Chapter 6 Johnny Gray
SIX
JOHNNY GRAY
CASSIDY
On the one hand, Halloween brought out the morning customers.
Most of our regulars stopped in to show off their customers, and to get a free cup of pumpkin spice coffee that Emily kept brewing as a way to thank them for coming by.
Even Cookie got into the spirit, shaping his pancakes with a special ghost mold.
He’d set it up on the grill, pouring the batter in, and after he dropped two chocolate chips in for eyes and a marshmallow for the mouth, he had bonafide ghost pancakes.
They were delicious. I took five to eat two of them, and suggested them to my next few tables.
Slowly but surely, though, the diner died down. Not as bad as yesterday’s dry spell, but instead of me and Em running around like chickens with their heads cut off, we each had a pair of tables that we could handle easily.
Both of mine finished up first. I pocketed my tip, grateful to see that my customers seemed to be big fans of the way my sweater molded to my tits, showing them off even without a hint of scandalous—well, in the 1950s, maybe—cleavage.
Derek swooped in, clearing the dirty dishes for me, proudly showing off that he was as all-white as he was before opening.
I laughed and slyly covered the dime-sized ketchup stain I had near the bottom of my not-so-pristine white sweater.
Grabbing a clean rag from the kitchen, I was set to wipe down the tabletop so that it would be ready in case we got busy again when, all of a sudden, it happened.
The little hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My stomach twisted itself into a nervous knot. A shiver skittered up and down my spine.
The rag fell from my hand, landing on the table with a wet plop.
The air grows so heavy, it’s hard to breathe.
I rub my chest with the hell of my hand, trying to make sense of it.
The feeling like I was being watched had disappeared after I hallucinated the ghost in my apartment whispering ‘soon’ to me.
And, okay, maybe that’s because I climbed into bed, took a Tylenol PM to knock me out because otherwise I never would’ve slept, and woke up chiding myself that I could ever believe that ghosts are real.
Still. The entire apartment was quiet when I got up minutes before my phone alarm was scheduled to go off. The air was lighter, almost humming with the promise of a good day coming.
In an instant, everything changes.
And I mean everything.
If I hadn’t glanced up, if I hadn’t looked out the window, I don’t know if anything would’ve been different. I’ll never know, either. Because that… that’s exactly what I did.
I rose from where I was bending over the table, wiping the side nearest to the wall, when the same sensation like I had eyes on me had me turning to glance out the front window of the diner.
It’s still early. About five hours into my double shift, we don’t expect the lunch rush for another sixty minutes or more.
In fact, Em’s customers had cleared out, too.
Derek’s missing. Cookie’s behind his grill.
It’s just the two of us in the front of the house, Emily and me, with a parking lot that’s just as much of a ghost town.
Em and Cookie’s car is parked behind the diner, like usual.
I noticed Derek’s car when I came in. To save room for customers, he takes the farthest spot in the lot.
That leaves the rest of the handful of spots available—unless a flashy turquoise-colored muscle car is parked longways over three spaces.
What the…
Okay. Let me say one thing. Ever since the disaster with Ryan Donovan, I don’t usually notice men.
At least, not the way other girls do. Not with that knee-jerk flutter of lashes or the soft hush of voices when someone tall and handsome and tempting walks by.
But the moment I lifted my head, peering absently out of the diner’s window, and I saw a single figure leaning against that classic, sleek, probably super expensive car that belongs in a James Dean movie, cigarette balanced between two fingers like a relic from the past… oh, yeah.
I notice him.
I know it’s Halloween, that the getup he has on must be a Halloween costume, but he wears the old-fashioned clothes like he was born to. It’s funny that the name ‘James Dean’ popped in my head because when I take in the greaser outfit… that’s exactly who he reminds me of.
His hair is a sandy color, a mix between yellow and brown. Styled high and slicked back, I can only imagine how much gel he had to use to get it to look like that.
His thumb is tucked in his belt loop. His pose lazy yet undeniably attractive. He’s attractive. One look, taking all of him in, and I’m fucking hooked.
And the his head turns, hand lifting to his mouth so that he can puff on his cigarette, before he gazes right at me.
My breath catches in my throat.
His eyes find mine. His lips curve around his cigarette.
My stomach flip-flops. I have to resist the urge to run and duck behind the counter where he can’t watch me with a hint of a smirk tugging on his face.
I never thought smoking was sexy. Lung cancer? Definitely not sexy. But the way he hollows his cheeks as he takes a puff… here’s hoping that it’s just an affectation to go along with his costume because… fuck. That was sexy.
He plucks the cigarette again, this time removing it from between his lips with his free hand. He uses his thumb and his forefinger, then reaches up with his other hand. Never looking away—and, shit, I know I’m staring—he pinches the tip of his cigarette with three fingers.
Oh my God. He put out the lit cigarette with his fingers!
Slowly, he leans up from his pose, tucking the now dead cigarette behind his ear. A casual shake, resettling the leather jacket draped over his long, lean body, and then he’s on the prowl.
The gorgeous strange is heading right for me.
What do I do?
Crap. I pat my skirt, wishing the apron was big enough to hide the ketchup stain, and hope like hell that Em decides she’ll take his table so that I can hide like a nervous schoolgirl.
Jeez, Cassidy. You’re thirty fucking years old. A pretty man shouldn’t be enough to have you forgetting that.
So I have a bit of a 1950s greaser kink, I guess. Didn’t know that about me before, but my fascination with the act whose life was cut short in a car crash should’ve been a big clue. This poor guy doesn’t know it yet, but he basically is catnip to me, and my pussy is already purring.
Oh my God. I can’t believe I just had that thought, but it’s true. All it would take is this guy clicking his teeth and shooting me with a finger gun, and I’d swoon like a girl being smiled at by her teen idol.
No. I’m a grown-ass woman, and when he sidles through the door, I purposely ignore how electric it becomes.
Then again, that might be because the old jukebox flashes, from green to red to white again before another song starts to play.
“Tonight you’re mine—”
Emily turns to the service window. “Honey? I thought I unplugged the juke. Did someone plug it back in?”
They must have. It’s definitely playing music, but as the greaser moves easily into the diner, climbing onto an empty stool with a predatory grace that has me heating up from the inside out.
Em ignores the customer, heading over to the jukebox to check on the glitch. Not surprising. She takes tables when the other waitresses on duty can’t handle them all.
That leave me with Mr. Gorgeous, I guess.
Swallowing my irrational nerves, I move behind the counter, standing in front of him.
Our eyes meet.
He smiles.
My heart stutters in my chest.
Blue. Vivid blue. Shocking blue.
Uncomfortably blue.
His eyes, like the rest of him, are stunning.
His lips twitch. “Mornin’.”
“Welcome to the Shadowvale Diner.”
A small chuckle under his breath as his eyes never leave my face. “You don’t have to go through all that, sweetheart. I’ve been coming here a long time.”
That’s funny. I’ve never seen him here before. This close, he looks like he’s maybe late twenties. Younger than me, and so fucking handsome, I would’ve recognized him even in his costume.
Believe me. I wouldn’t forget a pair of eyes or lips like that.
And ‘sweetheart’? I usually hate it when customers address me with terms of endearment like that.
I mean, I wear a name tag. Not today, obviously—not unless the ‘C’ on my chest counts—but still.
I give Em a pass because she calls everyone ‘sugar’ when she’s in the mood, but for him to call me ‘sweetheart’’. ..
Damn it. I like it way more than I should.
Even so, that doesn’t stop me from saying, “I’m Cassidy.”
“Call me Johnny Gray.”
“That’s a nice name.”
His lips twitch before tugging up in a slight smirk. “You can say it’s timeless.”
Somewhere nearby, Emily chokes.
His smirk deepens. “I thought I’d stop by for breakfast. I see now it took me longer to make it to the diner than I thought. It’s closer to lunch.”
Yeah. I guess so. “We have an extensive lunch menu with sixteen different burgers—”
His eyes flash, the blue darkening to a more purple color. “Oh. I know, Cassidy.”
My thighs clench at the possessive way he says my name. Yeah… that’s not normal, but I don’t care. I lift my pencil to my order pad. “Okay. Then what will you have?”
“I’m starving. You have no idea how hungry I am. But I’m thinking… maybe I’m not in the mood for Cookie’s cooking today. I usually am, but today… I’m having a bit of a sweet tooth. You like pie, Cassidy? Cherry pie?”
“It’s my favorite,” I breathe out.
“There’s this little bakery nearby. The Pie Chart. They make an out-of-this-world cherry pie. Why don’t we head on over, have some dessert for lunch?”
Is he serious? He can’t be serious.
One look at his face and, holy shit, he is serious.
“That’s a tempting offer, Mr. Gray—”
“Johnny, please.”
Okay. “Johnny. I actually love The Pie Chart, too, and I never really get the chance to go—”
His eyes seemed to lighten again. Probably because he’s resting his elbows on the counter, attention focuses solely on me, but the fluorescent lights over our heads are making his intense gaze twinkle.
“All the more reason you should take me up on my offer. Call it a Halloween date. We get pie, maybe some milkshakes, and the two of us take a spin around Shadowvale in my new car.”
I didn’t have any plans for Halloween. Going on a date with a sexy guy… that’s definitely tempting.
Wait—
“That’s really your car?’
He nods proudly. “Just got it today. A 1968 Ford Mustang.”
Oh. So he’s got money, too. To have a car like that just to go along with a Halloween costume at his age…
yeah. There are folks in Shadowvale who are absolutely loaded.
I almost wonder if he’s one of the infamous Reed twins I’d heard about—the guys who run this town—but he can’t be.
They’re powerful business men, obviously older than this Johnny.
Scaries, too, based on what Derek told me.
But Johnny Gray… he’s like a man plucked right out of my wildest fantasies, and I can hardly believe he’s here.
Am I dreaming? I nearly pinch myself because, I swear, I’ve got to be dreaming.
Looks, charm, money, and he’s asking me out. If it’s not a dream, it has to be a setup or a trap, but it doesn’t matter, does it? I still have this sudden urge to look past all that and jump into his passenger’s seat.
It would be crazy. Reckless and wild and crazy.
But I can’t.
“I’m sorry. I’d love to, but I’m working until six. Maybe some other time.”
He cocks his head. “But it’s only Halloween tonight.”
True. “I know. But—”
I forgot all about Emily. I had no clue she was standing there all along after giving up on fixing the jukebox again. The music still played, but all I was doing was gazing like a lovesick puppy dog at Johnny Gray until she clears her throat.
“You should go.”
What?
“Emily?”
“I mean it. The diner’s dying down, and once trick-or-treating starts, we probably won’t see anyone unless they’re after a free cup of coffee. We’ve got this.”
“You heard her.” That’s Johnny, voice full of laughter and a tease that does strange things to my belly. “Come on, sweetheart. You deserve a break. You and me… we can have the kind of day dreams are made of.”
It should be cringey. The way he’s laying it on so thick just because he’s a greaser in a new Mustang and I just so happened to be wearing a poodle skirt…
I should be laughing off this try-hard… but I’m not.
It doesn’t even occur to me. As though someone is compelling me toward him, I reach out, brushing my fingers over the top of his hand.
“If Em says, I can—”
“Go, sugar. Enjoy your Halloween. After all, you only live once.”
Well.
Okay, then.
“Let me just get my purse.”
Johnny props his chin in his hand, eyes sparking with amusement… amusement and something I can’t quite place right now. “Don’t worry, Cassidy. I’ll be waiting right here for you.”