Chapter 4

4

Nola

It’s after three when the diner starts to settle after the lunch rush. The balls of my feet ache, my shoulders feel like twenty pound weights are slung over them, and I’ve got a headache from hell. Didn’t get much sleep again the night before. Even with Oliver out of the house, I woke up to his screams, only to find his bed was completely empty—as it should’ve been. But that didn’t stop me from freaking out at first, when I jumped out of bed half asleep.

Stealing a quick break, I head out the back door of the diner, to check my phone and have a much-needed cigarette. I don’t smoke as a general rule, but I like having a pack on hand while at work. Sometimes, it’s nice to sneak away.

There’s a notification up on my screen from an unknown number. Could be a bill collector, or some shit spam call. Or a response to the ad I placed for a renter.

When it pops up again, in real time, I answer, “Hello?”

“I understand you have an apartment for rent?” The voice on the other end catches me off guard. Deep and rich, undeniably masculine, it practically vibrates through the phone.

“Uh … yes. I do.” I catch myself, remembering I decided not to rent to a guy. Nothing against guys in general, but I don’t want to end up in a situation with a creeper. “I’m sorry, it’s … only for a month,” I say, hoping it’s enough to make him lose interest.

“Perfect. I’ll take it.”

“Well … you … um. It’s twelve hundred dollars for the month. With a deposit. Paid up front.” I’m throwing out a ridiculous deal to this guy, and as soon as he finds out it’s nothing but a small four hundred square foot studio, he’s going to tell me to go to hell.

“I can do that.”

“It’s not really an apartment. More like one big divided room. Quite small, actually. And it’s not really convenient, or close to downtown.”

“It’s fully furnished?”

“With outdated furniture, yes.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you weren’t interested in renting to a man.”

“What? No! Oh, my God, that’s …” Not a lie. “So far from the truth. I’m just … being totally honest with you.”

“I appreciate it. I’ll drop by the deposit and sign whatever paperwork you need.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa. I don’t know who this guy thinks he’s talking to, but I’m not about to rent to the first asshole that calls my number.

“I’ll need to do a background check?” Really, Nola? Are you sure you need to do a background check?

“Of course. I can provide whatever you need. I’d like to move in this evening.”

“This … wait, wait. This is moving …. I just need to process this a second.” I slap a hand to my forehead, trying to make sense of what’s going on. I’d planned to rent the place, hoping for five hundred a month, realizing most would probably take one look at the place and insist on four. This guy is willing to pay twelve,and he hasn’t even seen it. Surely, when he sees it, after agreeing to pay such an ungodly amount over the phone, he’ll want to strangle me. I’d want to strangle me.

“Sure. Process away.”

“We’ll start with a background check first. If you could …”

“Do you have a pen? I’m happy to provide my name and social security.”

Again, I’m slapped upside the head. Who the hell gives out that information over the phone? “Just like that? You don’t even know me. I mean, I could be some weirdo, roping in unsuspecting guys. A grifter. Or a black widow.”

“A grifter? I never thought of that. Or a black widow, for that matter.” The amusement in his voice adds an interesting spin to his response. “How about if I come by and see it. Make sure you’re not trying to lure me into a web.”

“When?”

“Tonight. Eight o’clock.”

“Eight? That’s …” Dark, and the perfect cover for bad shit to go down. “How about tomorrow morning? Not too early. I’m working a double tonight.”

“How’s ten?”

“Ten works.” I don’t even really know what I’m agreeing to. Not even posted a full forty-eight hours, I’ve already got a potential renter who’s willing to pay more than double what I planned to rent it for. I should feel guilty about that, but if this guy turns out to be a creep, I’ll consider the extra seven hundred an added security deposit—as in, the cost of adding cameras, and shit, to my house.

I click off the call and head back inside, still somewhat stunned.

Bethany’s fixing her lipstick at the lunch counter, and I approach from behind and knock her elbow, sending a line of candy apple red up to her nose.

“Bitch!” she says, chuckling when she wipes the mess with a napkin.

“Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”

“You’re in a good mood. What’s that about?”

“I think I have someone to rent the in-law suite. Means I don’t have to take all these extra shifts. For the next month, anyway, unless he decides to rent longer.”

“He?”

Ugh, anything with a dick, and she’s all over it. “We’ll see. If he turns out to be a creeper, I’ll be sure to send him to you and Harv.”

“You met him yet?”

“No. Not yet. Supposed to check out the apartment tomorrow morning.”

“What if he’s tall and muscular? And hot as hell?”

“I’m not looking for a hookup, Beth. I just need some extra cash for Christmas.”

“Hookups are good for you. A healthy sex life is important, and let’s face it, you didn’t have much of that when Denny was alive.”

I don’t answer that, because she’s right. Denny and I shared the occasional quickie in the bathroom, while Oliver was asleep, mostly just to blow off some of the tension between us. Always felt like more of a weekly quota than a sex life.

“Well, that’s what vibrators are for, right?”

“If you use them, yes. You’re not still carrying the torch for him, are you? He was never good enough for you.”

My brows furrow. “I don’t carry any torches. For anyone. I’m just not out to screw the first thing that walks through the door.”

No sooner do the words spill from my mouth than the bell rings, signaling a new customer. Simon Jeffries takes his usual seat toward the back of the diner, wearing the bright, familiar smile the other waitresses have come to adore. He’s in his early twenties, not married, no kids from what we’ve gathered, and tips better than any other customer who comes in as regularly as he does.

Every afternoon at 1:45pm, to be exact.

A fairly shy guy who loves talking about technology and robotics, all the shit I don’t care to talk about.

“Dibs on Simon!” Bethany shuffles toward his table, drawing a pad and pen from her apron.

Once settled, Simon flashes Bethany a crooked set of teeth while he cleans his silverware with a napkin. She falls into the booth across from him, leaning forward as though the two are conversing instead of placing an order for food.

Rolling my eyes, I nab a cloth and wipe down the counter. At the chime of the bell, I glance up to see Harv, Bethany’s husband, striding toward me.

“Oh, Christ,” I mutter, looking for a place to hide, but it’s too late. The bastard already has his sights set on me.

“How’s it going, Nolick.” He comes in every day to take Beth out to his truck for lunch. I’m guessing they screw while they’re out there, since he tends to park toward the back of the lot, but I’ve never cared to prove that point.

“It’s Nola. You know it’s Nola. Quit being a dick.”

“Given any thought to my proposition?”

“You’re actually not supposed to be propositioning me. Dale said if he catches you, he’s going to throw you onto a fryer.”

“Dale’s dramatic. Went to school with the little prick. And I do mean little prick.”

“Well, I’m working—you know, like a real job—so I’m going to cut this convo short.” I turn to walk away and feel a tight grip of my arm. The moment I spin around, he lets me go, likely seeing the potential for murder in my eyes.

“Nola, I’m begging you. Begging. Just one night. I promise I’ll be gentle.” He leans in with a smile that’s missing an eyetooth. “You know how couples have their free passes, right?”

“You guys swing. I don’t think that applies to you.”

“So, like, I asked Beth, who’s the one person in the whole wide world she’d want to fuck freely. Like, whenever she wants. Like, I’d share her with this dude, right? She picks Tom Hardy. Pfft! Tom Hardy.” He shakes his head and glances over his shoulder toward where she’s still sitting with Simon.

“And?”

He swings his attention back to me, not that I want his attention, but I feel compelled to support that I’d fuck Tom Hardy, and I’m not even interested in sex.

“And … I picked you. Like, you could move in with us, and shit. Not that you’d want to, but you’re my Tom Hardy.”

My face feels frozen in what has to be a look of sheer disgust, given the twitch of my muscles tightening up. “That’s fucked up, Harv.”

“You know what I mean. And Beth is totally cool with it. She’s hoping you’re in.”

I stop wiping the counter and lean in nice and close, with a smile plastered on my face. “Harv? If this was the zombie apocalypse, and yours was the last dick on earth, I’d cut it off and feed it to the zombies to buy me some time.”

“That’s cold, Nola. Real cold. You’ll come around, though.” Bottom lip caught between his teeth, he winks. “I’m good at wearing women down.”

I shake my head and glance to the side, where Bethany’s waving me over, still sitting across from Simon. Even if he’s a slight bit more awkward than Harv, I’ll take his company, any day, over Beth’s creepy husband.

With heavy, aching feet, I hobble over to their table and lean my ass against the booth beside Bethany.

“Nola! You gotta hear this! Simon says that cryptocurrency is hot right now. Like the return on investment is insane.”

Return on investment? That doesn’t sound like a Bethany thing to say.

“Simon says, huh?” Holding back a snort, I catch the twitch of Simon’s lips overtop of the daisy inside a vase, set in the middle of the table.

Dale insists that fresh flowers placed at every table, every day, makes his joint less of a greasy spoon.

“I don’t even know what all that cryptocrap is,” I add, shrugging my shoulders.

“It’s the currency that drug dealers and hitmen use.” Bethany’s fascinated tone leaves me to wonder how much she really gives a shit about crypto, versus the tip she’ll be getting for serving Simon his usual grilled cheese and fries.

“Ah, well, I forgot to renew my hitman card this year, so I guess I’m not eligible.” I turn to leave, but pause at the sound of Simon clearing his throat.

He rarely makes eye contact with anyone, so when I twist back around, I’m surprised to see him looking up at me. “It’s a relatively small investment. I’ve turned as little as fifty dollars into thousands. If you’d like, I can set you up with an account. The lingo is a little daunting at first, but the more you play with it, the better you’ll become.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling her, Simon.” Bethany shoots me a wink, and I roll my eyes, shaking my head at yet another sex reference. One Simon doesn’t seem to pick up on. “So are we on for this weekend? You show me how to work it, and I’ll play with it?”

Ugh, this conversation is nearly as bad as the one with Harv. The two of them could probably start their own cheesy dictionary of sexual puns.

Simon adjusts his glasses, his cheeks three shades of red. Maybe he caught on, after all. “Certainly, I’m happy to get you started with an account.”

“You should come over, too, Nola. We’ll make it a crypto party.”

With a huff, I push away from the booth and knock my knuckles on the wooden table. “As thrilling as that sounds, I’m gonna pass. Thanks, anyway, Simon.”

“Sure. If you change your mind, there are plenty of tutorials that show you how to set everything up.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

I want to ask him why, if it’s worked so well for him, is he still dressing like a prep school reject and eating grilled cheese at a greasy spoon every day. But I suppose some people are just happy where they’re at in life, and he certainly seems to be content.

My shift drags on into the evening, and when it’s finally time to go, I can hardly stand the walk to my car. The heels of my shoes bite into my skin as I limp across the mostly empty lot toward my car. Lara, one of the waitresses, zips by in her compact little sedan, waving at me when she passes.

An obnoxious slam from behind signals one of the busboys tossing a bag of garbage into a nearby dumpster, before heading back inside the diner.

An eerie quiet looms in the shadows across the lot as I shuffle toward my car.

Plastered to my windshield, a strip of red paper flaps against the glass, and I tilt my head, eyes narrowed, trying to make out what it might be.

The blare of a horn steels my muscles, and I turn to see Harv and Bethany roll past in their creepy white panel van I often tease looks like something a serial killer would drive. The sight of Harv blowing me a kiss through the window has my lip crimping.

Tugging the paper out of the wipers, I wait until I’ve fallen into the driver’s seat before opening it to the words typed across.

If given the choice, would you prefer to be strangled in your vehicle, or raped against the hood of it?

Breath whooshes out of me, and I snap my head to the rearview mirror, to find no one staring back at me, and when I peer over the backseat to be sure, I click the lock on the doors. The surrounding lot is empty. Not a single hint of movement. It’s only when I stare back down at the note in my hand that I realize I’m trembling. Flipping it over to the back reveals Sweet Dreams.

One more glance over the backseat confirms no one is inside, and with both hands gripping the steering wheel, I attempt to settle my rattled nerves.

It’s then that a recent conversation comes to mind, one Bethany told me about weeks ago, when she decided to follow me outside for a smoke. Apparently, swinging with random men and women hasn’t been enough excitement for her sex life, so she and Harv decided to spice things up, by having someone rape her as he watched. Role-playing, of course, but according to her, it was the most exciting thing she’s ever done. It wouldn’t surprise me if the two decided to step it up a notch.

Too far, Harv. Way too far.

“Idiot,” I mumble, firing up my car. It isn’t enough that the asshole harasses me during my shift, but he’s gotta creep me the hell out on top of it.

Sunday is my next shift with Beth, and she’s going to hear about this, because I don’t take this crap lightly—not anymore. I’m sure Jonah would be happy to send an officer out make Harv shit his pants a little.