Brutally Beautiful(57)

The waitress, an older lady with an impressive grey head of hair swept up into a 1960s beehive hairstyle, leaned her knee against the cushion of my seat and snapped a wad of gum in her mouth, “Hey, kids. What can I getcha?”

“Two coffees,” Kade mumbled, “and I need a cheeseburger deluxe.” He looked at me shrugging, “Sorry, I’m hungry. Would you like to eat anything?”

“Actually, a cheeseburger deluxe sounds like heaven, so make that two,” I smiled at the waitress. His eyes continuously scanned the room as the waitress walked away. Then after about three sweeps, his eyes met with mine again. He muttered another apology about being hungry, and held his eyes in a steady unwavering stare with mine.

“Don’t be sorry. I am going to destroy that cheeseburger with my soul, I’m so damn hungry,” I laughed.

Two huge mugs of steaming coffee were placed in front of us and he smiled tightly into the dark liquid as he poured in milk. “So what’s the story with you and Francis?”

Sipping at my coffee, I rolled my eyes, “There’s no story. I explained to him weeks ago, and I seem to have to remind him daily that I don’t want a relationship with him. He has a hard time listening.”

“He’s about as fun as a funeral. And he’s a big dick,” he stated, trying to hide his small smile behind his coffee. “Dating him must be mind-blowing,” he said dryly.

“You know what they say, having a small dick is the leading cause of acting like a big one,” I quipped. He laughed at me and his smile was exhilarating, making me want to hear more. “And we’re not dating. Dating sucks. Relationships suck. There are too many creepers out there.”

“Creepers?”

“Yes,” I said, smiling and winking. “There are all different kinds of creepers too. Let’s see,” I said, tapping my finger against my lips. “There’s the touchy feely, hands-on creeper, the boob-gawking-mouth-drooler creep, the dirty talker creep, oh, or the fetish dude creeper, who stares at your feet during whole conversations. The dominant creeper who likes to victimize, is the worst in my book. There’s the creepy geek freak, who talks Vulcan or quotes Star Wars facts during sex, or the dirty old man creeper. Can’t forget the married creep or the cat guy creeper, or the creep your friend set you up with. There are so many,” I laughed. “My favorite is the online creeper.”

“Online creeper?” he asked, chuckling.

“Yeah. You know, the guy you meet online with an affinity for sending photos of his penis with every contact. For some strange reason, they love sharing pictures of their dicks publicly, like they are trying to promote them, make them famous or something. It’s the equivalent of being a flasher in an overcoat on a train platform. And they’re always trying to sex-message you some God-awful picture of themselves next to a can of soda to boast their size.”

Kade’s shoulders were shaking from his laughter, “What the hell is a sex-message?”

“It’s one of those sex messages that you constantly get from people. Hi. I am so-and-so and I just saw your profile and think you are kind and lovable. I want to be your friend and share my life with you. Here is a photo of me, blah, blah, blah. Do you have any naked pics?” I sipped at my coffee, enjoying the warmth of it. “I’m dead serious, Kade. Just look at sites like Twitter, Instagram, and Tumblr, you’ll realize the internet is a veritable sausage fest. Everybody is showing off their dicks these days. Creepers.”

Laughing, Kade asked, “And what kind of creep was Fran?”

“Oh, he was the creep your friend sets you up with, touchy feely, and the cat creep all rolled into one.”