12. Charlie
Charlie: Are you sure I’m supposed to be here? I feel like I’m spying.
Emmett: Yes. You wanted to see a normal morning at Mona’s, and she wants to meet you. Just go in and introduce yourself.
Charlie: You’re sure she wants to meet me? Like she said those words?
Emmett: Just go in, Charlie. Sit at the counter. Get the pancakes. They’re delicious.
Charlie: I’m more of a french toast kinda gal, but thanks for the rec.
Emmett: Of course you are…
Charlie: Why do you say that?
Emmett: Never mind. Just go in. I promise you’ll be fine.
Easy for him to say. He’s not the one about to go meet the woman who you’re trying to take the place of after she’s fed a town for a few generations.
Though french toast does sound good. Like really good. Because I’m really freaking hungry.
I take a few deep breaths as I walk into the hustle and bustle of a Friday morning at Mona’s.
Holy shit, it’s packed.
Every booth and table is full. A few waitresses are zipping around, carrying more plates than I think is actually possible. Conversations are on top of each other, drowning out the faint music that’s playing in the background, and the smell of bacon, coffee, and maple syrup is overtaking my senses.
It’s perfect.
And at this moment it really hits me that this place is soon going to be mine.
“Charlie! Over here! I saved you a spot at the counter.”
It takes me a second to realize that someone is calling my name, not another guy named Charlie. When I look to the counter there’s an older woman standing in front of an empty stool, coffee pot in one hand and a smile on her face that immediately puts me at ease.
“You must be Mona,” I say as I take a seat.
“The one and only.”
I laugh as she pours me a cup of coffee. “How did you know it was me?”
“Emmett told me to look out for a redhead who looked nervous.”
“Sounds about right.” I feel the slight heat come over my cheeks in embarrassment. “I hope it’s okay I came in today.”
“I’m glad you did,” she says. “The breakfast rush is coming to a close. Let me get you some food, then maybe we can chat?”
“Perfect,” I say. “French toast and an orange juice?”
“Coming right up, sweetie.”
Mona walks back to the kitchen, and I let out a slight sigh of relief. I pick up the steaming cup of coffee, but when I bring it to my mouth, the smell suddenly makes my stomach twist. Weird. Who knows…my stomach has been hating me lately.
But it wants french toast immediately.
I take another look around the diner and now I’m wondering what I was scared about. Mona seems lovely. This place is exactly what I expected, and I can’t wait to make it my own, while also keeping the vibe Mona has created.
AKA no more yellow walls.
“I can do this,” I say to myself. “I really can do this.”
I reach for my phone so I can make a few notes and observations that I don’t want to forget when I see the door to the restaurant open out of the corner of my eye. I turn to look out of habit, and the second I do I hate myself for doing it.
I also forget to keep breathing.
Because walking in, in all his arrogant glory, is Simon Banks.
Breathe, Charlie…you knew this was going to happen. You knew this could happen today. This is fine. Get it over with. Then the next time won’t be so bad.
And don’t think about his tongue or dick.
I know I should look away, but I can’t make myself do it. He has his own gravitational pull, I swear.
Unless I run. That’s always an option.
But I can’t do that now. I mean, I could. But I won’t do that to Mona. Or myself. Like Connor said, the best revenge on Simon is making him watch me succeed. And that starts here and now.
“Is that Charlie Bennett I see?” Simon smirks as he takes the conveniently empty seat next to me at the counter. “I must say, this is a pleasant surprise.”
“Speak for yourself,” I say, tearing my eyes away from him and focusing back on my phone. I hate how hard that is. Because as much as I might hate him, I’ll never be able to deny how stupid hot he is. Especially now that I know what he looks like naked.
The asshole is one of those guys that has gotten better looking with age—and he wasn’t hurting in the looks department in college. His brown hair looks like he just got out of the shower and has a slight curl to it, yet still perfectly styled. He smells of light body soap and cologne that is hitting my senses in the best way. I don’t know what the scent it is, but it smells expensive and sexy. His beard is neatly trimmed, but still leaves plenty of hair that I can somehow feel between my thighs as I sit here.
Fuck my life…why did I sleep with him? That was single-handedly the stupidest decision I’ve ever made.
But I did, and now I’m here, sitting next to this infuriatingly hot man who’s wearing a polo shirt that showcases his toned biceps in a way that makes you want to stare.
And hold on to them while he does delicious things to your body.
No. I’m not going to. That’s what he wants. At the end of the day, that’s who Simon Banks is. The guy who wants the spotlight. Center of attention. And I’m not going to give him the satisfaction.
Why am I here?
Despite me putting up walls that could have separated communist countries once upon a time, Simon has somehow infiltrated my life with his adorable smirk and annoying persistence. That’s the only thing I can think of as to why I agreed to come to his party tonight.
At his house. With his roommates. And friends. And probably half of the University of Tennessee campus. Where he is currently dancing on a table with girls all around him.
I’ve been on campus for three years, and I’ve never once gone to a party. I was invited to a few freshman year, but I always declined. They just never felt like my scene, so I usually picked up extra shifts at Perks. These are all kids who are living the full college experience. Partying on weekends. Living off their trust funds or scholarships. Then there’s me. The commuter who lives fifteen miles away and the only reason I can even afford to come here is because my mom works in one of the dining halls.
I suddenly feel self-conscious as a group of girls bops past me, holding up their drinks as they slink through the crowd. I don’t know if it’s their designer clothes or their size-two waists, but any confidence I had coming in here is out the window.
Again, why am I here? Oh, that’s right. Because Simon flashed me his smile, batted his beautiful blue eyes at me, and begged me to come to their last party of the year. Finals finished today, and everyone will be clearing campus tomorrow for the summer. I originally said no—like I do most times with Simon—but somehow those nos are becoming less and less.
I don’t know what it is about him. At first I was convinced he was bored and that’s why he was hanging out at the coffee shop every day. Then when he started asking me out all the time, I was convinced it had to be a bet. Because that’s the only way Simon Banks is seen with a girl like me. That’s not self-deprecating—it’s just true. My attempt at a date last month proved that.
As I’ve gotten to know Simon, I feel like his cocky demeanor is just an act. Well, not all of it. At his core he’s a handsome, arrogant man who loves to have the spotlight. But what I’ve learned is that he’s a good friend. Smart. Hilarious. A hell of a dancer. And he went toe-to-toe with me in trivia during our WrestleMania not-a-date date.
And then there was the night he held me as I cried because of a douchebag guy.
He’s more than what he shows to the world. He’s a good guy.
And I have a fucking crush on him. Which is really bad.
Because I know he doesn’t like me like that. He might show some signs here and there that would make me think he does, but I know how this ends. In heartbreak. It’s how the stories of kids from the opposite sides of the track always end. The handsome prince never ends up with the common girl from the village.
I should leave. Yes. I need to. This is Simon’s element. I don’t belong here.
And just as I turn, I hear the one syllable that will stop me in my tracks until the day I die.
“Bug!”
The damn nickname. The nickname that I used to hate and now don’t hate at all.
“Hey,” I say as I turn around. Sweat is dripping from his forehead. His breathing is heavy, and I can’t help but let my eyes travel to his toned abs as he brings his shirt up to wipe off his forehead.
I’ve only imagined what Simon looks like without a shirt. And apparently my imagination was NOT active enough.
“Did you just get here?”
I nod. “I did, but I think I’m going to go.”
His face goes from excited to sad in a heartbeat. “Go? Why?”
“This isn’t my thing,” I say. “Plus, it looks like you have plenty of company…”
I didn’t mean to say it as insulting or insinuating that he had a harem of girls on him, even though that’s how it came out. It doesn’t help his case that two of the girls have slithered their way next to him.
“Simon? We were just getting started.”
He gently steps away from being the filling in the sorority sister sandwich. “Thanks. I’m good. You two go have fun.”
They both give an overexaggerated pout, but walk away. As soon as they are gone, I feel Simon take my hand in his. It shocks me a little, even though this isn’t the first time he’s done this. Or we’ve touched. That’s why I’m still wondering why I feel like I’ve been shocked every time our skin makes contact.
“Come on,” he says, pulling my hand out of the living room where everyone is congregated.
“Where are we going?”
He turns back to me, his smile stealing my breath away. “You’ll see.”
“So whatcha doin’?”
I fight back an eye roll and do what I know will piss him off more than anything—I don’t react at all.
I see him inch closer to me so he’s now looking over my shoulder. But I stay strong and keep my gaze forward.
“Well, since that’s your notes app, I’m going to guess making notes. Or maybe a list. You always loved making lists.”
I don’t say anything, which only makes him come closer.
“Hmm, let’s see. Finalize menus. Ask about utility costs. Bug? Why are you making those notes?”
I grind my teeth as he uses his nickname for me. “None of your business.”
“She speaks,” he says. Out of the corner of my eye I see his cocky grin.
I hate that grin.
I hate it so much.
“Here we go, my dear. French toast and an orange juice.” Mona puts my plate in front of me before noticing the unwanted guest next to me. “Simon! What are you doing here?”
“Hey, Mona,” he says. “I was hoping to get the same thing the lady has here. It looks delicious. But make mine to go.”
“Add poison to it,” I say under my breath.
“What was that, Charlie?”
I shake my head as Simon snickers. “Nothing.”
She gives me a questioning look, but doesn’t press. “Okay. I’m going to put in his order and then we can go talk. Enjoy.”
Mona walks away as I feel Simon turn to face me.
“What are you talking to Mona about? How do you know Mona? What are you doing in Rolling Hills? Did you miss me? What is the list for? Why aren’t you blonde anymore? Where did you go fifteen years ago? And why did you leave in the middle of the night last month? How many orgasms did I give you? Gosh…I just have so many questions…”
I love french toast more than life itself. Yet right now I’m willing to waste it so I can slam this dish into Simon’s smug face.
“I’m not answering any of those questions,” I say as I take a bite. Holy shit, this is good. I make good french toast, but I might need to see if I can get Mona’s secret and keep these on the menu.
“Can you answer one? I’d really like to know the orgasm one. Or the where you went one. But I’m not picky.”
I look over to Simon, and I’m angry at myself the second I turn my head.
Besides the grin, which has never been more pompous, I lock eyes with him, and that’s my downfall.
Those fucking eyes. They are the clearest blue I’ve ever seen. I don’t even know how to describe them. I just know that’s his secret weapon. They get me every fucking time. Whether it was fifteen years ago, a month ago, or right now, I’m a goner when I look into sparkling blues.
“Fine,” I groan, hoping then he’ll leave me alone. “I’ll answer one.”
He celebrates with a fist pump, but I quickly cut him off. “But I get to pick the question. And it’s not about orgasms.”
He sighs like a toddler. “Fine.”
“You’ll find this out soon enough—” I lower my voice to make sure that stray ears don’t pick up on this. “But I’m opening a restaurant here. Mona is retiring, and this space is going to be mine.”
“What!” Simon yells, drawing a few eyeballs our way. Though they leave just as quickly, which I’m guessing means this town is used to Simon’s antics. “You’re taking over Mona’s? This is great! Can this be my permanent seat? I want to come in every day. Be a regular. Have my name yelled and cheered when I walk through the door. I’ll be your Norm!”
“Absolutely not,” I say. “Actually, if you could never come in here, I’d appreciate that.”
“You can’t do that,” he says, indignant. “I have rights.”
“Not here you don’t. No shirt. No shoes. No Simon.”
He furrows his brow. “I don’t think that’s how it goes.”
“That’s how it goes here.”
“I can’t believe you’d do that, Bug,” he says, pretending to be hurt. “After all we’ve been through. And it’s been so much…”
“Exactly,” I say, my eyes narrowing. “After all we’ve been through.”
We stare at each other for more than a few seconds, anger radiating off the both of us. Mine is more visceral, though. I can feel my face turning the color of my fading red-dyed hair.
How dare he think that he can be so casual about how things ended. And how dare he be the one to ask me where I went fifteen years ago. If there’s anyone who has to come up with answers for how things ended, it’s him.
As for the walking out part, I’ll take that. But the other stuff is what I’m more concerned about.
“Here you go, Simon,” Mona says, breaking our stares. “Everything okay here?”
Neither of us say anything as we slowly lean away from each other. We might not be trying to shoot lasers into each other, but that doesn’t mean the tension isn’t still thick. I don’t know if there’s a knife in this restaurant that can cut through it.
“Thanks, Mona,” he says, giving her a wink. “I’ll let you two talk.”
“Take care, Simon,” Mona says as he slides what looks like way too much money toward her.
“See you around, Bug. Every day. Maybe sometimes twice a day. You know I can come multiple times.”
Asshole.
“Fuck you, Simon.”
“Again? Here? Bug, what do you take me for?”
I shake my head in frustration. “I hate you.”
He smiles and leans in closer. “This is going to be great. Just like old times. Can’t wait.”
“I hope you choke on your french toast.”
“Oh. Ouch.” He steps away, holding his heart as if I hurt him, but the smile on his face says otherwise. “This is going to be so much fun.”
“Just leave me alone, Simon. I’m going to be here and living here and working here. I’d like to just run my restaurant without having to worry about you.”
He shrugs and leans back in. “Can’t do that, Bug. Sorry. Welcome to Rolling Hills.”
And with that Simon strolls out of the diner like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Asshole.
“Oh, this is good,” Mona says with a laugh.
“What is good?”
She nods to the door. “You and Simon. I didn’t know you two knew each other. I also didn’t know for a second there if y’all were going to fuck or fight.”
My eyes go wide, a little taken aback by Mona’s phrasing. Also wondering if somehow she knows. “Fight, Mona. Definitely fight.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.”
“You have it all wrong,” I say as Mona comes around and takes a seat next to me. “He’s my mortal enemy.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” she says with a laugh. “I know I need to retire and take a vacation, but this makes me want to stick around. I’d love to see how that plays out.”