That Girl (That Girl, #1)(18)

“Anything else I can get you?”

The table falls to a very awkward silence, and nobody speaks up. All their gazes land on Lincoln.

“We’re good, thanks, Jodie,” he replies.

I can’t tell from his response if he’s pissed off at me, or just ready to get the f*ck out of here. I don’t blame him for wanting to run, after the circus that just went down.

“Okay, here are your checks. Let me know when you’re ready.”

All the men pull out their wallets and lay down their money.

“We won’t need any change. Every Thursday we come here for bacon cheeseburgers. We have this down to a science,” Lincoln tells me.

I glance around the table at all the ten-dollar bills lying on top of the checks. My eyes hit the last check where a twenty-dollar bill is sitting, and I look up to see Lincoln sitting right in front of it.

“No change,” he says.

I try to argue with him, but he doesn’t give me the chance, rising from the table. Standing like a fool, I watch as they all leave the diner. My heart sinks, and the flashing fool sign proudly plastered to my forehead shines a little brighter.

The rest of the night goes smoothly compared to the beginning. Several more tables, lots more burgers, no more fights or demanding orders from Larry. Counting my tips while waiting for the last minutes to tick by and the graveyard waitress to come in, my jaw almost drops to the ground. The highest night yet while waitressing. Ideas of some new home décor flash through my mind. I’ve been itching to spruce up my room a bit. Maybe get that vacation-type getaway chair I wanted in Junior’s hotel, or some color splashed on the walls.

“Okay, get out of here,” comes a voice.

Like I said, no one here is overly friendly. It the same gal who has relieved me the last two nights, and she’s spoken the same exact five words.

“Have a nice night,” I carelessly say, hoping someone hears me.

I use the front door to walk home for a couple different reasons. There’s not a light in the back, and it’s a clear shot to the empty lot and apartment from the front door of Boone’s. Before exiting the diner, I forgot to locate my keychain with the pepper spray on it. It’s probably because I was distracted by bagging up some ice to take home for my wrist. I’ve been in throbbing pain ever since the man grabbed me. I was hoping like hell Larry or the other waitress didn’t see me take the ice, but then again I’m sure they wouldn’t give a f*ck. All of a sudden, I notice a dark figure walk from the shadows, causing me to scream and toss the bag of stolen ice up into the air.

“It’s okay. It’s me,” Lincoln says, walking out into the streetlight.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” I repeat trying to catch my breath.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay. I’m known to be a little jumpy from time to time.”

“I just had to wait to see if you were all right. I could tell you didn’t want me to come to you in the restaurant.”

“I thought you were pissed off when you left,” I respond, bending over to pick up my bag of ice.

I’m so scatterbrained I try to pick it up with my injured wrist and immediately writhe in pain.

“Here, sit down,” Lincoln says.

He gently grabs my upper arm and guides me to the edge of the sidewalk. He sits down right next to me, laying my arm on the top of his leg, and then placing the ice on it. Accidentally, I let out a little grunt when the piercing cold bag hits my throbbing wrist.

“That bad?” he asks.

“It’s an old injury. Never healed right, and when that guy…” I trail off trying not to bring up the incident.

“Well, that guy will never be bothering you again, I can assure you.”

“You didn’t have to do any of that.”

“Are you f*cking kidding me?” he growls.

I instantly tense at the tone of his voice. Call it a natural reaction. The visible blood on his knuckles haunts me too. When I flinch, the ice falls to the ground.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just can’t believe he had the balls to treat you like that,” he says, picking up the ice and placing it on my now numb wrist.

“It’s fine, really.”

“Well, let’s not spend our time arguing over something we will never agree on,” Lincoln says.

“You didn’t have to tip me so much tonight,” I say, not able to look him in the eyes.

“Another topic we won’t agree on,” he says.

Awkward silence fills the street for a few minutes. Using my other hand, I rub his knuckles and feel the crusted blood on them. Everything inside me wants to thank him and kiss him on the cheek, but I don’t.

“So,” he says, catching my attention.

Looking up at him, I see a smirk spread across his face.

“What?” I ask.

“Did you really call me by the wrong name while I was defending your honor and beating the shit out of a scum bag?”

I feel my cheeks redden, remembering that very embarrassing moment. Thank goodness some of his teammates corrected me before I called it to his face.

“Yes,” I say, staring down at the paved road between my feet.

“Look at me.” Lincoln pulls his hand from my roaming fingers and lifts my chin to look up at him. “Why are you sitting on the curb talking to a complete stranger?”