Page 26 of Good For Me

Jas

Sunday morning at June’s Diner is always slammed. Whenever I’m stressed or my brain feels overloaded, I ask Deb, the manager, to put me on the schedule for a few hours on Sunday. The non-stop work is the best way I know to turn my brain off for a few hours. The fact that this building is more of a home to me than any apartment I ever lived in helps, too. Some girls my age are into essential oils and scented candles for self-care. I find the smell of bacon grease and coffee far more soothing.

Once the morning rush starts to taper out, my best friend Brie slides up next to me behind the counter. She grabs her own prep work tub and gets to work rolling silverware.

“You planning to tell me why you showed up this morning?”

I don’t meet her eye. “I wanted to pick up a few hours.”

She scoffs. “You only wait tables when you’re stressed about something.”

The very worst thing about friendships that survive since childhood is how difficult it is to ever hide something.

“It was a long week,” I say, knowing the answer won’t satisfy her.

She studies the side of my face for a while as we both roll our silverware. “We’re still on for dinner tonight?” she asks. Since Asshole Kurt (as he will now forever be known) insisted on taking me out on my birthday, I’d planned to have a chill night in with Brie tonight to celebrate. I have a feeling our chill night was just upgraded to an inquisition.

“Of course.” It’s not that I’m opposed to telling her about my Friday—though I’m not exactly looking forward to seeingI told you soflash through her eyes when I tell her about Kurt. I am opposed to having this conversation here in the middle of the diner.

The bell over the door rings. “Oh, joy,” Brie mutters. “The Geriatric Gossip Club is arriving.”

“Miss Jasmine Mae, what on earth are you doing behind that counter?” a gruff voice calls and I don’t even have to look up to know who’s talking to me.

“I’m helping out,” I shoot back. “Mind your own business, you nosey old man.”

Carl laughs and heads over to their usual table. I grab a carafe of coffee and a tray full of clean mugs from under the counter. “Have fun with that,” Brie says.

“They aren’t that bad.”

She scoffs. “That’s because you’re their favorite.”

“They have good taste.” She smacks my ass as I walk away to bring coffee to the guys’ table. Carl is the first to arrive, like he always is, but the others won’t be far behind. These guys spend hours every Sunday afternoon, without fail, at this same table. They eat, play cards, gossip like teenagers, and give the wait staff a hard time. Brie is definitely right about me being their favorite, but that doesn’t mean they go easy on me and today won’t be any different.

“How you doing, Carl?”

“Can’t complain.” He eyes me over the rims of his thick black glasses. “I thought you were going to that fancy school so you wouldn’t have to sling eggs and coffee all day like your Pops.”

“I like it here,” I argue, setting his coffee in front of him. “Where else would I find such charming company?”

He grins. “You flirting with me, young lady? What would my Maggie say?”

“Please for the love of God take him off my hands?”

He’s still laughing uproariously when the next member of their little group joins us. “Jasmine, honey, why are you working?” Mark asks. “I thought you hung your apron up for good?”

“Why do you always have to be in my business?” I ask, sliding the rest of the mugs into place around the table. “Can’t a girl earn a little extra money?”

I don’t tell them the real reason I’m here. My grandfather’s old friends are very protective of me. I spent half my childhood in this diner. These guys became bonus parental figures a long time ago. So it would be pretty damn awkward to tell them that I’m trying to get my mind off the hours of mind-blowing sex I had two nights ago.

“You need money, Jassy?” Carl asks, grinning up at me. “I have this great opportunity I could set you up with. Just two hundred bucks gives you a buy in and—”

“Get away from her, you old crook,” Lou mutters, joining us. “Jas, don’t ever take financial advice from Carl. He’s a swindler.”

“And a dumbass,” Mark throws in.

“Don’t know why I hang out with any of you,” Carl mutters, reaching for the sugar packets.

Lou doesn’t sit with the others. Instead, he turns his scowling expression on me and I suppress a groan. He’s going to give me shit for being in his diner, just like he always does.