The diner is rolling in customers, my hips swaying left and right through the tight seating. I let myself sigh in annoyance when a kid squats through my legs getting a full view of my polka dot panties. So much for wearing clothes. The mother apologies profusely dragging the kid away, but the damage has been done, and I for one wish to forget this disgusting scenario. Not to mention he complimented them. A brat, but at least a bold one.

Plates balance on my forefingers as I twist and turn, almost a ballet performance like when I was younger, but now is not the time to recall fond memories. A ding from behind me returns my thoughts to the hot plates in my grasp. It's a horrid beckon back to the front to drag more food to these unsatiable tables. I rush between the rest of the people to my target, the tasty looking men.

The sound is horrible when I let them clatter onto the table, my lack of fucks to give today running me thin. The blonde male gives me an eye elevator, one that I personally don't appreciate, however tips are based on appearance. If he thinks me pretty, maybe he thinks me worthy of a bill.

"Done looking? I don't have time to be entertainment today." I spit at him, the blonde recoiling. Welp there went that. I've always been known to have a hot tongue, and in this moment of pure frustration – a server horribly in the weeds – it has come out to play.

"The name is Tyson, Tyson Wells. I was just admiring your beauty." His voice is inviting, a subtle undertone of seduction. Cute, but not my type.

"Oh wow. Still don't care. I would appreciate if you admired that food and told me if you needed anything else?" I wave my hand over the steaming food, the men looking down and checking their silverware. The other more brindle haired man meets my eyes a forgotten heat shooting to my core. Some men enjoy a woman that puts them in their place, others wanting a dainty female begging for a savior. I would be neither. I enjoy putting everyone more than arms-length away and keeping them there.

"Ares Gray." He reaches his hand out keeping his eyes connected with him. I meet him in the middle giving him a firm shake a spike of electricity zipping through my body. Had I walked over carpet or rubbed my head against a balloon?

"Veronica Smite." The words are fused with curiosity and confusion. He smiles at me, a flash of gold coming over his eyes. I look around to make sure no one else saw it, and he draws me back into his presence. I've never laid eyes on someone so handsome. The rugged but business feel that drips from him, or the power that leaks from his skin surrounding me in a choak. What I wouldn't do to take this man to the storage closet, maybe?

"Well damn a hot woman with a badass name, such a pleasure to be sitting here." Tyson mumbles letting his thumb run over the edges of his chin. I run my tongue over my teeth and give him a certain face of intolerance.

"That's my cue to step away. I do have other paying customers, gentlemen." I give them my back and start to walk away the whistle of a male following me. My good friend Jessica runs by me with knives in her silverware holder, I grab a sharp steak knife and turn back to the men, "I think I forgot to bring you a steak knife."

The blonde, Tinsel, gives me a look and I smile the fakest smile I could muster, "We have burgers?"

"You never know," I use all my grip strength to stab the knife into the burger, the knife standing straight up between me and the idiot, "When you need one." It was the clatter of the plate shaking with the food that sent the message clear.

"Did she just-" He gets angry quick, but the brindle stops him holding out a hand. Tinsel settles quickly almost afraid to ignore his command.

"Well deserved, Tyson. Let her be. Thank you, ma'am." My body shivers at his voice, the words running over my skin to raise goosebumps. It's been a long time since a man has affected me so much, the terror of a relationship frightening me enough to run from the table.

I take a deep breath whispering to myself quietly, "We only fuck, and never a man we could love."

"Did you really just stab a man's burger?" Jessica runs up beside me, food handing off her hand, "Because that was badass bitch, not that I would normally encourage such abrasive action."

"He whistled at my ass." I grumble pinching the edge of my nose. It might have been a bit over dramatic, but man did I feel better. Part of my emotions didn't feel like my own. I wouldn't normally lose my cool like that, but those men brought it out of me like no other.

"Oh honey, it wasn't the blonde that whistled." She grabs the pack of cigarettes that sit in her apron pulling out one to hold between her lips while we enter the kitchen.

"What?"

"And he's still staring. Maybe you should slide him your number, you seem hot for him." Her eyes glance through the food station looking over the busy restaurant. One of the runners picked up all the food buying us a moment of break before we must start our rounds. Greasy Gus stands over the stove seasoning the next few orders, his eyes following Jessica as she shimmies into the back alley.

"I saw whatcha' done dids! You gotta nerve's steel!" He has a high-pitched laugh, but I shrug him off pecking his cheek.

"You know I only tolerate respect and cheesecake Gus."

"And that's why I am gonna marry you's." He tracks more grease on himself flipping a burger while I toss together a salad for another table. His cheeks turn bright red at the sentiment.

"Of course, Gus!" We both laugh together enjoying the moment as the lunch rush settles. While he isn't the brightest bulb in the pack, Gus was the man that landed me this job. One that while I don't make much, allows me to live in New York while I pursue my dream of doing whatever the hell I want. A simple dream, but a dream of freedom and self-building.

Before I met Gus, my heart was shattered from the life my ex gave me. James Volga, a very old name for a very old family with some very old money. We were together for three years, me right when I turned eighteen and him being twenty-five. I was groomed into being the picture-perfect girlfriend that only received love when he felt I deserved it. However, my parents before they passed believed that marrying rich was the only way to succeed in life, so I stayed with him. When he started controlling me is when I finally had to call it off. The twenty-first birthday car having a tracker so he could monitor everywhere I went being said final straw.

I ran off to New York leaving the keys, and everything I had, back at his place. He bought it for me anyways. He still tracks me and tries to find me, some people getting close to discovering who I am. Working at a small diner that has just enough regulars and minimum new faces makes it easy to keep in on the down low, but one day I fear it might not be enough and he will drag me back into his slimy hands. He has enough money to buy me and my soul.

The salad comes together easily, my hands moving while my thoughts ran. I take the bowl and rush out of the kitchen tossing my gloves to the nearby trashcan. The tables are starting to seem emptier as people close out their tabs and Jessica runs through keeping up with minor requests. While we have our own tables, we make a strong point to help each other so both our tips are ensured.

"Ma'am?" The annoying blonde calls out again, and I shift my gaze to them tugging the check out of my book.

"Here you go!" The paper floats slowly onto the table, neither man rushing to grab it, "Did you mean it to be separate?"

The sexy beast I keep eyeing speaks first, "Business expense."

"Sounds fine with me." Not that I care.

Ares looks at the check, and then back to me, the butterflies finding themselves back in the pit of my stomach, "May I buy you dinner?"

"Dinner?" I repeat like a parrot. Tyson snickers sending me into a different type of anger. That same anger I felt forward and couldn't pinpoint. It took everything in me not to grab another knife and send it through his head.

"Yes, Dinner. Tomorrow perhaps?" Ares holds my eyes, his intense gaze keeping me focused on him and him entirely. This is crazy. As a waitress I get tons of men asking me out, and most are decent looking, however anytime they ask I nicely decline and move one. This one is halting me in my tracks. A scratch is in the back of my head almost begging me to say yes.

"Uh..." I lift my finger to gently touch my lip. My other hand goes on my elbow to hold it up, a subtle attempt at buying myself some time before answering his bold proposition.

"I promise to keep my hands to myself." A smirk. A damn smirk.

But I don't want you too, "Leave your number, and I'll think about it. But don't expect a miracle. I do have others on the waiting list." Why am I playing hard to get? There are no others, and this one seems to tick me the wrong way. Or maybe the right? Why am I so conflicted?

"Of course, darling. Whatever your heart desires."

Jessica calls me from the back, I rush over to her letting myself cool down from the intimate gaze we held. If I had a fan, I would use as much force as possible to get that wind to take my temp down a few temperatures. This is horrid, almost like I'm a teenager again.

"So?" Jessica waves her hands in excitement, "Am I able to drop my number by the hottie or not?"

"I plan to climb that man like tree tomorrow, but right now I'm playing hard to get. He's a little..." From behind me I hear the coughing up of water, my head turning to see the blonde choking on his cup, the other male smirking at his dying friend. Huh, weird.