by Jeff Beesler
CHAPTER 6
BRITTANY
The last bit of cherry cobbler rolled down Chase’s tongue and sank into his throat as he cast his fork casually upon the plate. His lips slightly sticky with sugary goo, he wiped the crumbs clean off with a napkin. As the waitress brought him his check, she offered him a smile that tried its hardest to steer clear of the frown line. Before he could dig out any money from his wallet, the diner’s second and third customers of the day, Dylan and his current squeeze, ambled on in.
You’ve got to be kidding me, thought Chase. He glanced down at the contents of his wallet in hopes of avoiding eye contact with those other two.
“I’ll be back for that in a moment,” the waitress said, nodding toward the check. She spun around and stepped over to the podium. A second later, she greeted Dylan and the tanned woman accompanying him. Whether or not Dylan’s companion really was Brittany remained to be seen.
Chase muttered to himself, “Take your time.”
He watched as Dylan wrapped an arm around the woman, while the waitress escorted them to a table near the kitchen. If the restaurant had been buzzing with activity, Chase might’ve been able to slip away quietly without notice.
But there Dylan was, in the flesh, about to enjoy a morning-after meal together with a woman he barely knew. Chase thought about heading over there to talk some sense into Dylan. On the other hand, seeing the other Weaverson’s face light up with contentment, Chase opted not to do so. Dylan always put the ladies above all else. It wasn’t his fault that Chase forgot this.
Besides, Dylan was a grown man. Who was Chase to say that living in Helensview was the worst decision the younger Weaverson could ever make? Sure, things had gotten completely out of control last night, with that cop being gutted and all, but Chase had been the one not to listen to any of Dylan’s concerns since they began planning the move.
The waitress returned, collected Chase’s tab, went over to ring it up on the register, and brought him his copy of the receipt. He thanked her for her service, and then waited. As Dylan went to caress the woman’s cheek, Chase started for the door in the hopes of sneaking past unseen.
“Well look who decided to stick around a while,” Dylan murmured impishly, having broken away temporarily from playing tonsil hockey with his lady cohort.
Chase froze in place, unable to pretend he didn’t hear his brother. Slowly, he turned around and cast a polite smile at the other two, refraining from letting his annoyance at the mere sight of them show.
“I just grabbed a quick bite before heading out. Ma and Pa are still expecting me, after all.”
“Have you told them about me not coming?” asked Dylan.
“Phone service has been crummy since last night. I’ll just have to let them know when I get there.” Chase drew in some air, keeping his fists at his sides as he faced his brother. “I’m glad to see you’ve found someone who makes you happy, man.”
Dylan laughed. “You’d better believe she does.”
“Hi,” said the woman extending her palm to Chase. She wore a one-piece black dress that looked about as cheap as her bright-red mascara, the ugliest color of eye make-up he had ever seen applied on a woman. The spaghetti straps of her gown hung loosely and barely kept her bra out of sight from Dylan’s lust-filled eyes.
“I’m Brittany,” she introduced herself. “You must be Dylan’s brother. It’s good to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Chase went over and took her hand without hesitation. He made it a point never to act rude toward a lady, even if she dressed like a lusty whore. Dylan’s questionable taste in women demonstrated that he probably wasn’t above using pick-up lines at a thrift store.
Luckily, Brittany didn’t seem to notice Chase’s lack of a smile. She released his hand back to him a second later, then went to pull out a brush from her purse and gussied up her hair. Chase thought nothing of it until the number of strokes she made exceeded thirty.
“I’m sure Brittany could hook you up with one of her friends if you’d like,” Dylan said, laughing when she stopped brushing her hair to slather his neck with fluid from her tongue.
Chase rejected the offer with a raised palm. “I’m good, thanks.”
“That’s my brother for you, Brittany,” Dylan countered with a scowl. “He’s become such a prude.”
Brittany smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about it anyhow, Dylan. He wouldn’t last five minutes with my crowd.”
Chase found a clock hanging on a nearby wall. “I’ve got to get going. You gonna get your stuff outta my truck? You know, since you’re dead set on staying here with your…friend.”
Dylan shrugged. “It’s all good. Brittany says she’s going to buy me a new wardrobe so that I’ll have more swag.”
“Right.” Chase managed a dignified smirk. “I’m sure she’ll take good care of you.”
He headed for the door again, but Dylan snatched his wrist.
“Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my gal here?” Dylan growled.
Chase’s leer widened. “You’re doing a fine job of that all on your own.”
Before he could react, Dylan’s knuckles connected with his chin. He crashed against the podium before landing on his back an instant later. Dizzying yellow light blurred the diner around him, so much so it kept him from getting up. This gave Dylan the chance to pummel Chase several more times. His jaw throbbed with intensity from each impact, worse than the desert heat he’d dealt with for nearly a day now. Brittany’s nasally-charged grunt of disbelief cut even further into his mind, assisting the pain Dylan’s assault had already caused.
“Not in my restaurant!” the waitress roared, peeling Dylan off of the older Weaverson brother.
“It’s okay, ma’am,” Chase remarked, sneering as he stood up. “I’m gone.”
He flew towards the door without being served another knuckle sandwich. This time he said nothing to the biggest dumbass he’d known his whole life. He barely reached the door before he heard Brittany say something about never buying Dylan so much as tidy whiteys if this happened again.
“Idiot,” he muttered, storming out the front door. Less than a minute later, he pulled back onto the main street from the parking lot and stomped his foot against the pedal. His engine roared as he sped through a red light without stopping.
So much for trying to talk any sense into Dylan.