Under the Cover of Darkness

05 | Carson

“So . . .” I started and trailed off.

We were seated in a booth in a small diner and all my senses were screaming that something was horribly wrong.

She'd clammed up after the talk about her car and was seating across from me staring stonily at her burger and stabbing her soda with the straw.

I sighed. “I'm sorry if I upset you.” It seemed like all I was doing tonight was apologizing but in my defense it was like every breath I took irritated her.

She let out a sigh and ran a hand through her hair. The rainbow colored strands fell gloriously around her shoulders and reminded me of cotton candy. “We have to lay down some basic rules,” she said.

“Why? I'm never seeing you again remember?”

She shot me a glare and I immediately shut my gob. In the short time that I've been with her I've learned that rainbow hair or not, this chick was a tigress when she was riled up.

“I don't care about tomorrow, I'm talking basic rules for tonight,” she fished out a pen from her rainbow purse — I'm not even surprised anymore — and clicked it on. She searched the table before taking a paper napkin and flattening it. “Rule number one . . .” she started writing.

“Let me get this straight. You want to lay ground rules for a couple of hours, what are you afraid I'll somehow figure out you're a serial killer or something?” I chuckled and took a bite of my burger. Despite my seemingly annoying presence and her short temper I found I was enjoying myself and for the first time in a while the void had taken a break.

“Never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ask any questions about what I do, why I wear a mask and my personal life,” she shot me a look that dared me to counter what she just wrote.

“Eight evers, really? Why do you care so much anyway?” I was a little disappointed because I'd looked forward to finding out just what made her tick. The mask intrigued me and now I couldn't even ask about it.

“It's my life, if I wanna talk about it it should be on my terms. Besides,” she sulked. “You'll never understand, no one ever does.”

I could see how uncomfortable it made her so I agreed. “Fine, anything else?”

She tapped the pen on her jaw and suddenly I was aware of her pursed lips. They were pink and plump and seemed to glisten on their own. My hand itched again and it took all my willpower to get it under control. It was a strange feeling that started when she'd made that kiss my backside comment and leaned on her car.

I'd gotten a good look at her figure and suddenly I'd wanted to do just that. Leant back against the car I could clearly make out the sharp outline of her hips beneath the long sleeved T-shirt and jeans. My hands started itching to reach out and trace every curve but I somehow made it through the conversation without being labeled a psycho.

“Yes, idioms, don't dare speak to me with idioms,” she wrote that down. “I don't get them, you see.” She clarified.

“Right, anything else?” I was amused beyond belief.

“Nope, I think that's it, and to make sure you never ask, sign here please,” she passed me the pen and the napkin.

“You're joking right?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Midnight will roll by soon, buddy.”

I rolled my eyes and collected the pen. I pushed the napkin to myself and read what she'd written. She had a delicate penmanship for someone with a fiery personality.

Rolling my eyes again I put my signature and passed it back to her. “It's just a napkin, it could fly away from here with the slightest wind and guess what? I'll be all over you like the paparazzi.”