Brutally Beautiful(40)

“So, I’m not the only waitress you snap at, good to know,” a whispered voice said. The strong smell of apples, cinnamon, spices, and sexy hit me right in the chest. The butter knife slipped from my fingers, and clanged and clunked against the plate as Lainey slid into the seat across from me.

I had to take a deep breath before I could look at her. When I lifted my eyes to meet hers, she almost blinded me with her beauty. Ah, shit.

“Are you okay?” she asked. The brilliant green of her eyes and the kindness of her question overwhelmed me. It knotted itself in my chest and throbbed.

It took me a moment of staring at her to answer. “Yes.” She had a serene calmness about her, like the lapping waters off a tranquil Caribbean beach. I f*cking wanted to dive in. “Why do you ask?”

Her smile was soft and gracious, but her brows wrinkled as she looked down at my hand. I followed the trail of her eyes, and then realized I hadn’t bandaged up my cut, or cleaned the blood off my hands and arms. At that particular moment, my throat lost the ability to remember how to swallow correctly and I ended up choking and hacking on my own saliva. Very becoming. Normally, at this point in a conversation with someone where I see blood, this would have caused me to crumple into a heap of trembling anxiety, rage and self-hatred, lashing out with whomever I was speaking. But for a few moments, I had been staring into those calm green eyes and the panic and rage didn’t come. It was as if Lainey had some sort of superhuman secret ability to help me hold the door to my skeleton-bloody-carcass filled closet closed.

“I cut myself,” I explained.

“I can see that,” she said. Her eyes scanned my face, my hair, my clothes, and then journeyed back down to my hand. Softly clearing her throat, she said, “Do you need anything? Would you like me to get some bandages or something?”

“Fuck no, why?” Did I have the word * written across my head?

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror this morning?” she asked.

Grabbing the aluminum napkin holder, I held it up to my face. Wide blood-shot grey eyes stared back; dried blood was caked across my cheeks and forehead. My hair, God, it looked like I had gotten into a fight and lost. I slammed down the napkin holder on the table and the clasp popped, sending napkins flying across the table. Fuck my life.

Lainey freaking giggled. I watched her, she tried not to, but the napkins and me being an idiot and everything, she couldn’t stop it, and she giggled. The sound of it was jarring, and I found myself wanting more of it, needing more of it.

“It’s too early to laugh,” I mumbled, which was probably the most unintelligent thing I could have responded with, but hey, there I was sitting in a diner with the woman I had been obsessing over for two weeks, wrote two books about, and had blood smeared all over my body. Intelligent conversation eluded me.

“Why? Do you hate morning people?” she asked, smiling.

“It has nothing to do with mornings…it’s the people part,” I retorted, smiling a bit myself. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to alleviate the mess, but then gave up. “I had a rough night. I didn’t even think to clean myself up,” I smiled wider.

HOLY CRAP. I. WAS. SMILING.

“Mr. Grayson, your charm is showing. You might want to tuck it back in,” she said, standing up. “You seem okay, so, I should go. Enjoy your breakfast.” She started to turn away. I wanted her to stay, but I knew it would be healthier for us both if she kept on walking. Leaning her hand against my table, she stopped and faced me again. “You should really clean that cut, though, Mr. Grayson. It looks deep and you could get an infection or something…”