Table 10: Part 1: A Novella Series by Kate Jiffy

Author:Kate, Jiffy [Kate, Jiffy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Enchanted Publications
Published: 2017-04-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6

It’s Monday morning, and normally I’d punch the snooze button like it’s my job, but when my alarm goes off, I’m already awake. Actually, my body has been awake for hours with crazy, steamy dreams of Nathan Hendricks. He doesn’t come to the diner on the weekends. Some small part of me was hoping he’d show up anyway, but no such luck. So, this morning, all I can think about is seeing him. I shouldn’t. I know. I’m being a stupid girl. But I can’t help it. And I swear I tried. I tried thinking about other things, reading a book … I even worked late with LuAnne on Saturday, even though I didn’t have to.

Seeing that it’s only 4:15 in the morning, it’s still dark, and there are hardly any cars out. As I walk, I look up at the city skyline and wonder if Nathan lives in any of those tall buildings. Does he have an apartment? Or maybe he lives in midtown? I guess it’s even possible that he drives in from one of the suburbs. For some reason, he seems like an apartment kind of guy. Luxury. But something manly.

Suddenly, I’m rudely yanked out of my daydreaming of Nathan. It all happens so fast that I have no idea what to make of it. One second I’m contemplating living spaces and ogling the skyline, and the next I’m lying flat on the sidewalk, staring up at nothing but blackness … and a street light. It takes me a moment for things to register. The pain in the back of my head is not helping the process. As I roll over onto my side, I see the retreating form of a person in a hoodie, running full speed in the opposite direction, with my bag in tow.

“Shit,” I yell out for lack of a better response. My hand slaps the hard pavement, causing me even more pain.

I don’t know if I’m more pissed off that someone just took my bag and ran or that I’m lying on the dirty sidewalk and currently experiencing the worst pain in my head since the night I got drunk on Hot Damn.

“Ow,” I groan, rolling the rest of the way over and pushing myself off the ground.

After I get my bearings and feel around the back of my head to make sure I’m not bleeding, I realize what a huge inconvenience this is. He stole my bag, which didn’t have much in it—my wallet, maybe like ten bucks, my bus card, my keys. Shit. The keys are the worst thing because one goes to the back door of the diner, and the other is to my apartment, which I’ll have to pay two hundred dollars to have replaced. I learned that one the hard way already.

Tears spring to my eyes, even though I don’t want them to, and not because my head hurts, even though it does. Frustration and just wanting to catch a damn break. That’s what does it.

Why

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