Famished - Meghan O'Flynn (learn to read books TXT) 📗

Robert ate a late dinner at Johnny’s, an Italian pizza kitchen around the block from his house. The food was good but not great; eaten over a nondescript tablecloth and served by a nondescript waiter. Despite his obvious boredom, the waiter looked expectant when he handed over the check like he thought he deserved a tip.

He’s going to be disappointed.

The car ride was no better. Every accident within sixty miles was clustered along his route to the club. Robert bit back his rage as best he could, though it didn’t stop him from aiming expletives and obscene hand gestures at an elderly woman in a neighboring car. Her horrified eyes improved his mood considerably.

Thomas was waiting for him at the entrance to the parking structure a block from the club, eating something fluorescent from a small plastic bag in his palm.

As Robert approached, Thomas held the bag out in offering. “Gummy bear?” Thomas’s tongue was green.

Imbecile. “You look like a fucking leprechaun,” Robert said.

The drone of music and lively chatter swelled as they neared the club. Each drew IDs for the muscled door attendant who was hulking behind rope chains and currently squinting at the license of a skinny blonde wearing stilettos and a miniskirt that left half her ass hanging out. Slut. The bouncer waved her through and stared Robert down over the top of his fake license. Robert stiffened.

“Twenty apiece, pay at the door.” The guard handed Robert’s ID back and nodded at Thomas.

They walked to the entrance, handed the cover charge to a grim-faced skinhead with barbed wire tattooed around his left bicep, and entered the club.

Inside, the warehouse-like expanse stunk of stale smoke and the rank tang of sweat. The place was already teeming with bodies, a mix of men and women in sharp business attire as if they had come straight from work, and casually-dressed young people who gave off “regulars” vibes. A few slouched men in cargo shorts and women in spaghetti straps scrutinized other patrons as if deciding whether anyone there was worth fucking.

At the bar, a young woman in a tight halter dress approached a stodgy Tom, Dick, or Harry in an expensive suit. She rubbed her breasts on his arm and whispered in his ear. Robert narrowed his eyes in disgust. The succubus always found her prey early.

“There’s a table near the back,” Thomas said. “It must be our lucky night.”

They threaded their way to a small table with a wraparound leather bench across from the bar. The polished wooden tabletop was littered with empty glasses and wrinkled napkins. A few tiny stirring straws were set up in a tic-tac-toe formation in the center.

“Wanna play?” Thomas gestured to the straws.

“Nah. I hear leprechauns suck at that game.”

Thomas stuck out his tongue, and it glowed eerily yellow under the black lights. He really was an idiot.

A redheaded waitress appeared wearing tight pants and a harried expression. Her lithe hands scurried like rabbits, clearing the table into a brown bin. She set the bin at her feet and whipped out a small pad of paper from her back pocket. “What can I get you?”

“Vodka and Red Bull,” Robert said.

Thomas shrugged. “Whatever you’ve got on tap.”

She scrawled the orders, shoved the pad into her pocket, and flashed them a tense smile. “Be right back, guys.”

Robert watched her over Thomas’s shoulder as she walked away, her hips sashaying more than seemed necessary. Maybe that was for his benefit. Maybe not. He frowned as she disappeared into the back with the bin and their table scraps.

Thomas was focused on the televisions behind the bar. Robert glanced at the screen where a common-looking woman in a blue suit yammered into the camera about something surely as tiresome as her flaring nostrils.

“CNN, huh?” Robert said.

Thomas met Robert’s eyes and grinned. “Nothing says it’s time to party like stock market updates.”

Robert looked past Thomas again, but the redhead did not reappear. When he drew his gaze back, Thomas was staring at him with knowing eyes, and Robert resisted the urge to throttle him.

“You looking for our waitress?”

Panic chilled Robert’s marrow. “Yeah, I’m thirsty.”

“Aw, come on, man! You were staring at her when she walked away. Not that I blame you.” He winked, tarnishing her.

No, he could not let Thomas take this away from him, not if she was The One. There was no time to dwell; Robert felt her return in every cell of his body. She emerged through the doors, eyes alight with passion and the promise of resurrection, of atonement, of a chance to prove himself worthy and noble. He had been noble once.

He could do it again.

For love.

And he had loved her, if only for a day during his senior year in high school. Mindy Haliburton. Each twist of her fingers, each bite of her lip had been a sure indication that she was trying to control herself. But she was Reverend Haliburton’s daughter.

They were in the Reverend’s basement when Robert had pushed her to the floor. “Don’t worry, Mindy. I understand,” he whispered.

Of course he’d understood. He understood that by fighting him, by making the lust his alone, she might absolve herself of guilt and save herself from Hell. He understood that her thoughts were as deep as his, or she wouldn’t have asked him there. And he surely understood that she wanted this, no matter what she had to say to protect her reputation and her soul. Each desperate sound she made mirrored his own desperation, their mutual desire mingling with fear of repercussions, their need for one another overriding their terror.

“No! Robby, stop!”

But he heard what she really meant: Yes! Robby, harder!

When it was over, she lay still, eyes bloodshot, face ashen and laced with tears. He stroked her cheek and ran his tongue over her bottom lip.

You’re welcome.

He had admitted to the rape, despite their mutual need. He had saved her from her own sins by sacrificing himself to hordes of inmates who had offered no remorse, no leniency, no forgiveness. There was nothing more noble one person could do for another.

Pride welled in his heart.

“Here you go, guys.”

Robert refocused his attention on the redheaded waitress as she set Thomas’s glass in front of him. She had a tinkling voice that grew a little hoarse as she increased her volume to be heard as if Pollyanna were trying her hand as a phone sex operator. Robert met her eyes. She did not look away. He touched her wrist as she put his drink down, and electricity zipped up his arm, through his chest, and down into his groin. She