Read Online Jeremy (Broken Angel #4) by L. G. Castillo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: L. G. Castillo
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yet.”
“But, Mom,” Sammy whined.
Jeremy made his way to the back corner as Sammy trailed after his mother. When he neared the corner, three guys pushed away from their table getting ready to leave. As they stood, the busboy zoomed in out of nowhere with a black plastic bus tub. The lanky boy was lost in a sea of fabric from an oversized t-shirt with the words “Sammy’s Taco Shack” written on the back. His damp hair was slicked back. It looked like it had been gelled to death in desperation to get it to lie down flat into submission. Despite that, a couple of stray hairs spiked out.
Jeremy staggered back, nearly missing crashing into one of the locals. His elbow bumped into the busboy’s soft chest.
“Sorry, dude,” he said.
“Who are you calling a dude?”
Jeremy blinked as he gazed down at the boy’s brown eyes, eyes that were framed by long lashes. His eyes drifted down to the boy’s slender throat to the top of his shirt. Pink strings from a bikini top peaked out from the t-shirt’s neck.
“You’re a girl!”
11
B rown eyes glared at him , unblinking.
“Uh, I mean, I didn’t notice with your . . . sorry, miss.” Damn! He must’ve really been out of it.
He shifted uncomfortably. This was a first. He’d never been at a loss for words with anyone, particularly women, or in this case, a girl.
He smiled, flashing his dimple, hoping to make up for his obvious mistake. She looked at him, and for a moment her eyes appeared to glaze over. She had that same dazed look most girls had when they met him. Her breath hitched as she gazed at him.
Now this is more like it. This was much more familiar territory.
“That’s not a miss. That’s my sister, Leilani. Come on, Jeremy. Mom’s gonna bring us ham tacos,” Sammy said, carrying two large glasses of soda as he headed to the table. They sloshed over his hands and onto the floor.
Leilani blinked as if coming out of a daze. Then she took a step back, narrowing her eyes at him again. She turned and snatched empty plates from the table, tossing them into the plastic tub.
“Oh my God, Sammy. You can’t feed the tourist that. You’ll send him screaming back to LA. You’re from LA, aren’t you?”
He took the sodas from Sammy and placed them on the table. “Nope. And I think I can handle ham in a taco.”
“It’s not really ham. It’s made from that,” she whispered, pointing to the luncheon meat cans stacked along the wall-length counter across the room.
He balked at the blue cans. “You put that in a taco?”
“Boy, you really are a haole.”
“Leilani!” Sammy’s mother cried. Her head poked out of the pass through window above the counter.
“I’m trying to get Sammy to stop using that word, and you’re not helping,” she said, placing a tray full of food on the ledge. “Come over here and take these plates to our guest.”
Leilani scowled. She let out an overdramatic sigh and dropped the dish-filled tub with a loud clatter. She trudged to the pass window, mumbling, “This is slave labor.”
“Are you sure you’re not from LA?” Sammy asked.
He shook his head, answering Sammy’s questions while he listened to Sammy’s mother and Leilani arguing in hushed whispers. The boy was an endless chatterbox, asking one question after another, like why did he have such big feet, did all people from LA have white teeth, and did the kids call him the “H-word” when he was in school.
“We’ve talked about this before, Leilani,” her mother whispered from the window.
Leilani shoved a hand into her pocket and pulled out what looked like gum. Taking off the wrapper, she popped it into her mouth. “Come on, Mom. Sammy’s a smart kid. He knows when he’s being picked on. He needs to toughen up.”
“I seem recall a little girl in pigtails running home crying, too, when someone made fun of her hula performance in the first grade.”
Leilani slapped a stack of napkins onto the tray, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, well, I
“But, Mom,” Sammy whined.
Jeremy made his way to the back corner as Sammy trailed after his mother. When he neared the corner, three guys pushed away from their table getting ready to leave. As they stood, the busboy zoomed in out of nowhere with a black plastic bus tub. The lanky boy was lost in a sea of fabric from an oversized t-shirt with the words “Sammy’s Taco Shack” written on the back. His damp hair was slicked back. It looked like it had been gelled to death in desperation to get it to lie down flat into submission. Despite that, a couple of stray hairs spiked out.
Jeremy staggered back, nearly missing crashing into one of the locals. His elbow bumped into the busboy’s soft chest.
“Sorry, dude,” he said.
“Who are you calling a dude?”
Jeremy blinked as he gazed down at the boy’s brown eyes, eyes that were framed by long lashes. His eyes drifted down to the boy’s slender throat to the top of his shirt. Pink strings from a bikini top peaked out from the t-shirt’s neck.
“You’re a girl!”
11
B rown eyes glared at him , unblinking.
“Uh, I mean, I didn’t notice with your . . . sorry, miss.” Damn! He must’ve really been out of it.
He shifted uncomfortably. This was a first. He’d never been at a loss for words with anyone, particularly women, or in this case, a girl.
He smiled, flashing his dimple, hoping to make up for his obvious mistake. She looked at him, and for a moment her eyes appeared to glaze over. She had that same dazed look most girls had when they met him. Her breath hitched as she gazed at him.
Now this is more like it. This was much more familiar territory.
“That’s not a miss. That’s my sister, Leilani. Come on, Jeremy. Mom’s gonna bring us ham tacos,” Sammy said, carrying two large glasses of soda as he headed to the table. They sloshed over his hands and onto the floor.
Leilani blinked as if coming out of a daze. Then she took a step back, narrowing her eyes at him again. She turned and snatched empty plates from the table, tossing them into the plastic tub.
“Oh my God, Sammy. You can’t feed the tourist that. You’ll send him screaming back to LA. You’re from LA, aren’t you?”
He took the sodas from Sammy and placed them on the table. “Nope. And I think I can handle ham in a taco.”
“It’s not really ham. It’s made from that,” she whispered, pointing to the luncheon meat cans stacked along the wall-length counter across the room.
He balked at the blue cans. “You put that in a taco?”
“Boy, you really are a haole.”
“Leilani!” Sammy’s mother cried. Her head poked out of the pass through window above the counter.
“I’m trying to get Sammy to stop using that word, and you’re not helping,” she said, placing a tray full of food on the ledge. “Come over here and take these plates to our guest.”
Leilani scowled. She let out an overdramatic sigh and dropped the dish-filled tub with a loud clatter. She trudged to the pass window, mumbling, “This is slave labor.”
“Are you sure you’re not from LA?” Sammy asked.
He shook his head, answering Sammy’s questions while he listened to Sammy’s mother and Leilani arguing in hushed whispers. The boy was an endless chatterbox, asking one question after another, like why did he have such big feet, did all people from LA have white teeth, and did the kids call him the “H-word” when he was in school.
“We’ve talked about this before, Leilani,” her mother whispered from the window.
Leilani shoved a hand into her pocket and pulled out what looked like gum. Taking off the wrapper, she popped it into her mouth. “Come on, Mom. Sammy’s a smart kid. He knows when he’s being picked on. He needs to toughen up.”
“I seem recall a little girl in pigtails running home crying, too, when someone made fun of her hula performance in the first grade.”
Leilani slapped a stack of napkins onto the tray, avoiding eye contact. “Yeah, well, I
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