And. He. Had. Dimples.
My one weakness.
"Good afternoon. My name is Asher, and I'll be taking care of you this evening."
"Is that a promise?" My mother batted her eyelashes at him, and I felt my own eyes widen in horror.
"Dammit, mother," I hissed. If it was possible, and I didn't think it was, D.O.D.'s expression darkened further. If he hated one thing, it was the attention his wife gave other males. Of course, D.O.D. made an exception for Dickhead the guard, but that could've been because he was banging him too.
I touched my pearl necklace, a reminder of what I could gain with a little blackmail.
If only it could rid me of such nuisances, say the Buttlicker licking his buttlicking lips beside me.
I wanted to apologize to the waiter for my mother's crude, though unsurprising, behavior. However, I knew the gesture would be futile. D.O.D. was not only the owner of this ostentatious restaurant, but the entire resort. And a few other not-so-legal enterprises that I probably shouldn't mention.
Gorgeous kept his smile pleasant though his eyes dimmed marginally. He looked embarrassed by my mother's outburst, but how could he not? She basically implied that he was a prostitute to hire, despite the fact that he could only be a year or two older than myself.
"I'd like the chicken alfredo," I said quickly. A pathetic attempt, I'll admit, to ease the awkward tension, but it seemed to have the desired effect. D.O.D. let out a breath I hadn't realized he had been holding, and mother's face contorted into a scowl. She really didn't like it when I interrupted her flirt sessions, as she so liked to call them. Gorgeous's eyes flickered to me, his relief obvious.
And then they stayed there.
I knew he what held his gaze. It was the same thing that everybody else saw, the same thing I saw when I looked into the mirror. A girl that was almost ethereal in beauty with brown, curly hair and a porcelain-like face. Bright red lips and a cute, button nose. And my eyes - a color that seemed to be a mixture of violet and blue, like the light at the crack of dawn where the sun had yet to set and the moon had yet to disappear completely.
Did nobody see how haunted these eyes were? How my lips were constantly turned down into a frown? How the makeup was barely able to conceal the bruises marring the perfect skin?
Did anybody care?
Asher continued to stare at me, a blond brow lifting slightly. His mouth opened before snapping closed again. I couldn't understand the expression on his face.
Buttlicker also must've noticed the attention the waiter gave me, for he rested his hand possessively on my knee. I winced, shifting away from the man who made me squeamish. One reprimanding stare from my father had me cowering and leaning closer towards Buttlicker.
It was a choice between two evils. With Buttlicker, I knew that I would survive whatever he had in store for me. With my father, I could never be too sure.
Gorgeous' gaze hardened as he surveyed my father and then Buttlicker, but he didn't comment. Smart move.
"And what can I get you?" Asher asked sharply, turning towards the slimy man still gripping my knee as if his life depended on it. Yup. That was going to leave a nasty bruise there.
Great. Another one added to the inventory.
Mental me could barely contain her eye roll.
"Did you say something?" Buttlicker asked, turning his attention from Asher to me. This time I did roll my eyes, both physically and mentally (if there's such thing as rolling your eyes mentally. I'm not exactly sure, but I pictured myself rolling my eyes inside my mind. Does that count?)
"I didn't say anything," I huffed, glaring a hole at my menu. I had a tendency to speak my mind. Literally. Therapist 1 called it a defense mechanism for my traumatic childhood - whatever the hell that means. Therapist 2 said it was a way for me to express myself. Therapist 3 just chuckled and called me an idiot (I don't believe Therapist 3 was an actual therapist), but Therapist 4 admitted that it was not uncommon for trauma patients, when facing isolation, to find comfort in their own thoughts. Thus, my inner monologues and rumblings often turned into outer monologues and rumblings. You can imagine how embarrassing it can be at times, especially with my tendency to create nicknames.
Asher continued taking orders around the table, and I half expected my mother to make a smartass comment along the lines of "I'll have you for supper" or something dumb like that. I was pleasantly surprised when she only made a passing comment about having "the Asher special for dessert". That was real progress for my mother.
I wonder if his last name is Gorgeous? Then I wouldn't feel as creepy calling him Gorgeous. Asher Gorgeous. Hmmm. Fitting.
It took me a moment to realize that all eyes were on me, including the stunning waiter who directed his blinding smile at me.
I tried to recall what I had just thought, and obviously said, and my cheeks flamed with the realization of what transpired.
"Shit."
Kill me now.
"Tempting," D.O.D. said, taking a sip of his water. His expression was as severe as his eyes. I had the distinct feeling that he wasn't joking. Great. Just what I wanted.
"So, about those Red Sox?" I interjected quickly. Though, in the middle of winter, I doubted that baseball had started up again. Sports. Sports were always a good topic of conversation with men. Asher, moving from our table to the next, smirked at me. He had no doubt heard
