I give a short laugh. “You don’t know my parents.”
I can feel his eyes on me briefly, but I stare out the window. I call work and tell them I’m sick. They buy it, probably because of how dismal I sound. Suddenly, I don’t think this is such a good idea to be alone with Casper. He is a manipulator. He uses girls. And when he is done with them, he tosses them aside like they’re yesterday’s newspaper. But for some strange reason, I feel comfortable around him.
“So, what do you do when you skip work?”
“Usually hang out with Cherry.”
“Why would your parents get upset that you called out of work? Wouldn’t they see how it would make you uncomfortable?”
“They wouldn’t care.”
“But it’s your job. Your money.”
“Not really. They take my paychecks.”
“What?” he asks, shocked.
“Look, I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Okay,” he relents. “Want to grab something to eat?”
I tense. It would feel too much like a date and I’m not on a date with Casper Truitt. Especially if Amber sees us.
“I don’t want people to see me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because your girlfriend mangled my face after she saw us talking.”
The muscle in his jaw twitches. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Why do you hate me so much?”
“Why are you being nice to me so suddenly?”
He slows to a stop at a red light. “I’m so sorry for offering you a ride. But since you seem so repulsed by my presence, why don’t you walk?”
I turn my head to see the challenge in his eye. He doesn’t think I will do it, but I’ve been around my dramatic mother plenty of times for her to rub off on me. Although, I try so hard not to be like her. Today, apparently, isn’t that day. Glaring, I open the door, and hop out into the pouring, freezing rain. It’s stupid, I know. Casper yells my name, but my slamming of the door cuts him off. The light turns green and the car behind him honks while I charge toward the sidewalk.
Chapter Fourteen
My clothes are soaking wet and it’s cold. My black hair is sprawled all over my shoulders in a wet mass. I’m sure I look awesome.
I walk inside the Waffle House and avoid the disapproving look from the chubby woman behind the counter. Her thin, brown hair is pulled into a messy bun and I assume it’s her attempt at trying to cover some of the baldness. There is a man sitting on one of the orange stools shoveling in his food. I assume he is the proud owner of the eighteen-wheeler parked next to the building. The cook, who is a young black man, sips coffee and reads a newspaper.
I slide into the hard booth and shiver. Is there ever a Waffle House that believes in heat? It is freezing outside, and I swear they still have the air on.
I pull my hair down over the right side of my face, which is facing the windows, luckily. The waitress comes over with a pot of coffee. Her short-sleeved white shirt has an orange stain in a bad spot on her chest.
“Ain’t you a little young to be by yourself?” she asks with a thick Southern accent. The same one you hear whenever they need to interview the public on the Channel 13 news. Her front teeth are brown and small. The fat in her hands look as if it’s constricting them. That is mean, but the look in her brown eyes clearly shows she is judging me.
“You want coffee?” she asks.
I shake my head. “I’ll have water and a grilled cheese.”
“You want hash browns?”
“No.”
She turns back toward the counter. “Hey D,” she yells. “Grilled cheese.”
“Comin’ right up.”
I hear the door behind me open and I have a sinking suspicion it’s Casper.
“That must be the boyfriend.” The waitress makes no effort to keep her voice low.
I hoped he wouldn’t find me, but he probably saw me from his rear-view mirror. I cross my arms and peer out the window at the pouring rain. He slides in the booth across from me, drenched and his precious Bama cap is soaked. He removed his sweater. Water from the rim of his hat drips onto his shirt, which is now clinging to his chest and does not hide the hard muscles. I feel his eyes on me which makes heat tingle in my cheeks.
The waitress sighs as if we are disturbing her and sets down my water. “Do you want coffee?” she asks Casper.
“No.”
“Are you eatin’ anything?”
“No.”
She goes back to the counter and he glares at me. His eyes look black under his cap. He places his arms on the table and leans forward.
“You think that’s funny?” His voice has a hard edge to it.
I shrug and sip my water. “I didn’t do it to be funny.”
The waitress comes back with a small plate holding a grilled cheese and my stomach growls. “Y’all need anything?”
“We’re good,” he snaps at her.
“Well here’s your check.” She tosses it on the table and mumbles something under her breath as she returns to the counter.
“That wasn’t a very nice thing to do, Megan.”
“Yeah, I don’t aim to be nice to people who treat me like dirt.” I fling my words back at him and take a bite of the warm gooey sandwich. I’ve angered him, but I don’t care.
“When have I treated you like dirt?”
I give a sarcastic laugh. “That’s quite a loaded question. Though, I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t remember everything you’ve done because I’m not the only one you’ve treated so poorly.”
“Well?”
“I don’t know Casper. I don’t exactly keep a log of times when people are shitty
