Super for You, Bad for Me by Asta Idonea

Author:Asta Idonea [Idonea, Asta]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gay romance
ISBN: 978-1-64080-208-7
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2018-08-14T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

IT WAS during a shift at the restaurant a week later that my life took another unexpected turn. The evening had started like any other. It was midweek, so we were pretty busy, but not rushed off our feet, and most diners were already tucking into their meals, the guys in the kitchen enjoying a moment’s respite. I stood beside one of the tables, chatting to a few of the regulars in the form of pidgin English, accompanied by frequent hand gestures, at which I was by now a true proficient, when car tires screeched outside. This was loud, but louder still was the crash of breaking glass that followed.

The discordant, earsplitting sound registered before anything else, and I twisted toward it. By then the glass was already flying. A piece struck my face, and I gasped at the slash of pain. Something hot and wet trickled down my cheek. I didn’t have time to worry about that, though. Not when other, larger shards still hurtled toward us. I ducked as one piece shot overhead. Shouts filled the air. A few patrons dropped out of their seats, some injured, others seeking refuge beneath the tables. For a second or two, I was ready to join them, but at last my mind kicked into gear. I wasn’t helpless. I could fix this.

I reached for the glass. Latching on to it, I willed it to stop, but to my horror, it resisted. I’d never experienced anything like it before, and I steadfastly clung on, exerting my will. Then I flung out my hands. The physical gesture did nothing by itself; however, it helped to reinforce the command in my mind, and the resistance I’d encountered weakened and snapped. No longer propelled forward, the glass came to an abrupt stop and dropped to the ground.

Panting from my efforts, and with what felt like a tap dance troupe pounding away in my head, I stumbled a few paces and collapsed against the wall. Only then did I notice Phúc Lành. He stood across the room, staring at me openmouthed. Shit. He’d seen me stop the glass. My cover was blown and I wasn’t even in costume. I’d simply reacted; I hadn’t stopped to think about who might witness the act.

Groans and cries for help drew me back into the moment, and having caught my breath, I rushed from table to table, checking on the customers. Those who could walk headed outside. I aided those who couldn’t make it alone. Behind me, I heard Phúc Lành on the phone. He wasn’t speaking English, of course, but I imagined he was explaining the situation to a friend, asking them to call for help. Once he’d hung up, he joined me in assisting the others. Many of them had cuts and scrapes, but thankfully no one appeared seriously injured, beyond the need for some plasters, and maybe a stitch or two in the worst cases.

Everyone stood or sat on the pavement by the time the two ambulances and a police car arrived.

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