Free Indelibly Intimate by Regina Cole

Grill”. It fluttered to the table as he turned and headed into the dining room.
    His clothes were still strewn on the floor where she’d thrown them, his wallet still atop his pants. A quick riffle through the black leather billfold confirmed what he’d suspected. She’d taken a single hundred-dollar bill. Never mind the other three large that were in there, she only took the one she’d paid him. He’d almost rather she’d robbed him blind. He’d feel more justified for wanting to throttle her.
    Sinking into the same chair he’d sat in last night, he slumped forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and rubbing the stubble on his skull with both palms. He could have sworn she was sober enough last night to make up her mind about what she wanted, but what if she hadn’t been? What if he’d pushed her into something she didn’t want to do? He’d given her the upper hand, so to speak, but that didn’t guarantee she didn’t regret it this morning. The uncertainty slammed him in the chest, wrapping his lungs in an iron grip.
    With a heavy breath, Hammer tightened his jaw and went upstairs to shave and change. He had to see her, whether she wanted it or not. He took the stairs two at a time as he made his plan of attack. He’d be willing to bet all the money she didn’t take that she worked at Buzzard’s. He was going to stay there until he saw her again and figured out exactly what was going on.
     
    The usual purr of his bike sounded more like a growl today as Hammer pulled into the lot in front of Buzzard’s. Tension lined his shoulders as he yanked the helmet off and strode into the restaurant. He didn’t like feeling this way. Too wound up and involved. But damn it, he deserved some kind of answer for why she’d bolted. This wasn’t just some one-night stand. He didn’t roll that way.
    “Hey,” said the little blonde hostess with a smile. “Welcome to Buzzard’s. How many?”
    “Just one.” Hammer nodded. “I’d like to sit in Quinn’s section, if she’s working today.”
    “No problem. Follow me.”
    If she twitched that ass any harder, she’d fall over. Hammer smothered his wry smile as she indicated a small booth in the corner.
    “Quinn will be right with you.” Another smile, and the hostess twitched away.
    It was a typical sports bar, big TVs everywhere. A full bar spread across one side of the restaurant, lined-up liquor bottles glinting with the lights of the screens. The scent of hamburgers and chicken wings permeated the air as a cute Asian waitress walked by with a loaded tray. He nodded when he caught her attention.
    Stretching out his legs, he crossed his booted feet and scanned the restaurant for Quinn. Only about half the tables were full and other than the waitress who’d passed him, there was one woman on the floor. From her body shape and nearly black hair, it was easy to see it wasn’t his Sparky. Where was she?
    The kitchen doors swinging open answered his question. She was completely focused on the five-gallon ice bucket she was toting to the waitresses’ station around the corner so she didn’t even glance up. She looked even better today, her dark reddish hair in a smooth ponytail, those bangs hanging nearly in her eyes. Her legs were lean and athletic in short-shorts with Nikes, framing her fresh ink perfectly. From his vantage point, the tattoo seemed good, other than the expected redness.
    The other waitress brought her now-empty tray to the station by Quinn and bent next to her ear. Quinn bolted upright and her gaze flew to him as if magnetized. One corner of his mouth lifted and he gave a casual wave.
    Quinn dragged her fellow waitress out of his line of sight. He didn’t mind. He had all the time in the world.
    She didn’t keep him waiting long.
    “Do you need a menu or are you only here to get me in trouble with my boss?” Quinn held the menu against her chest like a shield.
    “I have no intention of getting you in trouble, Sparky. Where’d you run off