Page 2 of Zombie's Howl-O-Ween
Was he like other bikers I’d heard about who had a different girl every week?
I growled in my throat, feeling jealous and possessive.
Brandon Adams was perfect in my eyes, no matter how quirky and sometimes mean he was. I’d known his name since the one and only time he’d paid with a debit card. That had been years ago, when he first moved to town. It seemed after he joined the club, he started paying with cash.
But I never forgot his name, and I never called him by his road name Zombie, which he didn’t seem to mind.
Next week, I’d have to endure hearing girls I’d known my whole life and that were older than me, gush over the amazing party. And of course, all the hot bikers.
Apparently, nobody under the age of twenty-one was allowed to attend. And you had to be invited. So, the club did have some rules. They couldn’t be that bad, right?
The bell above the front door jingled and my heart stopped. He was right on time just like clockwork.
“Hi, Brandon. How are you today?” I asked in my nicest, sweetest voice.
“Okay.” He approached the counter and stared at the menu behind my head as if he was considering ordering something different.
But he knew and I knew he wouldn’t. Studying the menu was just something he did every day of the week.
“Are you looking forward to the Halloween Bash?” Today, I wouldn’t talk about food. I’d fish for answers to some of my questions.
“No.”
“No? Why not? A ghoulish party sounds amazing!”
He stood there with his gaze diverted away from me. Ugh, I wished he would take off his shades and look me straight in the eyes.
“Do you have a costume to wear?” I asked. “Something cool or maybe scary?”
“No.” He sighed as if annoyed with me.
“You’re not going to it?” I would be over the moon happy if he wasn’t. “I hear there will be a lot of women dressed in skimpy costumes.” Sexy maids and nurses to serve the bikers… So I’d heard.
“Stop.” He slammed his hand on the counter, making me jump.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to talk so much.” Geez, Trixie. Chill girl.
He sighed again. “Ask what I want.”
I wrinkled my forehead. Really? He wanted nothing more to do with me other than taking his order. Why did I even try with him?
“Brandon, would you like your usual Wednesday pastrami sandwich?” Gosh, I felt like an idiot. When would I learn to just ignore him as he ignored me? He was the only customer who required zero engagement.
“Yes. Foot long pastrami. Provolone cheese. Spicy mustard. No vegetables,” he said in a monotone, robotic voice.
“You got it.” It was the same damn thing every Wednesday. I could make it in my sleep.
Without saying another word, I made his foot long, feeling defeated and cancelled. Brandon didn’t give a damn about me, and it was time I pushed him out of my mind.
A minute later, I went to the register where he already had a twenty on the counter waiting for me. The total was $16.99. He never got a drink or bag of chips. And believe me, I’d tried to upsell to this dude dozens of times over the years. But nope, he only wanted the sandwich.
I handed him the bag and took for the money.
“Keep the change,” he said as he grabbed his bag of food. Those were the same three words he said each time he came in.
Keep the change. Keep the change. Keep the change.
Why couldn’t he mix it up? I should research neurodivergent people to help me better understand Brandon.
