Butterface
Lucas O’Leary didn’t often question why his life always seemed to fall into place just right. He was satisfied with the outcome, after all, and it wasn’t like he didn’t work hard and give it everything he had. Just because everyone called him Lucky, didn’t mean luck really handed him everything.
But sometimes, like tonight, part of him felt a little guilty.
“ Lemme guess. Pancakes, a side of bacon, and a large milk?” His waitress didn’t even pull out her pad. He’d also never seen anyone so bored. Or tired. She seemed like a robot tonight. Or maybe a zombie.
“Long night, Liz?”
“Working a double.”
“That’s the third one this week.” God, she was only a year younger than him, but she looked closer to twenty-eight than eighteen tonight.
She pulled the towel off her shoulder and dried the ancient Formica table next to him. “Don’t you think it’s kind of sad that you know so much about your waitress? I mean, you’re some kind of soccer god at the U. Shouldn’t you be at a toga party or something?”
“I have to keep up my grades or lose my scholarship.” And if he stayed home, he’d know a lot about beer bongs and Halo and nothing about Chemistry 101. It probably wouldn’t have been any better if he lived in the dorms, but sharing a house with six teammates was proving to be more of a challenge than he anticipated. Luckily, Bing’s Diner was open all night and they served breakfast 24/7.
He watched her behind the counter, filling sugar bottles while she waited for his order. It wasn’t fair. She was just a kid. High school classes hadn’t started yet, even though his college ones had. She should be out with her friends, living up the last few weeks of summer vacation. Lord knows that’s what he always did.
“When school starts, who’s going to serve my breakfast every night?” Lucky asked when she set down his dinner.
“Oh, it’ll still be me. I just won’t be here during the day.”
“You work too hard.”
She rolled her eyes and set his bill on the table. “You’re too retarded to be a soccer god.”
She always made him laugh. She reminded him of his sister in a lot of ways. Smart, sometimes too smart, and lots of sharp edges. Not his type, though. He liked girls with rounder edges. Soft, round edges, preferably in the C range. Which made him think of Becky, the girl that sat across from him in Chem class. Now she was definitely his type. Becky was sunshine and bubble gum. Liz…well, Liz was like a thunderstorm and gummy worms. Maybe if she did something with her hair or make-up or whatever it was that girls did, she’d hook a guy.
But he liked her.
An hour later, a table of four scruffy guys came in. Lucky sent her a look of commiseration. For one thing, they’d been drinking. He’d seen enough drunk assholes in the restaurant to know that they usually made her life miserable. And it made it hard for him to study.
One of them was particularly obnoxious. He kept asking what time she got off work…did she need a ride… When he asked if she swallowed, Lucky couldn’t take anymore. He got up and started clearing their table, handing plates to Liz.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“We’re not done eating, preppy,” said the asshole.
“Oh, you’re done all right. Pay and leave.”
The jerk stood up. “Or what?”
He had the asshole on the ground with his arms behind his back in five seconds. “Hey Liz. Did I ever tell you I wrestle too?”
“Um, no.”
“What about that I taught self-defense classes twice a week at the Y back home?” he asked.
“Nope. You’re an all around sporty guy, soccer god.”
“My mom and my sister could take this guy down. I’ll teach you sometime too.” He backed off the weasel.
Lucky hoped it would end there. He probably couldn’t take all four. Okay, he definitely
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