Domino by Ivy Black
Chapter Fourteen
Domino
“Jesus Christ, didn’t we talk about this the other day?” Ashley says with exasperation in her tone.
I give her a wolfish smile. “What can I say? Y’all make the best breakfast food in town. I’ve become addicted.”
She rolls her eyes and looks at me. “Seriously, why are you here?”
“I’m here for breakfast. Same as all these other fine folks.”
“Yeah, well, all these other fine folks aren’t here, like, stalking or pestering me.”
“Pestering and stalking you? Me?”
I spread my hands out in front of me, giving her the best look of innocence I that can muster. The incredulous expression on her face tells me she’s not buying it, which makes me laugh. Stopping by and hassling Ashley hadn’t been on my agenda today, but when I was rolling down Harrison and saw the Golden Gate, I just felt compelled to stop in. There’s something about her that’s compelling to me. It’s almost like she’s a drug and I kind of needed a fix this morning or something. It sounds trite, but there’s no other way for me to really explain it.
“Didn’t I already tell you that this thing, this—whatever it is you have in your head about us—is like, never going to happen?”
“You did. But you didn’t exactly sound entirely convinced yourself,” I tell her. “So, I came to give you another chance to reconsider your position.”
“Reconsider my position?”
“Yeah. Have dinner with me tonight.”
She’s wearing an expression of surprise, but there’s a faint upward curl to her lips I find encouraging. Then, she bursts into laughter.
“You really are ridiculous. You do know that, don’t you?” she asks.
“That’s not a no.”
She turns to go, rolling her eyes at me, though she continues to give me a grin that’s half amused and half annoyed.
“Hey, aren’t you going to take my order?” I ask.
She stops and turns back to me. “Country fried steak, hash browns extra crispy, two eggs over easy, sourdough toast with grape jelly, coffee, and a large orange juice.”
I nod, my smile even wider. “You remember. I’m flattered.”
“Don’t be, I’ve just got a good memory. It’s why I’m good at this job.”
“Maybe so, but I still think it means something.”
“It means I’m observant. You’re a guy who relies on routine, so I figure that extends to your food choices.”
I cock my head and look at her. “And how do you figure that?”
“I noticed the way you arrange your silverware and your napkin. The way you arrange all of the things on top of the table, making sure everything is neat and orderly. Precise. You’re pretty obsessive-compulsive about it. And in my experience, people who are kind of like that tend to prefer routine in all things,” she says, giving me a slight shrug.
“What are you, a shrink?”
“I have a degree in Psychology, yes.”
Before I can say anything else, she turns and walks away, leaving me there staring after her. I look down at the tabletop and see that everything is, in fact, lined up and orderly. I guess the need for order is so strong in me that I never even notice that I do it. It’s just an involuntary reflex or something, I suppose. But I’m still kind of blown away that she noticed it after one time here.
She really is observant and had an insight about me that I never knew about myself. But then, if she’s got a degree in psych, maybe she’s trained to look for that sort of behavior or something. I don’t know. How she knows it, I’m kind of blown away by it all the same.
She comes over and drops off my coffee and orange juice at my table and starts to walk away, but I stop her. She turns around and looks at me with exasperation on her face.
“What?” she asks.
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“And what question was that?”
“Dinner. You and me. Tonight,” I say.
“You don’t take no for an answer, do you?”
“I might. But you never actually said no,” I remind her.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I don’t deny that. But you’re dodging and deflecting now.”
“Oh, is that what I’m doing?”
She walks away again, laughing to herself. At least it seems like she’s sort of starting to warm up. There’s a crack in that wall of ice around her. It’s slight and small, but it’s definitely there. She’s doing her best to maintain that façade of cold contempt, but it’s not very convincing, to say the least.
I watch her buzzing around to the other tables, talking and laughing with her guests. She’s got a beautiful smile that really lights up her face. What I wouldn’t give to see her show me that smile. She’s a tough nut to crack, that’s for sure. But I will crack her. One way or another, sooner or later, I will definitely crack her. Like I said, I love a good challenge.
I swallow down my coffee and wave my mug in the air, catching her attention. I can see her shake her head to herself, but she goes behind the counter and grabs the pot. A moment later, she comes to my table and refills my mug.
“Why do you hate me?” I ask.
“I don’t even know you. I certainly don’t hate you.”
“Oh, well that’s good. That’s a good starting point then.”
“It’s not a starting point for anything. It’s just stating a fact.”
I shrug. “Potayto, potahto.”
She puts her hand on my hip and stares at me. “You’re pretty cocky for a guy who’s been shot down a hundred times already.”
“I don’t think we’ve reached a hundred.”
“Will you give up if we do?”
I arch an eyebrow at her. “I never give up. Not when there’s something I want in my sights.”
She laughs softly and I see that sparkle in her eyes again that makes me think she’s simply putting on the playing hard to get act. That she enjoys being pursued. And that’s all good with me. Half the fun is in the chase. It’s always the best part of any sort of burgeoning romance, if you ask me.
“Is that so?” she asks.
I nod. “You’ll find that the word ‘quit’ isn’t in my vocabulary.”
“And maybe one day you’ll find out there’s a different between being persistent and being annoying, bordering on creepy as hell.”
“Oh, I know the difference. And it’s a good thing I never cross that line.”
Ashley walks away again, muttering to herself, and tends to her other tables. She has such an easy confidence about her that I find attractive. And the way she banters with me and fires back, not letting me get away with anything is a massive turn on. I’ve always liked smart women who can snap back like she does. It’s sexy, makes things fun, and keeps things lively.
A few minutes later, she drops off my plate of food and refills my coffee again. She’s doing her best to avoid looking at me, but I can see her stealing glances at me from the corner of her eye.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” I tell her. “Have dinner with me. If not tonight, then another night.”
She gives me a devilish smile. “Golly. I guess I haven’t given you an answer to your question, huh?”
She turns and walks away, and I can hear her laughing to herself. It makes me chuckle and shake my head. With nothing left for it at the moment, I tuck into my meal. And as I do, I keep my eye on her. She’s obviously fucking with me right now by dragging this out and not answering my question.
But the fact that she hasn’t flat out said no tells me she’s at least somewhat intrigued. Ashley doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who beats around the bush. In the brief time I’ve known her, she seems like somebody who’s blunt. She’s direct and doesn’t sugarcoat things. She’ll tell it like it is, and you’ll always know where you stand with her. I respect and admire that quite a lot, actually.
I drain the last of my orange juice and push the empty plate away from me, my belly full. Ashley appears at my table and scoops up my dishes, and with her other hand, sets my check down on the table. Before I can ask the question once more, she flounces away.
“I’ll come back every day until you say yes, you know,” I tell her.
She shrugs. “Keep tipping like you do and you can come back anytime you want.”
“Have dinner with me.”
She smiles. “Have a good day.”
Ashley walks away, leaving me without an answer, but with my interest in her rising all the more. When I pick up the check, I see that there’s a second, folded piece of paper beneath the check. I unfold it and smile to myself when I see her number written out in her neat, precise hand. She’s looking back at me when I glance up at her, then quickly turns away from me. Slipping it into my shirt pocket, I leave the money for my check, plus a healthy tip, then get up and start out of the restaurant.
As I pass her by, I whisper to her. “You’ll be hearing from me.”
“If I answer your call.”
I’m laughing as I walk out of the restaurant, feeling a bit more pep in my step than usual. As I walk down the sidewalk that’ll lead me to the parking lot, I’m feeling pretty damn good about myself. But as I go, I notice a black SUV with totally smoked windows rolling slowly down the street. In that moment, the idea of a drive-by flashes through my mind and standing here in my kutte makes me an easier target, and I suddenly regret leaving my sidearm in my saddlebag.
But then, the driver’s side window comes down and I see a man with tawny skin, slicked back hair. He’s got sunglasses on that are as dark as the tinting on the windows in the back. The man has a thick goatee, and I can see the tattoo on his neck. Through the window, I see a man in the passenger seat, and I’ve got a feeling there are others behind those smoked windows in the back.
They could be anybody. They could just be passing through for all I know. But there’s something about them that sets my Spidey senses tingling. There’s just something about them that doesn’t feel right to me. They don’t seem like they belong here, nor the type who would simply pass through a place like Blue Rock.
Honestly, my first thought when I see them is that they’re cartel men. But why would they be here? What do they want? And as I think about Prophet and his mood lately, I wonder for about the thousandth time… what in the hell is going on?
