Beauty from Pain (Beauty, #1)(42)

“There are very legitimate reasons for that.” She turns her head away from me. “You can’t be angry at me about this.” I reach for her hand and bring it to my leg. I give it a gentle squeeze. “I was honest with you about everything.”

She looks back at me. “Except why. You haven’t given me any kind of explanation. I’m sure I could accept not knowing if you’d only give me some kind of reason.”

“But, I won’t.” I’m stern when I say it because I have to be disciplined for myself. She makes me want to break down and tell her everything. It’s strange—I’ve never wanted to do that before. She makes me want to do lots of new things.

“It’s not fair, but I guess there’s no point in pretending to be Paige Beckett when you know I’m not, so I guess you’re getting what you want. Again.”

She’s not happy with me, but I still bring her hand to my lips and kiss it. “Thank you, Laurelyn.”

“Well, you’re not welcome and you can forget getting my real last name.”

She’s mad because she feels defeated. I don’t want her to feel that way. It makes me want to blurt out that she can call me Jack, but I don’t. Because I can’t.

Laurelyn. Laurelyn. Laurelyn. It’s a delicate, feminine name and I say it in my head over and over, wrapping my brain around it so it will flow off my tongue when I’m ready to say it again. It’s very easy to forget I ever called her Paige.

“Can I take you to lunch while we’re in town?”

“Sure. What about the fifties diner on the square? Ben says it’s great and I’ve been dying to try it.”

Ben. I hate the feeling I get when she says his name. I’m really going to hate taking her back to stay at his place again. It pisses me off that he thinks he has a chance with the woman I’ve claimed. Maybe he needs a warning so he’ll back off.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

The diner is exactly what it sounds like and Laurelyn is all smiles when we enter. “Oh, it’s retro, just like a real fifties diner. Can we sit at the bar?”

“Anything you want.”

The decor is exactly as you would imagine—a black-and-white checkered floor down to red vinyl-covered barstools with lots of chrome. She reaches for a menu on the counter stuck behind a napkin holder and passes one to me. “I don’t know why I’m even looking. I already know what I want—a cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake.”

A waitress wearing the classic dress and white apron approaches us. “Do you need a minute to look over the menu?”

I figure a burger is as good as anything else I’ll find on the menu. “No. We’ll have two cheeseburgers with fries and a couple of chocolate shakes.”

“Coming right up.”

Laurelyn replaces the menus and scans the surroundings. “I’ve always thought of the fifties diner theme as an American thing, but I guess it’s not.”

“No, I guess not.”

I hear an old song playing overhead and I decide to try to stump my little musician. “Okay, musical genius. What song is this?”

She doesn’t have to listen because she already knows. “‘In the Still of the Night’ by The Five Satins.”

It amazes me how she knows. Always. “How can you possibly have all that information in your head?”

“It’s a gift. Oh, wow. A jukebox!” She flies off her stool and stands over the jukebox viewing the song selections. She’s so into the music, I don’t think she realizes she’s keeping time to the music with the shake of her hips. Wow, I love her ass. Especially when she shakes it like that.

She digs into her purse and drops several coins into the box. When she returns, she’s grinning. “What?” I ask out of curiosity.

“Nothing. I just like this place,” she shrugs. “I’m glad you’re the one who brought me here.”

“Me too.” The alternative pisses me off.

Our lunch arrives and Laurelyn makes no pretenses about enjoying her meal. The girl loves a cheeseburger and a milkshake. I’m not used to it. Mostly because this isn’t the type of restaurant I would take any of my companions to, but also because they always order salads and eat like birds.

I like watching her eat while she enjoys the music playing overhead. The next song starts and she points up to the ceiling, cueing me to listen as she bites her bottom lip and moves her shoulders with the beat of the song. She waggles her eyebrows. “This is one of the songs I play. Do you know it?”

Of course. It’s a classic. “‘These Arms of Mine’ by Otis Redding.”

As we finish eating, she continues my education on the artist and name of every new song. “Do you think, sleep, breathe music all the time?”

“Pretty much. I don’t think I could stop if I wanted to. It’s in my blood and I have to have it. When I’m in a writing mode, it’s weird how such simple acts can trigger lyrics in my head.” She peers over her shoulder. “You see that man and woman over there?”

I hadn’t noticed anyone in this diner except her, so I glance at the couple she’s talking about. I see a man and woman sitting across from one another in a booth. They’re probably in their early twenties and having what appears to be an intense conversation.