Rattled: Rattled (The Baxter Boys #1)
Page 5
“There’s a diner a few blocks down,” he says and we head in that direction, keeping our heads down against the cold November wind. My hands are shoved in my coat pocket because I lost my gloves on campus two days ago. At least I have a warm, though not exactly fashionable, scarf around my neck, and I duck my chin inside.
I can’t believe that Alex did my tattoo. He’s lucky I didn’t walk right out when I found what artist had been assigned to me. Or, that’s what I thought then. I’m the lucky one. I don’t think anyone else could have done what he did. They would have given me the foot I asked for and left it at that.
Alex stops and I look up and into the long windows. I like diners, but they usually aren’t this busy, with people sitting at every table and the counter. How good could their hamburgers, fries and milkshakes be? “They must have good food,” I mumble as we step inside. The heat from the bodies, kitchen and furnace engulfs me. I’ll be sweating in my coat if I don’t get it off me soon.
“How long?” Alex asks.
The waitress in her mid-fifties with mousey brown hair streaked with silver gives him a disbelieving look. “It’s Thanksgiving. I’ve got about fifteen people ahead of you.” Then I notice the sign. Thanksgiving Special. Turkey and the fixings $3.99. I glance around again. I’d bet what remains of my savings that ninety percent of the people enjoying their meal are homeless or barely have two nickels to rub together. I so don’t want to take a table, or even a seat at the counter from someone who needs a cheap meal far more than me. And, $3.99 is way cheap for a meal in New York. A young couple, who look like they haven’t slept in days are in a back booth with two small children. Worn and dirty backpacks are on the floor beside them.
All of the plates in the diner are filled with turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, green beans and a roll. The works. There are also pumpkin pies lined up on the counter, waiting to be served for dessert. My mouth waters. I’ve practically existed on ramen to save money for the tat, make rent and pay for luxuries like internet. I wouldn’t even be paying for that if I didn’t need it for research and emails with professors.
“We see Santa after this?” the little girl asked with excitement. She couldn’t be older than four or five.
The parents share a look and my heart breaks in that instant from the pain in the mother’s eyes. I’ve seen many families like them. They can barely feed their kids, let alone give them a magical Christmas, and every kid deserves a visit from Santa.
No, I don’t have money to spare, but I did save a lot by risking my tattoo on someone auditioning and not insisting on having a Reed do my tat. Pulling my wallet out of my bag I look at the bills, then take a deep breath and take out fifty dollars, leaving me with $200 from what I’d saved up, then I fish out an envelope and shove the money inside.
“You keep envelopes in your bag?” Alex asks.
“I write a lot of letters.” He doesn’t need to know who those letters are written to, or why.
On the inside flap I write “For Santa shopping”.
When the waitress comes by, I ask her to give it to the family in the back booth.
Alex pulls me back outside.
“What’s wrong?”
“I forgot that it’s Thanksgiving.”
Actually, I had to. Today was about my daughter turning six and getting a tattoo. “If you have someplace to be, no big deal. We can catch up later.”
He shoves his hands in his front pockets and blows out a breath. It’s white in the cold air. “What are you doing for dinner?”
I shrug. Maybe I’ll splurge and open a can of tuna.
Turning, I glance back at the window and to the booth where the family is sitting. I want to make sure they get the envelope and that the waitress doesn’t pocket it. It’s not that I don’t trust the waitress specifically. I just don’t trust a lot of people to do the right thing.
The mother is holding it, a hand is over her mouth and then she wipes a tear before giving it to her husband. He opens it and a small smile forms before he covers his wife’s hand with his own.
I did need that money, but they need it a hell of a lot more and for once, I’m glad I acted spontaneously.
“Roommates got stuff planned?”
I blink up at Alex.
“Roommates? Plans?” His blue eyes bore into mine as if saying Earth to Kelsey.
“No, they went home.” Each invited me along but I had the excuse of the job interview tomorrow. They thought it odd that I’d interview on a day when schools are closed, but I explained that Baxter was working with my schedule. Nobody else needs to know that Baxter doesn’t celebrate holidays. Any holiday, and tomorrow is just another Friday for them.
My roommates don’t know about the tat either, and probably never will. They don’t even know all of my past. Just that I’m an orphan and went to an art academy. It’s good enough for them, and thankfully, they don’t pry. Besides, I’d been to their homes and never felt comfortable. Families gathered around the table, being nice to each other because it’s a holiday, trying desperately to make me feel welcome, like one of them. Feigning interest in my school and future plans. It’s like being dropped into a foreign country where you don’t know the language and you’re without a translator. The job interview was my perfect out.
Alex grins and grabs my hand. “Come home with me.”
I pull back. “That’s okay. I’ve got stuff to do.”
“You can’t be alone on Thanksgiving, Kelsey.”
“I don’t exactly want to be with strangers, Alex.”
His grin grows large. “But, they aren’t. Not really.”
I narrow my eyes on him. Was he just trying to get me back to his place? He’s got to know that we may have started repairing a once burned bridge, but I sure as hell am not starting anything or getting involved with anyone at this point in my life.
“Come on.” He pulls me toward the subway. “Great meal, great guys. You won’t be sorry.”
I anchor my feet so he can’t pull me any further. “Alex, we haven’t seen each other in almost five years, and we were never friends.”
His head drops, and he turns around, facing me. “Yeah, I know.”
“Just go on home. I’ll go home, and maybe we’ll get coffee some other time.” I pull on my hand, but he’s not letting go. Normally this would send off alarms in my head and my gut, but it’s not.
His blue eyes study mine. “Come with me Kelsey.”
“Why?” What can this matter to him?
“I fucked up. I should have gotten to know you, and because I was a stupid ass with a chip on my shoulder, I didn’t.”
“It’s no big deal.” Though it was. At least back then, and the reason I hated him. But it’s not so much anymore. Not after today.
“It is to me.” He grabs my other hand so that he’s now holding both, like he doesn’t want me to get away or something. “Come back to my place, enjoy an awesome Thanksgiving meal, and we’ll talk.”
His phone dings and he lets go of one hand to pull it from his jeans pocket. After reading the screen, he grins at me and turns the phone so I can see. “See what awaits.”
There’s a photo of a turkey, or what I think is a turkey, mostly wrapped in foil. Beside it on the counter are bowls and all kinds of pots on the stove in the background. Thirty minutes and counting. Browning, carving then eating, the text read.
Damn. He’s offering turkey and all the fixings. My stomach grumbles. I don’t even have turkey-flavored ramen. Actually, I’m not sure if they even have that flavor, but if they did, I don’t have it. I know exactly what’s in my allotted cupboard back at the apartment. A can of coffee, half a loaf of bread, 3 cans of spaghetti, 2 cans of tuna and two packages of chicken-flavored ramen.
Then again, I did save money by letting Alex do my tat instead of insisting and waiting for one of the Reed Brothers to be available, but that didn’t mean I needed to go out and spend it. Besides, I just handed over fifty to a family in need. “I’ll just go home. En
joy your meal.”
Alex types something into his phone and then shoves it in his pocket. “Nope. You’re coming with me.” This time he hooks his arm with mine and pulls me to the stairs leading down to the subway.
I try and jerk it away, but he has a tight grip. Not that he’s hurting me or anything. Just being pushy. Or make that pulley since he is practically dragging me along behind him.
“I saw that look in your eye when you saw that turkey. You want it, even if you don’t want to admit it.”
Of course I want it. I’d love to sit down to a real meal for a change, but that doesn’t mean I should. Alex is still practically a stranger. What if he’s all weird and shit like that? He doesn’t strike me as dangerous, though. I’m not getting that vibe that usually warns me when someone’s a creep, but we don’t know each other. Not really.
He stops at the turnstile and gets out his metro card and scans it. “You won’t be sorry.”
I pull my card from my pocket and scan it, before following Alex down another flight of stairs to the platform. “I’m already sorry.”
We get there just as the train pulls in.
“Perfect timing.”
We wait for the passengers to exit before getting on. There are no empty seats, and barely enough room to stand. I didn’t think the subway would be this busy on a holiday. “Where do you live?”
“Brooklyn.” Alex answers as he grabs the pole for balance.
I do the same. I’ve lost my balance before, and the last thing I want to do is end up on some stranger’s lap.
“We’re renting a townhouse.”
“How many live there?”
“Six.” He shrugs and I gape at him. I’ve been in a number of brownstones and townhouses that were once gorgeous but were now broken up into apartments. One on top of the other, similar to the four bedroom I share with my roommates. Some were roomy and some, not so much. But six guys in one apartment? “That has to be crowded as hell.”
He frowns and then his blue eyes lighten just before he laughs. “We don’t rent an apartment, we rent the entire townhouse.”
Holy crap. I didn’t know tattooing paid so well. Those places cost a fortune.
He’s shaking his head. “It’s not what you think. It was a family home but got to be too much for the older couple who owns it. They moved to a smaller apartment. He wanted to cut it up for apartments and even started to in the attic. He planned an apartment for each floor like a lot of owners have done. Make it into an income property.”
I hate how so many early twentieth century buildings are cut up like the one I live in. Such beautiful architecture destroyed for the purpose of making as much money as possible.
“The wife is completely against the idea and wants the place to keep its original charm. The rent was already cheap because of the condition of the place, but we talked the couple down because two of my roommates also work construction. In exchange for cheap rent, we’ve fixed the roof, plumbing and electrical, but there’s still a ton of work to do. We got the important stuff done, the rest is mostly cosmetic.”
Sounds like a great deal. If I knew how to operate a power tool, I’d try to find something like that. But, since I can’t even hammer in a nail, I’m stuck in an expensive shoebox close to campus.
“Each month we give him the receipts and an estimate on what a contractor would have charged, and he adjusts the rent. We don’t know what we are paying from one month to the next, but it’s the best deal in town, and he’s happy to have people living there who aren’t just keeping the place up, but making it better. It’s cheaper for him in the long run to have it done this way instead of hiring a firm to gut the place.”
“So, who do you live with? You said they weren’t strangers, but we don’t exactly have the same circle of friends.”
Alex chuckles and shakes his head. “You’ll see.”
About Jane Charles
Jane Charles is a USA Today Bestselling author who has lived in the Midwest her entire life. As a child she would more likely be found outside with a baseball than a book in her hand. In fact, Jane hated reading until she was sixteen. Out of boredom on a long road trip she borrowed her older sister’s historical romance and fell in love. Eventually she penned one of the many stories that were always in her head and discovered her passion for writing. Jane is an author of both historical and contemporary and blames being a Gemini on why she can’t pick one over the other.
Connect With Jane
@JaneACharles
JaneCharlesAuthor
www.JaneCharlesAuthor.com
janecharles522@gmail.com
Jane Charles’s New Adult Romance
Baxter Boys
Rattled: Rattled #1 (Baxter Boys Series ~ Rattled)
Still Rattled: Rattled #2 (Baxter Boys Series ~ Rattled)
The Rattle Box: Rattled #3 (Baxter Boys Series ~ Rattled)
Baxter Academy
Valentine Wishes: The Legacy #1 (Baxter Academy Series ~ The Legacy)
Colors of You: The Academy #1 (Baxter Academy Series ~ The Academy)
Shadows of Memory: The Academy #2 (Baxter Academy Series ~ The Academy)
Casting Doubt: The Academy #3 (Baxter Academy Series ~ The Academy)
Between the Lines: The Academy #4 (Baxter Academy Series ~ The Academy)
Jane Charles’s Historical Romance
The Tenacious Trents
Compromised For Christmas
Landing a Laird
A Misguided Lord
A Perfect Gentlemen
Devil in Her Dreams
A Lass For Christmas
A Reluctant Rake
Lady Revealed
Lady Disguised
Lady Concealed
A Tenacious Trent’s Wedding
Lady Admired
Wiggon’s School For Elegant Young Ladies
To Walk in the Sun
Ghosts From the Past
A Gentleman’s Guide to Once Upon a Time
His Impetuous Debutante
His Contrary Bride
His Not So Sensible Miss
His Christmas Match
Muses
Her Muse, Lord Patrick
Her Muse, Her Magic
One More Haunted Evening