Dining with the Badboys

Chapter 1: Whip Cream is Lethal

"You're okay closing up tonight, right?" I grit my teeth and force a smile to spread across my face. In fact, no, I was not alright with closing. I'd just finished up cleaning the puke the kid from table 7 had projected across the room, and I was in fact too tired to even begin arguing.

I force my tongue to roll the words from my mouth before I realize what I actually committed my soul to. "Wouldn't mind at all." Just to add the cherry on top, I reach down to grab the dish towel and begin wiping the counter. Arms aching, with a nice layer of sweat covering my skin, I force myself to comply.

He grins widely and runs a hand through his gorgeous hair that never had a strand out of place. He gives his famous eye twinkle and swaggers out the door with keys in hand. I crumple to the stool next to me. Why does he have to be so darn cute?

I push back the mop of golden curls that seem to constantly be in the way, and head to the back for the broom. Everything is eerily quiet and besides the frying pan sizzling, not a sound is made in the whole diner. With the fabric worn at the seems, the plastic covers cracking, with the baby pink paint chipping on the walls.

Yeah, this place was a dump.

Not matter how hard any of the workers tried, we only managed a steady flow of the usual costumers through the withered door. The clock ticked away every second away that I could be spending in my warm and inviting bed, yet I was stuck here. The floor was an ungodly blue and cream tiled pattern, with cobwebs and dust piling up in the corners that no one even bothered to sweep in the past five years its been running down.

After the original owners died in a bad fishing accident, no one gave enough to care as to what happened to the old building. It's said that in the 1960s-which also seems to be the last time this place was updated-this was the talk of the town. Something even I couldn't believe.

Staring into the musty smelling staff room, I crinkle my nose and grab my sports bag that was sitting on the burgundy couch. It groaned without the sudden weight, before settling back to its lumpy position. I roll my eyes and carelessly take off my shirt and throw it on the ground. I was the only one here so I don't even bother making way towards the bathroom. Besides, there would just be another mess that I'd be too guilty to leave unclean.

Just as I take off my paints and reach for my shirt that wasn't for work, a loud bang comes from the front. Freezing with one pant leg on and the other off, I can already feel the nervous sweats break out. Not in a million years did I ever expect to have to witness a robbery, but as I stand half naked, I pray to whoever is listening that today isn't the day I die.

Rushing to shimmy on the pants, I throw on the dirty shirt and make my way towards the kitchen. Grabbing the first thing I see-which just so happens to be a can of whip cream-I hesitantly pear around the corner. They don't know I'm here, maybe they're homeless and just looking for a bite to eat...

I see a shadowy figure shuffling around the cash register. I sink against the wall, sliding my back as quietly as I can till I'm stuck in a crouch. It's then that I notice I forgot to put my shoes back on. I struggle to hold back a groan and settle for squeezing my eyes shot. Now if I ended up having to make a mad dash for it, I'd probably end up stumbling over myself. Honestly, these floors are dirty enough that I don't even know if there's fungus growing, or if it's just some old mozzarella cheese.

"C'mon, hurry up we're going to get caught if you keep dallying around!" An urgent voice comes from the opposite side of where I am hiding. Squeezing the bottle tighter, I let out easy breaths.

I can just let us be robbed without doing anything. Right? As I contemplate with myself the bickering between the two voices stop abruptly. One of them gasps and without opening my eyes, the goosebumps on my arms already tells me I've been caught.