Page 8 of Rough Rider (Bad Boy High)
"That's soon."
"I suppose." Birthdays don't mean anything anymore. They did when I was little, but I can't recall the last time I celebrated. My countdown isn't for me turning eighteen. That’s the number when the government claims you're an adult. I've been an adult since I was thirteen and got my first job and started to help with rent.
I'm counting down to being out of high school and hopefully on to the next part of my life. One that gets me the hell out of here. Away from everything and with a fresh start on my own.
Niki pulls up my text messages right as one pops up from my mom. “Don't,” I tell him when his thumb hovers over it. I can’tsee what it says from here, but I know it’s my mom because of the emoji next to her name.
“She’s checking on you,” he tells me, clicking the top corner to start a new text to himself.
“I thought I was getting your number, not you getting mine.” Niki only grunts a response. I grab the pot of coffee off the burner when an older gentleman at the end of the counter motions to his cup.
When I get back, he's still fiddling with my phone. "There isn't anything interesting in there," I tell him, holding my hand out. I don’t really have a social life. School, work, and survival are already enough.
"You need a new phone." He hands it back, his fingers grazing mine in the process, making a warmth bloom deep in my stomach. I suck in a breath, pulling my hand back. My reaction to his touch startles me, it's so powerful.
"I know." I check the text from my mom, wondering why she is checking on me. Usually, the situation is reversed. She's asking when I'll be getting home. I'm not sure why, but I text her back before pulling up the text Niki sent to himself.
"You need shoes too."
"I need a lot of things." I shake my head.
The bell over the door rings, Pam rushing into the diner. “Sorry,” she says, her normal greeting when she gets here.
“You’re fine,” I tell her. I know Pam is likely late because of her little brother. She takes care of him. I’ve even watched him a few times for her. I never mind covering for her.
“How are the tips tonight?” she asks, her gaze flicking over to Niki, noticing him for the first time. Not that you can miss him.
“They’re shit.”
“Yay,” Pam sighs, tying her apron on, her eyes flicking from me to Niki.
"This is Niki," I tell her. He gives her a chin nod. "He's super chatty," I tease. Pam’s brows lift, neither of them finding me amusing. I was only trying to break the sudden awkwardness.
"Hey, can you help me in the back? I'm supposed to change out the ice bin."
"Sure." I have no clue what she is talking about. Pam disappears through the swinging door into the kitchen.
"She's going to warn you about me," Niki says before I can follow her.
"Do I need to be warned?"
"Probably." He stands, pulling out his wallet. I don’t want him to leave, and a pang of disappointment fills me. “I’ll wait out front and walk you home.” It’s not a question.
He drops money down onto the counter before heading out front. I grab the hundred, still not sure what to make of this man or the things he’s making me feel.
Chapter Seven
NIKI
It's a strange feeling to be happy knowing that you are being badmouthed by two adults a mere thirty feet away. Between the new waitress and the line cook, Andy’s getting an earful about how she needs to stay away from me. Neither of them like me, which means Andy’s got some decent adults on her side.
If I were standing in their shoes, I’d be reading Andy the riot act. Stay away from that boy. He’s trouble. You’re only going to get hurt, and by hurt, I mean probably dead. I’ve got a baby sister, a whole five years old, and if I caught her near a Rider, I’d have to lock her in her room for a month. It’s why I don’t spend money on shit like Bam. I’m socking it away so that by the time Julie is in high school, we’ll be living in the suburbs with Julie going to one of those schools that makes you wear plaid skirts and blazers. A school like Clark goes to…well, not his school, obviously.
I roll a toothpick from one side of my mouth to the other as I picture what’s taking place near the ice maker. The new waitress is saying that I’m bad news, I’m part of a gang that does bad stuff. The new waitress doesn’t look like she’s one to curse. She was dressed like a mom with a food stain on her shirt that herwork apron will cover. Bob, the line cook, is standing to the side with his arms folded and the lion’s head tattoo on his biceps popping off. He doesn’t say anything but only offers grunts of agreement whenever the new waitress makes a good point.
Even though those two adults are right to warn Andy that I suck, somehow I can’t let that be the last image of me in her mind, which is why I’m walking her home. That and because the Pipefitters are still nursing their eighth refill of coffee. At this point, they’re probably running on nothing but caffeine and anger.
The bell above the entry door to the café jangles, and soon I see two pairs of scuffed brown work boots in my periphery. I glance over my shoulder to see the new waitress and Andy standing by the pie case looking out the window at us. No matter what these assholes say, I can’t be provoked, or the new waitress will lock Andy in her room for a month.
