Page 227 of Devil’s Disciples

I ate my pancakes with the grace of a starving dog. The three oversized flapjacks reduced my desire for carbohydrates but did nothing to curb my appetite to see Porter again.

Incapable of deciding whether I should send him a text message or order one more pancake, I stared blankly through the diner’s window. With a far more casual stride than normal, Lawson ambled into my line of sight.

“Can I get another pancake?” I asked as his image walked past.

He paused. “Just one?”

I narrowed my blank stare and shifted my eyes to him. Two pancakes would fill the stomach of most of the Marine men who regularly ate at the diner. I’d already eaten three, but I had the metabolism of a greyhound, especially when something was bothering me.

“Make it two,” I said, raising two fingers. “I might go for another run when I’m done.”

He nodded and turned away.

When I couldn’t decide what to do about one of life’s obstacles, I either ran or overate. At the end of my run, or by the time I wiped the corners of my mouth, I always had the answer. When I ran and overate, I was generally stuck – centered between what I wanted and what I truly needed – incapable of grasping either.

Leaning one way or the other was the answer, and I couldn’t decide what direction was in my best interest.

“What’s on your mind?” George asked from behind me.

Seated at the end of a row of booths with my back facing the wall, I peered over my shoulder, toward the kitchen. “Nothing, really.”

His square jaw tightened. He narrowed his eyes playfully and gave me a stare. “Lawson just came in the kitchen. The last time you ate six pancakes was the evening before you broke up with Kevin.”

“Kelvin. His name was Kelvin, with an ‘L’,” I said. “And, I’m only having five.”

He leaned over the back of the booth and looked me in the eyes. “I’ll ask again. What’s on your mind?”

Immediately after meeting George, he stepped into my life as a father of sorts. Protecting me from Southern California’s undesirables seemed to be his calling. Upon hiring his male employees, he advised them of his hands-off policy when it came to me. If a patron acted overly friendly, George was at my table in an instant, squashing their advancements completely. Luckily, his clientele were regulars. Therefore, everyone knew his position on all things Abby related.

I gestured to the empty seat across from me. “Sit down. It makes me nervous when you loom over me like that.”

He sat across from me, resting his massive forearms on the edge of the table. He cocked an eyebrow. “Did you run this morning?”

I nodded. “Five miles.”

His mouth twisted into a smirk. “So, we’ve got a big problem.”

“You know me all too well.” My gaze fell to the table top. “There was this guy at the meeting. He was really nice. We went to Borrego and I caught a rattlesnake.”

I looked up, hoping I’d satisfied his curiosity.

In complete contrast of my optimistic view, he coughed out a laugh. “Were you planning on stopping there, or are you going to continue with the rest of the story?”

“That’s pretty much it,” I lied. “We rode out there, caught a rattlesnake, and then we rode back to the meeting. After that, I came home.”

“I know you didn’t ride your bicycle to the desert.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Motorcycle?”

I nodded.

“Number thirty-whatever?” he asked.

“Two,” I said. “It was number thirty-two.”

“A biker. You’re contemplating a real biker?” He crossed his arms and peered down his nose at me. “What makes him special?”

“I don’t know.”

It was true. I didn’t know. He possessed the external qualities I liked in men, but beyond that I knew very little about him. I feared, however, that it was what I didn’t know that drew me to him. I wanted to find out what the root of his fear was. In time, I wanted to fix it.