Karina’s knowing snicker makes me throw a towel at her.
I’ll never look at meatloaf the same again.
16
Nora
I close up the diner and walk to my car, my head is far away from reality, replaying today’s events on repeat. My head being in the clouds must be why I don’t notice right away a figure standing next to my car.
“Hello, Nora.” Dick’s voice sounds a little off. He’s leaning on the driver’s side of my car, preventing me from getting in, unless I want to push him away. And he’s not a small guy, so I don’t see that happening if he doesn’t want it to.
He’s never been violent, so fear is not my first reaction. Even though the tiny hairs on my back rise up.
“What do you want, Dick? I’m tired and want to go home.” I take a stance in front of him with arms crossed over my chest.
“Richard,” he corrects me for the millionth time. He’s always seemed to think me using his full name automatically grants him more respect. He always told me to call him Richard while everyone else was allowed to call himDick. Inever knew why until we broke up. He tilts his head to the side. “Who was that?”
“Who?”
“You know who.” Yep, he definitely sounds off. “The asshole who ate my meatloaf.”
A small shudder runs through my body—looks like I’ll forever be deliciously triggered by the word. “He ordered it first, so he got it first. Now, move away so I can get into my car.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets without moving an inch. “C’mon, Nora. Just admit you wanted to aggravate me, so I’d give you my attention.” He sounds and looks so sly, I almost vomit in my mouth, wondering how I didn’t see it before. I dated him for a few years before shit flew with the wind but I saw no warning signs.
Looking at him with obvious disdain, I say, “You are delusional, Dick, and you need to back the hell away from me.”
His demeanor instantly changes. He pushes away from my car, dropping his fisted hands by his sides. He’s much larger than me, almost as big as Jericho, and the top of my head barely reaches his shoulders.
This must be the first time since I’ve known him that I begin feeling truly uncomfortable. His presence is sizable, his displeasure with me is palpable, and to my shame I admit that the first ripple of fear runs through my mind.
He takes a step toward me, his eyes dark.
I almost step backward but quickly regain my posture, refusing to show him my fear. “Dick, you need to move away so I can get to my car.”
“You want to play it rough, huh? Maybe you want me to stay here. Is that what you learned in the big city without me, playing rough?”
He’s gone insane, I’m certain of it. There’s no freaking way this will end well.
“Dick, you haveto?—”
I don’t finish because his hand shoots out, grabbing my arm. “Have to what, honey? If that bitch in your diner thinks I’m such a joke, I probably should prove to you otherwise. What do you think?”
I freeze, not knowing what to do. My whole body turns into an icy statue. I’ve never been good with violence, especially when I’m in the thick of it. Violence pushed me to become the weirdo I am now, after all. It’s easier to hide behind my crystals than face the anger of the world.
I want to tell him to leave me alone. I want to tell him to get the fuck out of here. But I can’t. Because my tongue is frozen along with my body. Just like what happened years ago.
His grip on my arm is firm. Bruising. His intentions are not very clear, but I can say for sure they’re not very favorable for me.
“Get the fuck away from her,” comes a booming voice from behind me, and for the first time in the past minute I’m able to gasp for air.
I haven’t known Jericho for long, but somehow his presence brings my body back to life. In a literal sense. My body unfreezes, letting me get a lungful of chilly air.
“Get off me, Dick,” I hiss.
An evil, one-sided smile stretches across his face. He knows I’ve gained my footing back, so he knows the exact moment I lost it. Which makes me vulnerable. Very vulnerable.
He releases his grip and steps to the side with his hands thrown in front of him in mock surrender, which cannot be from my weak attempt to scare him off. And sure thing, an arm wraps around my shoulders and shoves me behind a wide back. My nose is nearly squashed into a sweat-smelling flannel—the man is not wearing a jacket—and the warmth from his body starts slowly seeping into me.
