Virgin Lips

12. Let me tell you a story

When I heard a knock on my door for the eleventh time, I hid deeper under the covers. Of course, he read the message and he immediately followed me home. If he wasn't such a nice guy, I'd seriously believe he's a stalker and a serial killer, because who in their sane mind would put this much effort into bonding with someone like me?

It must have been a couple of months since he arrived, and at this point he must have made some friends. There's Valerie even. So why keep this up? Why insist so much on me? I don't understand it. Not even Faith and Hope pay this close attention to me, and we've been friends since college.

That's the kind of friends I like, you know. Those that check in now and then but mostly stay away. Ben, however ... Ben seems to be one of those friends that need to obsessively hear from you every day and be absolutely sure you're okay. Nothing wrong with that, but for someone like me, it gets suffocating. Don't get me wrong, in a way, deep down, I appreciate it. In other ways ... it's too much.

We barely know each other, yet he barges in claiming I need a makeover and that he's determined to drag me out of my shell. What's so wrong with a safety shell? All the animals with shells die if they are left without it. It's a safety net.

Finally, Ben stopped knocking on the door. Reese and Shaw, who had been there meowing at him - I'm not sure whether they'd been wishing he could just teleport in or just go away –, came running and jumped into bed. I turned off my phone right after that message, but the chances someone other than Ben himself had tried to contact me were pretty slim. I would have to get up soon anyway: Scott changed my shifts for the month, because of that "sick day" Ben extorted out of him, so now I have to work the night shift. It's not as much of a punishment as he thinks, to be honest: the diner is mostly empty at night, people go eat in fancier places, so I can even relax and maybe read a bit. The only problem will be going out with bumping into Ben and his persistence.

--

Phew. I made it. Seems Ben gave up, finally. I won't deny I half regret it, but I can't handle this, it's just too stressful.

The diner was wonderfully quiet. The second shift is usually like that: it starts super busy, even more than in the morning, but then by 8-9 pm, it dies down, and the only clients are 20-something people on their way to some party. The most beautiful thing about the night shift, however, is that Scott goes home halfway through it. Well, he doesn't exactly go home, but he leaves, and that's enough for me. Everything is better when Scott isn't there, I think even the diner looks somewhat more decent when it's over isn't around.

Aside from the 20-something people I mentioned above, most of the night shift customers are law enforcement: either cops patrolling or coming to get something to eat before their shift begins, sometimes firefighters, since there's a station nearby. And no, none of the firefighters that come in here are anywhere near hot, in case you're wondering.

If this was a chick flick, I would be the lucky lonely girl that gets swept off her feet by a handsome and heart of gold firefighter, but this is the Joanna Brooks Show, where most of the luck was used up to get the final candy bar from a vending machine about 15 years ago.

"Well, hello, there!" Officer Ford greeted as she came in, taking me off guard while I was reading – like I said, no Scott, barely any client, a lot of time to myself, which I always use to read.

"Hi." I greeted, uncertainly looking up from my book. Scott hasn't 'accidentally' hit me in a week or two, but it's probably due to this woman putting the proverbial fear of God in him. She comes here regularly now, and sends him those stern looks that are meant to say 'I don't like you, I'll be happy to take you down'.

As she made her way up to the counter, I stood straight, and closed my book, albeit regretfully. I forced to smile a bit, not because I don't like her, but because I'm just not the smiley, chatty type, you'll have learned that by now. Not even Ben could succeed.

"I didn't expect to find you here!" Officer Ford exclaimed, surprised yet seemingly glad, as she came to sit at the counter. "Since when you work the night shift?" She asked, placing her cap onto the seat next to her, as if saving it for someone else.

"This is the first night." I replied, trying not to look to unhappy. Officer Ford is a kind woman, if she seems me even the slightest bit downcast, she'll immediately think it's Scott's fault and start tearing him down. Not that I'd mind seeing that asshole thrown off his self-made pedestal, but you know, if the diner closes, I lose a job, and I've always been a fan of not starving.

"For how long?" She tilted her head to the side, halfway between doubtful and observing.

"Just this month."

She pursed her lips for a long, long moment, then finally she erupted in a huge grin. "Great! I'm on night shift, too, this month. At least it means I meet a friendly face before starting my patrol through this dumpster."

I smiled faintly. "Nice."

"So, how are you?"

"I'm ok."

"You sure?" Read: do I have to come back in the morning and shoot your employer? She's a peculiar lady and an even more peculiar cop, I'll say that. But she's nice, and it's not very often that people are nice to me.

"Yeah."

"Then what's that frown, girl?" She furrowed her brows.

I chuckled a bit. "I'm ok, thanks, Officer Fo-"

"Ah ah! What did I say?"

"Michelle."

"Better." She grinned, then glanced at the menu. "So, what are you gonna give to a starving woman?"

I thought about it for a little bit, then finally nodded, and headed over to place the order for her. She likes my tastes, she says, so she always lets me order for her.

"Can you make that two?" Michelle asked the cook, to which he nodded. When I turned to her, a little bit confused, she shrugged, explaining: "I've got my rookie with me tonight." That explains why she kept the seat next to her occupied.

I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket for the umpteenth time since I started my shift. Nope, Ben didn't give up. He sent me so many messages while my phone was off, and even more after I turned it back on while heading to work. Anyone would be happy he's so persistent, I know. But I'm not just anyone, am I?

While I was busy deleting my notifications, I heard the front door bell ring, and Michelle exclaim: "Finally! What took you so long!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I ..." A young guy in his late twenties cleared his throat nervously, "I couldn't find anywhere to park, ma'am ..."

"You're a cop, you park wherever you damn well please, honey." Michelle rolled her eyes as she turned back to me. "Can you believe this guy?" She scoffed, while at the same time removing her cap from the seat next to her, so that he could reach her.

I remained dumbfounded, though. Not at her manners, no. But at the realization that hit me the moment the guy sat down beside Michelle. Me being so blind, it was difficult to make out his features from afar, but now ...

"Joanna?" He called.

"Hey, Jeremy ..." For the billionth time today, my face went crimson red and my heart started doing somersaults. This time, however, it was for a different reason than humiliation. You'd think New York is big enough for people to never meet, yet lately it's so damn small. Who is Jeremy, you'll ask? Well, let me tell you a story.