Pretty Little Scars (Silver Springs #1)

Prologue

TUCKER

Five Years Ago

Imake the thirty minute drive over to Bitterroot Valley every Tuesday so I can have lunch at Kay’s Diner. Do I love the food there? Not particularly. Don’t get me wrong, it’s fine. But the cheeseburger and fries aren’t what’s brought me in here for the past year without missing a Tuesday.

I used to come in once a month with my friend Brooks Blackwell after we took a ride on our Harleys around the valley. We still have a standing ride day, but once every thirty days isn’t nearly often enough for me to see her.

The brunette with the kicking curves and glacier-blue eyes.

The woman whose stingy smile is etched in my mind and the only thing I see when I close my eyes.

Have I asked her out? No. But I will.

Eventually.

I’m in no hurry regarding most things in my life. I like to take my time, think things through.

For now, I like to come in here for lunch on Tuesdays, sit in my usual booth in the corner, and flirt with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life.

I set the laminated menu aside, knowing exactly what I’ll order. When she walks over to me and her blue eyes brighten at the sight of me, I can’t help but smile at her.

“Well, fancy meeting you here,” she says sarcastically.

Her voice is pure fucking sin. A little raspy, and a lot sexy.

She rests her hand on her hip and immediately fills my mug with coffee.

Her dark hair is up in a high ponytail, her gorgeous face is clean of makeup, and her lips quirk, making me want to bite them. “You’re late.”

I lift an eyebrow and check the time. “It’s 1:05.”

“Late,” she says again.

“Did you miss me?” I ask her, leaning back in the seat, taking her in.

Fuck, she’s beautiful. Her cheeks darken a little as she tucks a few stray whisps of hair behind her ear.

I want to do that. I want to feel that silk in my fingertips.

Her Kay’s Diner T-shirt molds over her body perfectly, but not provocatively.

There’s a tattoo peeking out of the sleeve on her right biceps, and I want to know what it is.

“Thought maybe you fell off that death trap out there.” She gestures at my bike with her chin.

“You’re worried about me.” I rub my hand over the scruff on my chin and smile smugly. “That’s even better. You could go for a ride with me, and I’ll show you that there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

A shadow slips behind her eyes, but before I can say anything, she shakes her head.

“Hard pass. Your usual today?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She nods and walks away to put my order in, and while I sip my black coffee, I watch her flit around the restaurant, taking orders, delivering plates, and closing out checks.

Kay’s is a typical 1950s-style diner with a black-and-white checked floor, red vinyl seats, and a jukebox in the corner playing an old Madonna tune from the ’80s.

There’s a long bar with red-topped stools, and the milkshakes rival Sundae’s over in my hometown of Silver Springs, but I’ll never admit to that out loud.

Before long, she brings my basket of food and sets it down, along with my usual bottles of ketchup, mustard, and a side of ranch.

My eyes flit to her name tag.

D.

“Are you ever going to tell me what the D stands for?”

Delicious.

Delectable.

Damn amazing.

Dirty.

Dreamy.

“No,” she says and sets that hand on her hip again. “What’s your name?”

I lift an eyebrow and bite a french fry. “I think it’s only fair that if I tell you mine, you do the same.”

She shakes her head slowly and bites her lower lip.

“Duchess it is then.” I chew a bite of my burger, watching her. “It suits you.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re gorgeous, and you just look like a duchess.”

“Okay, Hotshot,” she replies, rolling her eyes.

“Wow, we have nicknames for each other.” I sip my coffee. “Looks like it’s true love. We’d better run away together and live happily ever after.”

She smirks, and then she gives me that full smile that makes me feel like I just won the motherfucking lottery.

“Christ, that’s pretty.”

“Eat your food, Hotshot. I’ll be back.”

I’m going to ask her out this week. It’s getting harder and harder to stay away from her, and it would look damn fucking stupid if I came into the diner every day of the week for lunch just so I can see Duchess.

I’m sitting in my booth when movement catches my eye, but when I look up, with a quip on my lips, ready to flirt my ass off, a blond woman smiles down at me.

“What can I get you to drink?”

“Uh, where’s the woman who usually works on Tuesdays? D?”

“Oh, she quit last week. I’m not sure where she went, to be honest. I’m taking this shift now.”

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

I never got her real name.

I never asked for her number or if I could take her out.

And now she’s gone.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asks again.

“No thanks.” I stand and head for the door, my stomach rolling over.

Fuck.