I don’t want to go to the diner because I don’t, I write.
It isn’t a good excuse, but I don’t want him to know I am nervous and uncomfortable about going to a diner with him. Idon’t want to get close to any of these guys because I’m scared the same thing will happen again. Guys are all the same when it comes to women.
I hand Bear the piece of paper and sit on the bench. I pick up my plate and start to eat while he reads what I wrote. The piece of paper is shoved in front of my face.
“I want an actual reason, not some bullcrap excuse!” he shouts, angry.
I shake my head, but he doesn’t give up.
“We can do this all day. I want an actual reason why you won’t go to the diner with me. We will have a great time together if you just say yes. We can do whatever you want to do. I want to make you feel comfortable.” His voice softens toward the end, almost to a whisper.
I shake my head again. I put some food in my mouth, not paying attention to him. All of a sudden, my plate is taken out of my hand. Furious, I stand and glare at Bear.
I rip the piece of paper out of his hand.
GIVE ME BACK MY FOOD!I write.
He reads it before looking at me. His lip twitches upward a little bit, and it only pisses me off more.
“No can do, sweetheart, not until you give me a reason as to why you won’t go to the diner with me,” he says smugly, handing me back the piece of paper.
Because all men are the same. Happy now? Now give me back my food, I write.
I put the piece of paper back in his hand, and I look down, not wanting to see his reaction. I told someone this before, and all they gave me was pity. Pity that I think this way. It’s true, they are all the same. Every guy that I have gotten to know has turned out to be more of the same.
Ever since Jared, I see the bad in men all the time. There is nothing good about them. They will beat you if you do somethingwrong. It starts with just a push, and when they get used to the feeling of it, they realize they love it and will do it more. Jared found out when we got into a heated argument. He slapped me and apologized because he didn’t mean to, but the next day he did the same thing, and before long it escalated to full-on beatings.
Bear places my food back in my hands. I still don’t look up, but I start to slowly eat again. When he sits next to me, my body stiffens as I immediately go on high alert, uncomfortable with his proximity.
“Let me prove that I’m different,” Bear offers.
I freeze. What could he do that would show me that not all men are the same? They are and will always be. I shake my head.
“Just give me one chance, and if you still think I’m the same as other men, we won’t do it again. I’m asking for an opportunity to prove that I am not like all the other guys,” he says, his voice nearly pleading.
I look up at Bear. Even sitting, he is a head taller than me. I get ready to shake my head no, but Bear beats me to it.
“Please, just one chance,” he begs again.
I sigh and nod. I’ll get this over with and just tell him that he is just like all the other men.
Bear beams a smile and stands.
“You won’t regret this. I’m going to go talk to Pres about getting you off work. You finish eating and relax,” he says.
Before I can even nod, he walks out of the garage. I huff and go back to eating my chicken alfredo. They feed the guys really well here, and I can understand why they want to join the club. I know this isn’t their only reason, but it should be one of them. I would join just for this food.
“How did your talk go with Bear?” Someone breaks me out of my thoughts.
I jump, dropping the remaining food on the ground. I pout and look at it before glaring at Gears. How dare he make me waste this delicious food?
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Gears shrugs.
I look away from him and pick up what I spilled, quickly setting it on the plate to grab a rag so I can clean the sauce off the floor before I turn my attention back to Gears.
“Are you going to tell me what you guys talked about?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.
My cheeks heat up, and I look away. I don’t know why I am embarrassed, but I can’t help it.
