mornings at Jeffery’s Marketplace.
He was sexy in a “too cool for school” sort of way. He had messy black hair and had tattoos all the way down his arms. His lip was pierced. He wasn’t supposed to wear his lip ring at work, but as long as Betty wasn’t here, then he would. He was nineteen and had graduated last year.
“What if I make the chicken strip basket, and you go take Mrs. Harris her order?” I suggested.
“No, I’m good.” He gave me a lopsided grin. He was so cute when he did that.
“Oh come on. She won’t talk your ear off. You scare her.” I smiled.
“While it may be my goal in life to scare the old bitties of this town, Betty would kill me.” He said.
“Fine, but if I’m not back in ten minutes, you send someone to save me.” I pouted.
“Deal.” He laughed as he threw chicken strips and French fries in the deep fryer.
“What can I get you today?” I asked Mrs. Harris as I set her drink down on the table.
“I’m not sure, yet.” She pretended to examine the menu. She always did this to keep me standing there listening to her stories, but she always ended up getting the chicken strip basket. “Have you heard about that Lincoln murderer?” She asked.
“Yes, I saw something about it on the news.” I told her.
“You know what they’re calling him now, right?” Her eyes were wide. “They’re calling him John Wilkes Booth. Get it? The Lincoln murderer.”
“Yes, clever.” I tried to strip my voice of sarcasm. It was difficult. I was disgusted with how the media was glorifying the killer. He was a sick bastard who deserved to rot in hell. Not someone to give clever nicknames to.
“Well, I hope all you kids are smart enough to steer clear of Lincoln. I know everyone thinks that only blondes are in danger, but a psycho is a psycho, and you never know what they are going to do.” She said.
“Yes, ma’am. “ I answered. She gave me a sour look at the word ma’am but didn’t say anything.
“I guess I’ll get the chicken strip basket.” She said finally.
“Okay, I’ll go put that order in for you, right now.” I told her.
I glanced around for a second. She was the only one in my section, at the moment. Samantha and Kayla were rolling silverware at one of the booths. I decided I would hide from Mrs. Harris in the kitchen until her food was ready.
Damon was placing bread in the toaster when I entered. I noticed something on his neck. At first I thought something was actually crawling on him, but then, I realized it was a tattoo.
“When did you get the tattoo on your neck?” I asked him, hopping up on one of the counters opposite the grill.
“A few days ago. It’s a scorpion. Do you want to see?” He asked.
“Yeah.” I answered.
He sauntered over to where I was sitting and angled his head to the side. It was an incredibly realistic scorpion. This made me think of Aiden’s tattoo. I hadn’t seen the whole thing. It started so enticingly on his rippled abs and continued on with a downward descent to unknown territory I had yet to explore but had thought about on more than one occasion. What was visible seemed to be a tail of some sort, but I couldn’t tell what animal it might have connected to. I pushed the images from my mind and focused on Damon’s tattoo.
“I like it. I didn’t know you were a Scorpio.” I said.
“Yeah, what sign are you?” He asked, going back to his work.
“Cancer.” I answered.
“Nice. You should get it tattooed somewhere.” He suggested.
“Well, I still have a couple of years to decide on a tattoo.” I muttered.
“You know, if you don’t want to wait until you’re eighteen, I know a guy. I could hook you up.” He grinned.
“ That sounds sanitary.” I said sarcastically.
“No, it’s all good. I get all my tattoos from him. I’ve never had a problem.” He assured me.
“Alright, I’ll think about it.” I said. He handed me the now ready chicken strip basket.
“Good luck.” He winked. I went
He was sexy in a “too cool for school” sort of way. He had messy black hair and had tattoos all the way down his arms. His lip was pierced. He wasn’t supposed to wear his lip ring at work, but as long as Betty wasn’t here, then he would. He was nineteen and had graduated last year.
“What if I make the chicken strip basket, and you go take Mrs. Harris her order?” I suggested.
“No, I’m good.” He gave me a lopsided grin. He was so cute when he did that.
“Oh come on. She won’t talk your ear off. You scare her.” I smiled.
“While it may be my goal in life to scare the old bitties of this town, Betty would kill me.” He said.
“Fine, but if I’m not back in ten minutes, you send someone to save me.” I pouted.
“Deal.” He laughed as he threw chicken strips and French fries in the deep fryer.
“What can I get you today?” I asked Mrs. Harris as I set her drink down on the table.
“I’m not sure, yet.” She pretended to examine the menu. She always did this to keep me standing there listening to her stories, but she always ended up getting the chicken strip basket. “Have you heard about that Lincoln murderer?” She asked.
“Yes, I saw something about it on the news.” I told her.
“You know what they’re calling him now, right?” Her eyes were wide. “They’re calling him John Wilkes Booth. Get it? The Lincoln murderer.”
“Yes, clever.” I tried to strip my voice of sarcasm. It was difficult. I was disgusted with how the media was glorifying the killer. He was a sick bastard who deserved to rot in hell. Not someone to give clever nicknames to.
“Well, I hope all you kids are smart enough to steer clear of Lincoln. I know everyone thinks that only blondes are in danger, but a psycho is a psycho, and you never know what they are going to do.” She said.
“Yes, ma’am. “ I answered. She gave me a sour look at the word ma’am but didn’t say anything.
“I guess I’ll get the chicken strip basket.” She said finally.
“Okay, I’ll go put that order in for you, right now.” I told her.
I glanced around for a second. She was the only one in my section, at the moment. Samantha and Kayla were rolling silverware at one of the booths. I decided I would hide from Mrs. Harris in the kitchen until her food was ready.
Damon was placing bread in the toaster when I entered. I noticed something on his neck. At first I thought something was actually crawling on him, but then, I realized it was a tattoo.
“When did you get the tattoo on your neck?” I asked him, hopping up on one of the counters opposite the grill.
“A few days ago. It’s a scorpion. Do you want to see?” He asked.
“Yeah.” I answered.
He sauntered over to where I was sitting and angled his head to the side. It was an incredibly realistic scorpion. This made me think of Aiden’s tattoo. I hadn’t seen the whole thing. It started so enticingly on his rippled abs and continued on with a downward descent to unknown territory I had yet to explore but had thought about on more than one occasion. What was visible seemed to be a tail of some sort, but I couldn’t tell what animal it might have connected to. I pushed the images from my mind and focused on Damon’s tattoo.
“I like it. I didn’t know you were a Scorpio.” I said.
“Yeah, what sign are you?” He asked, going back to his work.
“Cancer.” I answered.
“Nice. You should get it tattooed somewhere.” He suggested.
“Well, I still have a couple of years to decide on a tattoo.” I muttered.
“You know, if you don’t want to wait until you’re eighteen, I know a guy. I could hook you up.” He grinned.
“ That sounds sanitary.” I said sarcastically.
“No, it’s all good. I get all my tattoos from him. I’ve never had a problem.” He assured me.
“Alright, I’ll think about it.” I said. He handed me the now ready chicken strip basket.
“Good luck.” He winked. I went
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