WE had arrived maybe five minutes ago, and since we've walked into the little diner Slade hasn't stopped fidgeting. Currently, she's messing with her hair; she's combing it back, wringing the choppy length out between her hands. She doesn't speak a word to me; she's tried, and failed, so instead she just fiddles with her hair and adjusts her collar (she still hasn't fixed it).It's a cute diner; all low warm light and quiet voices and the light drum of rain on the roof. When we'd come in, a soaking mess that definitely probably upset at least one patron, I'd heard a hint of jazz playing over the speaker system.
I don't hear that now. Actually, all I hear are distinct silverware clatters and a hundred little conversations and the rustle of Slade's suit jacket crinkling every time she wrings either her hair out or her collar out or —
"Are you going to explain?" I finally blurt, impatience getting the better of me. Across the table, Slade barely even flinches; her eyes close, and she takes a long breath before she answers.
"I will." Lifts her hand; squeezes the wrist-hole in her fingers and watches rainwater go in a thin stream down the underside of her arm. "I just...I..."
I lean forward, just a little. Turn an ear to her. "Go on."
Slade hisses. Curses, I think. "Don't know how t' start."
Mm. I sit back, unfolding my cutlery. "How about with me makin' more problems for you? That would be a good spot."
Wrist now dry, Slade moves to her opposite arm and repeats the motions; grab, twist, wring. Move; wring. "S' more than that."
"Well, you aren't going to get through more than that if you spend the whole time getting the rainwater out of your sleeves." My tone is dead, and Slade picks up on it; she drops the black fabric begrudgingly, eyes flashing with irritation before she closes them and breathes once more, deep, long.
"It came out bad." She speaks slowly. "What I said. T' came out..."
"Good evening, ladies. Can I get you anything to drink?" Slade flinches so hard I swear she's been shot as she looks over at the waitress now smiling beside our table. "Lemonade, pop?"
"Oh." I'd forgotten that having dinner reservations would also mean we actually order dinner. "I'll, um...water's fine."
Slade's looking at me; her brow wrinkles before she sits up a little more, addresses the waitress, and says, "coke, if you have it."
"Mhm!" The smiling waitress jots it down on the paper. "I'll have that out right away."
She disappears, and Slade sighs, starting to mess with her rings. Her brow pinches; she opens her mouth. "I didn't...mean it, the way it sounded."
"Mhm." My response is still deadpan. "Good explanation."
Slade winces; her lip twitches and she scrapes her nail over her ring as she finds a rebuttal. "It's hard f...hard for me to explain. This kind of...shit, 's hard, 's..."
"Your drinks." The waitress reappears, dishing out my little glass of water and Slade's of coke. "You ladies know what you want for tonight? We've got fried salmon as our special dish, served with a lemon-garlic cream sauce and rice, or..."
"I'll. Um." I swallow, look over at Slade. "Do we need another minute?"
Slade looks at me, lost for a moment before my words register. "Oh." She sits up. "No. No, if you're ready, order what you want."
Oh. I look at her, confused; the waitress shifts her weight, and suddenly I'm ordering the salmon. My focus is lost entirely on Slade; she won't meet my eyes, she just keeps looking down at her rings until the waitress moves to her.
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RISK & REWARD ✔️
Romance#1 in BADBLOOD (10.29.22) #2 in WLW (10.24.22) #3 in RISK (11.10.22) Working the late shift at the local fast-food joint isn't anything special. Really. It's not. Come in, serve a few dozen customers off the road, clean up after them, go home, sleep...