Travis

by Rebecca Elise

  “Uh huh,” She swings her body, playfully bumping me in the side. “Now, I love me a little bit of man gossip, so spill it. Are you waiting for tall, dark and moody or equally tall, blond and handsome?”

  “You know I am going out with Evan tonight. Shouldn’t that tell you the answer to your question?”

  “It should.” A couple walks in to the diner and seats themselves at a booth. Molly grabs two menus. As she is walking past me she says, “But we both know that isn’t who you are looking for.”

  After I check on my tables, making sure no one needs anything else, and letting them know that either Molly or one of the other waitresses will be taking over for me, I remove my apron and toss it into the laundry bin in the back room. I grab my purse out of my locker and am about to punch out when Russell corners me.

  “Where is it you think you are going, Blondie?” he grumbles.

  “Home. My shift is over,” I tell him.

  I am not in the mood to deal with Russell and his crap tonight. Not that I am ever in the mood to deal with him, but especially not tonight.

  “No, we are short staffed. I’m going to need you to stay.” He stares at me with beady little eyes.

  Russell sort of creeps me out in an ‘I’m the neighbor that watches you through the slats of my blinds’ kind of way. I try to stay as far away from him as I possibly can, especially when it is just the two of us in the room together, like it is right now.

  I take a step back, putting some distance in between the two of us. “Russell, you have four girls out there. You are not short staffed. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  I go to walk around him and Russell takes a step to the right, blocking me. Thankfully, Aidan chooses that moment to walk out of his office. He frowns at the sight of me and Russell. “Is everything okay here?” he asks.

  “Everything is fine. I’m just on my way out,” I say.

  I step around Russell and this time he doesn’t try to stop me.

  “Have a good time tonight, Gracie.” Aidan calls out. I thank him quickly, without stopping as I head towards the door.

  “I want all the dirty deets, girlfriend!” Molly calls out.

  “You got it,” I promise, though I already know there wouldn’t be that much to tell. The luckiest Evan Parker is going to get is a kiss, whether or not tongue will be included remains to be seen.

  ~*~

  I can’t remember the last time I went out on a first date with someone. It’s been quite some time. Not because I couldn’t get a date, but because I was dealing with all of the bullshit with my mother. Here I am, though, finally free of her and waiting anxiously for Evan to pick me up. I offered to meet him, but he refused to even consider that.

  As soon as I get home from the diner, I shower and blow dry my hair, taking the time to use a round brush to give my hair a little bit of body to it. I apply minimal makeup, opting for more of a natural look and I pull on a sleeveless, belted coral dress, which I pair with black heels and a black leather jacket.

  A knock sounds at my door and a couple of butterflies flutter in my tummy, not as many as I feel when I see Travis, but still, butterflies nonetheless. Checking myself one more time in the mirror, I smooth my hands over the front of my dress and hurry to the door to open it up.

  Evan is standing there holding a bouquet of white roses in his hands and a smile on his face. He looks good, dressed in a pair of camel colored slacks, a light blue button down shirt and a brown and blue striped sweater.

  He sucks his lower lip in as his eyes roam up and down my body. “You look amazing, Gracie.” He hands me the roses.

  “Come in, while I put these in water.” I say.

  Evan follows me into the kitchen. I set the roses down on the counter. Walking over to the sink, I kneel down, open up the cabinet and pull out a clear, glass vase. I fill it up halfway and set it down on the counter top. I grab my shears, quickly cutting the ends of the stems before arranging them delicately in the vase. I pick the vase up and carry it over to the kitchen table, setting it right in the middle. “There,” I say. “Perfect.”

  “Are you ready to go?” Evan asks.

  “I am,” I say, flashing him a smile.

  I follow Evan to his car, thanking him when he opens the door to let me in the car. He hurries around to the driver’s side, hops in and turns on the car. The relaxing sounds of The Celtic Angels flows through his speakers.

  I glance over and smile at him as I point to his radio. “Well, this is surprising.”

  “Really? Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t peg you for the Irish music kind of guy.”

  “What kind of guy did you peg me for?” he asks, amusement hinting at his voice.

  “Hmmm.” I think for a moment. “I’m going to go with Aerosmith and U2, maybe a little bit of Imagine Dragons. Oh, but your guilty pleasure is One Direction. You have them on a play-list labeled something like Get it on so that your friends don’t see it and make fun of you.”

  Evan glances over at me, his mouth hanging wide open in shock. “Really? You have me pegged as a Directioner? That is how manly you think I am?” He shakes his head and laughs. “Well, I guess it could be worse.”

  “How so?” I ask, enjoying this playful banter between the two of us.

  He smiles at me quickly before turning his attention back to the road. “You could have said Bieber and completely taken my manhood away from me.”

  Evan slows down at a red light. I turn to glance out the window only to feel a pang in my chest as I realize we are right next to the diner. I wonder if Travis is in there. A wave of guilt washes over me as I think about how angry Travis was about me going out with Evan. Then I am hit by an even bigger wave of guilt because I am worrying about Travis while I am out with Evan.

  This isn’t fair. Evan has been nothing but nice to me since the first moment we met. He deserves my undivided attention. He doesn’t get angry whenever I open my mouth. He doesn’t seem to be bothered by my very existence, so why is it that I don’t feel for him the way I feel for Travis? What the hell is wrong with me?

  Just as the light turns green, the door to the diner opens up and Travis walks out. I swear he looks straight at me and frowns. I must be seeing things, though. There is no way he could see me from there. Although, there is a good chance that he knows what Evan’s car looks like and he assumes I am in here with him.

  All right, that’s it! No more thinking about Travis Moody-ass Foster tonight!

  “You all right?” Evan asks, giving me a bit of a sideways glance.

  “Absolutely,” I say, faking perkiness that even I find believable.

  We pull up outside of an Olive Garden. Evan turns towards me. He licks his lips nervously and nods his head towards the restaurant. “This isn’t exactly five-star dining, but we have a bit of a limited selection of eating establishments here in good ol’ Brooksville.”

  “The Olive Garden is just fine,” I say with a laugh.

  We walk inside and are seated right away. There are a couple of occupied tables, but for an Olive Garden, this place is surprisingly dead.

  “I don’t think I have ever been seated for dinner at Olive Garden so quickly,” I say.

  “Well…this is Brooksville. Everyone typically eats dinner at the diner at four in the afternoon.” Evan jokes.

  “That is true.” I laugh.

  The waiter stops by our table to take our drink orders and drop off a bowl of salad and some bread sticks. I glance over at Evan and smile, feeling shy suddenly. Evan cocks his head to the side and studies my face.

  “What’s going on inside that beautiful head of yours?” he asks me.

  I bite my lower lip, smile and shake my head.

  “Tell me,” he insists.

  “This, us, this is the first time I have been on a date in a long time.”

  “And how is it going so far?”

  I hesitate for just a second before saying, “Good.”

  “You paused!” h
e exclaims. “You totally paused before you said good!”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear.” I laugh.

  The waiter drops off our glasses of red wine and takes our orders. After he walks away, I pick up my glass and take a sip. Just as I do, Evan says, “Is it because of Travis Foster?”

  I nearly choke on my wine and end up spitting some of it back into my glass. “What? No! Why would you say that?”

  “Oh come on! The guy constantly looks at you like he wants to devour you. It’s so obvious.”

  “Are we talking about the same person? Because the Travis Foster I know can’t stand me. He has made that perfectly clear on more than one occasion.”

  “Yeah, he can be a little intense sometimes. I guess that’s what happens when you’re a rec…” Evan trails off, shaking his head as he decides against finishing his sentence. “Anyway, he doesn’t really seem like your type.”

  “Oh really?” I ask, an amused smirk playing at my lips. I lean back in my chair, fold my arms across my chest and narrow my eyes playfully. “And what exactly would you say my type is?”

  Evan looks at the ceiling for a moment before glancing at me with a smile. “I’d say someone with blonde hair, brown eyes, about five foot nine, has a job where he gets to work with his hands, like construction maybe, great personality, wonderful sense of humor, an ass that looks amazing in low slung jeans – or so the girls tell him …oh, and a closet One Direction fan.”

  I laugh out loud. “Oh, so in other words, you are telling me that my type is you?”

  Evan shrugs. “I mean, if I just so happen to fit the bill, then it must be meant to be.”

  The waiter drops off our plates – Salmon bruschetta for Evan and lobster ravioli for me. I take a bite of ravioli, closing my eyes as I enjoy every bite I take. “This is delicious,” I tell him.

  Evan is staring at me with wide, wild eyes. “There is something hot about watching you eat.”

  “Okay.” I laugh. “I believe that is the first time anyone has every complimented my eating face.”

  It’s amazing how comfortable talking to Evan is. I feel like I have known him forever and not just a week. I just wish I didn’t feel like I was chatting with a friend or brother or something like that. There is a nagging voice in the back of my mind that is telling me that it is too soon to dismiss the idea of developing feelings for Evan. Maybe it is because Evan is the first genuinely nice person I have ever gone on a date with. The majority of my ex-boyfriends wanted one thing, and one thing only, and would keep you around long enough to seal the deal before moving on to their next conquest.

  After dinner, Evan drives me home and walks me up to my door. I hate this part of the evening. The whole Do I invite him in? Do I kiss him? Do I just say goodbye and turn around to go inside? It’s so much more drama than it needs to be.

  “I had a great time with you, Gracie,” Evan murmurs.

  He moves in close to me, so close that my breasts brush up against his chest.

  “I had a great time too,” I say, almost surprised by how much I mean that.

  “I’ll call you. Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  Evan reaches his hands up to caress my cheeks with his fingertips. He pulls my face towards his, pressing his lips against mine, softly at first and then harder. My hands grip onto his arms as he pushes his hands back along my face, until his hands thread into my hair.

  Evan pulls back and rests his forehead against mine. “Goodnight, Gracie,” he whispers.

  “Good night, Evan.”

  Chapter Nine

  Travis

  To say that I am in a shit mood would be the understatement of the century. I barely slept last night, because every time I started to doze off, I would think about the fact that Gracie was out with Evan. I probably wouldn’t even have thought about it that much if it wasn’t for the fact that I walked out of the diner just as they were driving by. I felt like he was taunting me with the fact that he was out with her and I wasn’t. This isn’t the first time Evan has gotten a girl that I wanted. It will be the last though. I’m either going to find a way to get over my feelings for her, or I am going to find a way to make her mine. Though, I doubt the latter is even a possibility. Especially since I am being a special breed of asshole today.

  So far this afternoon, I have ignored her, snapped at her, and growled at her for asking me a question about my order – and that one wasn’t even her fault. I know it was Nathanial fucking with me because he knows I like her.

  If I were her, I would have punched me in the face by this point. For some strange reason, though, she keeps trying to talk to me. I can’t for the life of me figure out why.

  “Can I ask you a question?” she asks as she refills my empty coffee mug.

  “Does it matter if I say no?” I ask, showing little emotion.

  “Your tattoo, the one of the number twenty, what is it for?”

  That is a question she is not getting an honest answer to. The only way I can answer her¸ is to go into details about my sordid past and that is something I don’t want her to know about me. Not now, not ever.

  The truth is, I never considered getting a tattoo on my face before. I always thought that guys that did that were beyond fucking stupid. The twenty tattoo means something to me, though, and I think that’s why I got it where I did. It’s not very big, maybe the size of a quarter, right off the corner of my right eye. Twenty was the age I was when I went to rehab. It’s how old I was when I stopped using and I got my life together. Twenty was the age that I freed myself from a life of injecting heroin and drinking myself stupid. My tattoo is a reminder of everything I have done, and how hard I have worked to get to where I am now.

  “What makes you think it means anything?” I ask her.

  She shrugs. “Because I don’t think you would have branded your face that way for something that meant absolutely nothing.”

  I lean in close to her. Her breath hitches and her lips part. God, I want to slide my tongue inside her mouth so badly. I am willing to bet that if I bent down and kissed her right now, she would let me. She probably wouldn’t even attempt to push me away. Her eyes zero in on my mouth. My dick is screaming at me to kiss her but my brain is telling me to back away as quickly as I possibly can. I sigh as my brain wins this round. “Sorry to burst your bubble, princess, but there is no special meaning. It’s just the product of a drunken night. That’s all.”

  Gracie doesn’t believe me. I can tell by the look on her face, but she doesn’t question me any further. Instead, she turns on her heels and walks off to check on her other customers. I take the opportunity to busy myself so that she doesn’t feel the need to engage in any more small talk when she comes back, not that I think my being busy would actually stop her from talking to me.

  I open up my black messenger bag and pull out my sketchpad, a photograph of the diner and my container of charcoal squares. I typically stick to painting, but have been enjoying drawing with charcoal recently. One of the pieces that I want to do for Aidan is a charcoal drawing of what the diner looked like when it was originally opened, complete with our grandparents standing outside.

  I glance around the diner, looking for Gracie, Molly, or the other girl, Ruby. I need a glass of water but they all seem to be busy with other customers. Hopping off of my stool, I walk around the counter, grab a glass and help myself to some ice cold water.

  “What is it with your family? You all think you can just do whatever the hell you want around here?”

  I spin around to see Russell standing there, arms folded across his chest, his foot tapping against the red and white linoleum floor.

  “Fuck off, Russell.”

  His mouth drops open as I walk around him and make my way back to my spot at the far end of the counter. I take a sip of water, set my glass down and pick up the photograph, leaning it up against the stainless steel napkin holder.

  My grandfather opened the diner up back in
the forties. Though the outside was given a bit of a facelift a couple of years ago, it still looks like the same stainless steel and red pinstripe rectangular building it was the day it opened. Along the roof, in gigantic, red loopy letters displays the ‘6th Street Diner’ sign. The only major difference is the inside. There’s no way granddad would have allowed all of these cow pictures all over the place. I think he would like the pieces I am doing; he was always involved in the community.

  I start to sketch out the shape of the building when I see a stocky shadow appear on my paper. I glance up, already knowing who it is, to see Russell standing there glowering at me. His eyes are two narrow slits and his lips are pursed together like a duck.

  I sigh. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “This isn’t your damn art studio, Travis.” Russell says.

  “It isn’t Nancy’s office either, but you don’t seem to have a problem with her setting up her computer in the back left booth.” I point out.

  “Her computer doesn’t make a mess.”

  “No, it just takes up space, uses electricity and people are constantly tripping over her cord.”

  “You need to eat your lunch, go back to your hole and finish your work there.” He says, leaning forward as though he thinks he is some sort of a threat to me, which he is not.

  I lean in as well, challenging him. “You seriously need to get laid, man.”

  Just then, Gracie walks behind the counter and pushes through the door leading to the kitchen. Russell and I both look over at her at the same exact time. Russell turns back to me with a glimmer of victory in his beady little eyes and a sneer on his lips.

  “Oh, I plan on it,” he says as he nods his head towards the door that Gracie just disappeared through.

  Anger courses through my veins, shooting through every single inch of my body. I stare at Russell for a moment before looking away and shaking my head. I throw my charcoal back into the container, not caring if it breaks. Sliding off the stool, I walk calmly around to the other side of the counter. Russell eyes me cautiously, probably trying to figure out what I am doing. I grab a hold of the front of his shirt and turn around, dragging him behind me as I make my way towards the back door.