumbled mess! I can’t concentrate. Three times in a row I tap the wrong keys and have to start all over. I gasp when I notice the remaining currency and mumble to myself about how frustrating he is.

“Rem, you’re talking to yourself again, babe.” Jenna whispers as she stands behind me, waiting for the register so she can cash out another customer.

“Look!” I squawk, opening my palm.

She counts the money in my flat hand. “Hah,” she snorts. “Pretty boy’s got a sense of humor.”

“Yeah, I’ll give him a sense of humor.” I drop the $15.25 into the tip jar that Jenna and I will split at the end of our shift.

“Poor guy was hungover.”

“Poor guy my ass!” I grab the filter and grind some beans to make a fresh pot of coffee. “He probably can’t remember who he banged last night. Do you think he’s gay? He’s too pretty to be straight. Although he could use a shave. He’d look better all cleaned up.”

Jenna looks at me like I’ve grown three heads. “Rem, that man is a god! I don’t care if he’s gay, straight or Cait! I’d do him!” She rolls her eyes, “God, you’re so judgmental sometimes.”

“Bite me!” I retort, even though she’s right. I have no right to judge anyone. “And you should really stop flirting with him. He’s a customer.”

Jenna gasps as her mouth drops open. “Oh, please. You’re just jealous that I can have an actual conversation with him while you get all tongue tied like a fourteen-year-old!” She states over her shoulder, her ponytail swishing from side to side as she leads a couple to a booth. “Besides, I think you like him.”

“I do not.”

After the couple is seated and their order taken, Jenna whispers in my ear as she passes by, “Yes, you do!”

“I’M HOME.” I
drop my backpack onto the floor before pushing open her bedroom door. Nothing. The dark curtains are drawn, the bed sheets rumpled and the stale smell of sex infiltrates my nose.

Screams send me running down the narrow hallway into the bathroom. I pound my fist on the locked door and beg for him to stop. “Stop it. Leave her alone.”

“Baby, it’s okay,” my mother’s strained voice floats beneath the wooden door. “It’s okay…”

I push myself off the door and slide down against the wall with my knees curled up against my chest. Rocking myself quietly, I wait until her labored pants finally come to an end.

When the door opens, my eyes snap up. I see him buttoning up his pants before I see her. “She owed me.”

“Fuck you!” I scramble to my feet and face the man who towers over me like a giant.

“I’d love nothing more than that, little girl.”

“You son of a bitch!” I pound my fists against his chest.

“She owes me everything.” His yellow teeth are inches away from my face as he spits out the words I hate to hear. I don’t ever want to owe anyone anything.

“She owes you nothing! It’s your fault she’s like this!”

He grips my chin hard, keeping my face still so I have to look at him. “Either she pays or you pay.”

With her long fiery hair a disheveled mess, my mother steps out of the bathroom wearing nothing but smeared mascara. “Leave her alone. You know I always pay.”

“Don’t run from me. Don’t fight me next time,” he threatens, eyeing my mother’s clothes strewn on the floor torn to shreds. I hear the front door slam shut before I move. I reach around my mother’s back to guide her back to bed. When she winces in pain, I see the fresh bruises and hold my breath to prevent pancakes and eggs from reappearing.

“Why don’t you call the cops?”