by Rose Pressey
“Thanks,” I said.
He nodded with a smile. Again, he hurried over to the diner entrance and opened the door. “Thanks again.”
I felt the heat in my cheeks. A girl could get used to this type of treatment.
Turquoise and white booths lined the walls. A counter with stools in front greeted us. Black and white checked tiles covered the floor. A Wurlitzer bubbled in the corner with all the best Fifties songs. Pictures of all the great rock ‘n’ roll icons adorned the walls.
“Sit anywhere you want,” the waitress said from behind the counter.
“How about the booth right here?” I pointed.
“Sure. Sounds perfect. It’s got a great view of the parking lot.”
I couldn’t discern if he was serious or being sarcastic. My guess was sarcasm. Buzz slid in across from me and grabbed a couple of menus, handing me one. I didn't bother to tell him I had the thing memorized. Juicy burgers served with a side of antacid. It didn’t get better than that…unless you added a chocolate shake.
A young couple sat at the other end of the diner, engrossed in each other way more than the food. At the counter, an older man read the paper as he sipped a cup of coffee. Other than that, the place was empty. Too late for the breakfast crowd and too early for lunch. The place smelled of grease and coffee. In the early mornings, the aroma of eggs, bacon, and coffee hung in the air. Yes, I’d been there a few times. Enough to think there really wasn’t a Tully in Tully’s Diner. My mouth watered thinking of the juicy burger and salty fries. I pretended to study the menu. The situation seemed almost surreal, sitting with a stranger who was now the new bass player. Yesterday at this exact time, Johnny was still around.
Finally, I asked, “What are you having?”
His eyes gleamed under the light as he flashed his perfect smile. “Hmm. Decisions, decisions. Either the cheeseburger or the cheeseburger. I think I'll get a cheeseburger. What about you?”
At least he seemed to have a sense of humor. He’d need it hanging around the shady joints we played. I’d said I’d never date a band member again, but when he smiled at me, I had to question my self-imposed dating ban. Maybe just one more time? It was partially my fault the last one didn’t work out. If I hadn’t tried to cast a spell on Rick…oh, whom was I kidding? The spell was meant to make him not a jerk, and in all my witchsuckerydom, I’d made him even more of a jerk. Or had he done that of his own volition? No, it was one hundred percent Rick’s fault. Why couldn’t Buzz do something to make me really hate him? Heck, if he could be more like Rick that would work.
“Cheeseburger for me, too,” I said snapping out of my reverie.
As I placed my menu down, Shirelle sauntered over. Her rubber-soled shoes squeaked across the sticky floor. She was never in a hurry.
“Hi, Veronica, long time, no see.” She pulled the pen from behind her ear, held it poised over the notepad, and grinned. Her white hair was secured in back with a hair net and her light blue uniform washed out her pale complexion.
She cast a glance in Buzz’s direction. “Well I'll be, look what the cat dragged in. I haven’t seen you around here in a while. How are you Buzz? How’s Frank?”
Chapter 18
I frowned. Frank? What the?
“I’m fine. He’s fine.” He cleared his throat. “Um, I’ll have a cheeseburger, rare, and fries.”
Rare? Bloody. So he liked blood. I didn’t like where this was headed.
“Sure thing.” She frowned and her eyebrows pinched together. “What’ll you have to drink?”
“Water’s fine. Thanks.” He handed her the menu.
“I'll have the same, Shirelle. Can you bring me a Diet Coke wit—”
“With vanilla,” she added before I’d finished the sentence.
I chuckled nervously. “Yes, thank you. Oh, and make my burger well done.” I cast a glance at Buzz.
“Not a problem, Sweetheart. Two cheeseburgers and fries, coming right up.” She cast a strange look at Buzz again before grabbing the menus and heading back behind the counter to enter our orders.
When she’d walked away, I looked at him and asked, “Who? Not Frank Perry? I thought you didn’t know each other?”
“Um, what?” He paused and unfolded his napkin, placing the silverware neatly on the table next to him. “Oh, no, Frank is my father. He used to date Shirelle for a while.”
“Oh, I'm sorry.” Nothing like shoving your foot in your mouth. That's what I got for jumping to conclusions. “I guess I’m a little jumpy. So your parents aren't together?”
As I asked the question, another customer walked through the door. The man wore a tight black t-shirt a la Simon Cowell. His black jeans were slightly faded and his loafers shiny. No socks, either—leather in the summer with bare feet did not for a pleasant smell make. He looked at me and smiled. It was a lopsided smile and possibly more like a smirk. Something about him sent off bad vibes. He slid into a booth a couple tables down, then took off his fedora, and placed it on the table, revealing a mass of blonde curls.
Unfortunately, he sat on the side where he had a complete view of me. I tried not to stare, but it was like watching bad American Idol auditions, I couldn't look away for long. I wondered what he was up to. Of course, it appeared that he was there to eat, but was that the real reason? I’d probably watched too many episodes of Murder She Wrote. He perused the menu until Shirelle sashayed over and poured him coffee. Apparently, it wasn’t his first visit, if she knew he wanted coffee. Maybe I could ask her about him and figure out why he creeped me out so much.
“You okay? You seem like you’re a little preoccupied.” Buzz looked over his shoulder, then turned back to me. “A friend of yours?”
I scoffed. “No. What makes you ask?” I needed to stick with singing and never attempt acting. I’d never win any leading role, that’s for sure.
Thank goodness Shirelle arrived with our drinks. Maybe she’d be enough distraction to change the subject. Buzz didn't say anything while she placed the glasses down. He looked out the window.
“Your food’ll be right out,” she said.
I nodded. “Thank you.” I pulled the straw from its wrapper and shoved it into the glass, then took a long sip, not looking up from my drink.
“Are you going to answer my question?” Buzz asked.
“What question?”
“Do you know that guy?” He gestured with his head.
“No, should I? You sure are kind of pushy, you know that?” I asked.
He laughed. Not the reaction I’d expected. “Well I’ll try to work on my pushiness. You tell it like you see it, huh?”
Not exactly. If I told it like I saw it, he’d know I thought his hands were sexy. Sexy hands were very important. He’d also know that I thought his smile divine and I’d blush if he knew what I thought of his muscular body.
“Sometimes I’ve been known to speak before I think. It’s never intended to offend, though. Bad habits are hard to break.”
“No offense taken.” He grinned and wiggled his brows. That movement was enough to make any girl swoon—me being one of them.
As Buzz fumbled with his straw wrapper, I peeped over his shoulder. If he caught me watching the stranger again, I didn’t know what excuse I’d come up with.
My heart lurched. The man was staring at me. I hadn’t been expecting his creepy gaze to be fixed on me. The Formica table was suddenly very interesting.
Condensation formed on my glass and I watched it trickle down the side, avoiding Buzz’s sexy face and the weirdo’s eerie glare. I took another big gulp of my drink. The man’s gaze was still on me, I felt it. But not only his, Buzz's, too. When Shirelle sauntered over with our food, I wanted to kiss her. She placed the plates down in front of us.
“Can we get more ketchup?” I asked, making a point not to look over Buzz’s shoulder.
“Sure thing, Honey.” She walked away, the squeak from her shoes echoing across the diner.
“I hope she doesn't forget.” I grinned
at Buzz.
I wanted so badly to look up and see if the other customer was still staring.
“You’re awfully interested in your burger. You haven't taken yours eyes off it since she set it down.” His lips curled into a suspicious smile as he cocked one eyebrow.
“What? Oh.” I laughed. “Sorry.” I focused on Buzz. When the waitress dropped off the ketchup, I scooped it up and pounded some on my plate. “Want some?”
His hand brushed mine as he reached for the ketchup. My fingers tingled from his touch. Just like my stomach used to when Mama drove her old Buick up and down the hilly back roads, making me giggle with delight. This was a different kind of giggle, though. Mama always said a little flirting was good for the heart, or something along those lines.
“You’re not a fan of ketchup, huh?” He laughed and it carried up to his eyes.
“It goes with everything. Except I'm not one of those people who'd put it on my pancakes.”
“Me neither,” he said while he pounded out even more ketchup than I had on my plate. “You ever tried ketchup on a burrito?”
“No, is it good? Sounds disgusting.”
“Oh, it’s great. You really should try it.”
“I may do that sometime.” I dipped a french fry in the mound of ketchup.
“I love the burgers here. So, rockabilly?” He asked after taking a big bite.
I finished chewing the fry. “Yeah, rockabilly. What about you? Rockabilly, huh?”
He laughed. It was hearty and seemed genuine…and sexy. “Yeah, rockabilly. What got you started?” he asked.
“I guess my parents.” No need to mention that my folks preferred to have their noses stuck in a magic spell book while I played the guitar and sang at the top of my lungs. I was the outcast of the family. On the plus side, I had plenty of lipstick. “Well, my mom loved the Fifties. The music, the lifestyle, and the cars. I guess it rubbed off on me. I love everything about that era, too. But you know all about that, look at you with your cuffed jeans and tight t-shirt. Riding a motorcycle and playing the upright bass. What got you started?”
“Same thing, I guess.” He shrugged. “My dad loved the Fifties, too. I listened to the tapes he played in the car when we went anywhere. He always had some old car parked in the driveway, tinkering with it.”
“I’m glad my mom brought it to my attention. Some people don’t know what they’re missing.” I sipped on my soda.
With Buzz’s attention focused on his messy burger, I couldn’t help but ease a look over his shoulder. The guy was still staring. What the hell? What was the jerk’s problem? Was he looking at the way we were dressed? It wasn’t that big of a deal. Most of my clothing came from the mall for heaven’s sake. It wasn’t as if it was vintage, although some was. Was it our tattoos? Maybe I should mention it to Buzz. No, I didn’t know Buzz well enough—he may go nutso. Maybe he was one of those men who loved a fight. I’m not a fighting type of gal…unless I had to fend for my life or something. Using my purse to wallop someone over the head wasn’t out of the question. And the way this guy was looking at me made me think fighting for my life might be on the menu.
The man’s cell phone rang. Nibbling on a fry, I tried to ignore him, but my gaze kept drifting his way. He talked for about thirty seconds, then hung up the phone, stood, pulled out his wallet, and tossed a few bills on the table. He hurried out the door, never looking my way, and I was thankful. Having him watch my every move made me self-conscious. I looked at his plate. Half the food hadn’t been touched. Something must have been urgent to make him leave that quickly. I wondered what he did for a living. He was dressed casually, but it could be his day off. Maybe he was a doctor on call. Whatever he did, I hoped he didn’t stare at everyone else like he did at me.
Chapter 19
Buzz followed my gaze as I watched the man jump in his Lincoln and pull out.
“You sure were interested in what that guy was doing for not knowing him.”
I guessed it was safe to tell Buzz now, since the guy was gone. I didn't want him to think I was checking out strangers in the diner. “He was staring at me,” I said.
“That guy was staring at you?” He looked at the road in front of the diner as if he would still see him.
“Yeah, that’s why I kept watching him. You know when you feel someone watching you? You can’t help but watch back, to see if they’re still watching you? It’s like a vicious circle. They watch you, they see you watching them, and then they start watching you more. He was creeping me out.” I picked at the edge of my napkin.
“You should have said something. I would have told him to knock it off.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. I like coming to this diner. You start a fight in here and you'd get us both banned for life. No more burgers and fries. Ever.” I shuddered at the thought.
He chuckled. “The guy probably just liked the way you looked. Men check out women, in cause you’d never noticed.” He popped the last bite of burger in his mouth and chewed, all the while keeping his gaze on me.
Oh, I’d noticed. Had Buzz noticed me checking him out? Was he checking me out? Was that why he was watching me now? The thought made me tingle. I didn’t need tingling now. No way. I had singing to worry about. No tingling allowed. And I was back to that damn no-dating-band-members rule again. It’s like getting involved with a co-worker and then breaking up. You still have to see each other every day at work. Talk about awkward.
“I promise I wouldn’t have gotten us kicked out.” Buzz crossed his heart with his index finger, then gave me a long hard look.
His dark eyes could melt the coldest of hearts. A metaphorical puddle formed under my feet. Just a little, anyway. See, I knew he’d be bad for business. Yet I’d hired him, anyway. Kitty was to blame; she’d been a bad influence. She’d practically forced me to hire him. Okay, maybe not forced, but she hadn’t discouraged me, either.
I smiled. “Good to know.”
Buzz pointed at my face. “You’ve got a little ketchup on your chin.”
Ugh, I might as well put a drop cloth underneath my feet. I wiped with my napkin. “Thanks. So, how long have you been playing bass?” I asked, changing the subject away from my messy eating.
“I started at sixteen. I played the guitar when I was thirteen. Taught myself. My dad’s friend played the bass, so one day he let me play his. I’ve been hooked ever since.”
“You’re really good. At playing bass.” I clarified. What else was he good at?
“I’m not as good as you think.”
I stopped my french fry mid-air. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Never mind. So, at what age did you know you wanted to sing?”
That was weird. What did he mean? And why did he change the subject? He stared, waiting for my answer.
“Oh, about ten, I guess. I never had any formal training, though. Wait. I take that back, I had about five singing lessons. Other than that, I just started singing at home. I’m sure I drove my parents crazy. I know I drove my brother crazy.”
“You have a brother?”
“He’s not around anymore.” I looked down at my plate.
“I’m sorry. What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Thank you. Um, he was an IPCI agent. International Paranormal Crime Investigators.” Buzz didn’t blink at the mention of IPCI. Obviously, he was accustomed to the paranormal world. But how did he fit into it? “I don’t really like to talk about it.”
He nodded. “I understand.” He wiped his mouth with the napkin. Rick had always used his shirtsleeve. What had I seen in that guy, anyway? “How’d you get the band started?”
“I sang with a couple others, but people aren’t serious, they move away, or something happens. So after a while, I decided to start my own.”
“I’m glad you did.”
I grinned. “Me too. I placed an ad and Frank replied, then Craig. I didn’t expect vampires, but they were good, so I let the whole witch—” I stopped myself.
I didn’t know what he was, and I wasn’t going to mention my witch status. “Do you need a refill?” I asked.
“No, I’m good. What were going to say?”
“Hmm? Oh, I don’t remember.” I waved off the question.
“Frank and Craig are vampires?”
“You didn’t know?” This was my chance to ask what he was. But I didn’t know how to ask. How did I word a question like that? So do you suck down blood like an alcoholic at happy hour or howl at the moon? Shirelle strolled over with more napkins, then Buzz started eating again and I lost my opportunity.
“So we need to get back to practice, I guess,” I said, taking the last sip from my drink and trying hard not to make that slurping noise while getting the last drop.
“Yeah, I need the practice to keep up with your greatness. A record producer is coming to see you, huh?”
His compliment made my stomach flip. “Yes, he got hold of my CD. Well, to be honest, I sent it to him, but I never thought he’d actually listen to it. Don’t know how it didn’t make it to the trashcan, but I'm glad it didn’t. Now I have to impress him. No pressure there.”
Buzz stood. “No, no pressure.” He grabbed the ticket. “I got it.”
“No, I can’t let you pay for mine.”
He touched my arm. My entire arm tingled under his touch. When those adorable dimples appeared on his cheeks, it sent an electrical current through my body. “You can get mine next time. Think of it as a thank you for picking me to join the band.”
Next time? I tried to contain my smile at the thought. But I really did hope there was a next time. Although, in spite of his good looks, I had to remember, he was a stranger. He’d walked in off the street and I didn't know a thing about him. Now was not the time to let looks sway me and allow my guard down.