• Author's Note: This is a story I've been working on for a few months. :] There's actually a lot more written, typed, and ready for review, but... I decided to only post the first chapter, to see how much everyone likes it. ^^ if you want more, PM me and I'll give you a link to the rest!!


    Chapter 1: Life sucks, unless it involves hot guys.

    “Order up!”

    I groaned and looked back in the general direction of the front counter by the kitchen. “Coming, coming,” I shouted back, followed by a long, exasperated sigh. I was supposed to be on break. Why were they bothering me already?

    I hated my job at Doug’s Place. It was so long, boring, and pointless, in my opinion. But how else could I earn the money I needed to pay the rent? I’d been kicked out of my mom’s place already, which meant no room, no food, and no allowance. I guess it was a better job than something like… oh, I don’t know. Driving garbage trucks, mopping school floors, or something in the food business. Oh wait, that’s me. In the food business. A waitress.

    Doug’s Place was probably worse than other places, though. Before I got fired, I had been a waitress at a different restaurant down the street. Work there wasn’t actually too bad. But this place was a lot worse. It was kinda like a small, modern day tavern. It was dark, and the air smelled like cigarette smoke and liquor. The walls were wooden and worn, and the only customers we really got were wrinkled old men who had lost their sense of taste. The lecherous barbarians tended to get drunk on the alcohol sold at the bar, and… well let’s just say they’re all very lucky I wasn’t allowed to hurt anybody in the Place that had money.

    I glanced up one more time at the bathroom mirror as I attempted in vain to brush my long black hair into place. Well, except it was closer to dark silver than black, and some people liked to make fun of me for it. Marri the old woman. I’d try coloring it darker if I had the money, and I was definitely due for a haircut in the near future, again, if I had the money. My eyes ran over features so familiar nothing stood out anymore—pale, thin face, light blue eyes, a mix of annoyed and bored-out-of-my-mind expression. The details blended together to become the boring face that was mine.

    “Marrisa Rose! I said, order up!”

    I hissed under my breath and threw a furious glare in the direction of the kitchen. Stomping out of the bathroom, I began to mutter unintelligently to myself. I hated when someone called me Marrisa. I hated that name.

    “It’s Marri,” I snapped when I got closer, then instantly bit my lip to stop myself from saying more. I didn’t want to lose control of my temper. Again. I’d probably get fired. Again. This was my sixth job this month. It wouldn’t be much longer until the entire country was familiar with my reputation.

    Yeah, I know, it’s only a name. Nothing to get so worked up about. That’s what most people would think, but to me it did matter. It mattered plenty. And it’s not like it was my fault I was this way. So I had standards—what was wrong with that? I blame my mother, Angeline. She raised me to be how I am today. Actually, you know what? I take that back. I don’t think it’s fair to say she raised me, because I raised myself. She was useless without my dad, Jonathan, around.

    Speaking of my dad, I barely even remembered the old man. It had been almost ten years since he had left. The only contact I had ever gotten from him was a package on my 17th birthday. It was a watch; the old and antique kind that hung from a chain instead of wrapping around a wrist. A pocket watch—definitely not my style. It was weird though, because I always thought older pocket watches were large and bulky; this one was small, maybe the size one of those silver dollar coins. At first I wondered if this was his way of hinting me to be more punctual, or something. I wore it around my neck every day though, since I didn’t have the money to buy something more modern. I needed some way to keep track of time, right?

    Picking up the plate from the kitchen, I began to walk toward the right table. Without really meaning to, I stared down at the food I was carrying. No… Not food. The vegetable side not carrots, but rather was some kind of orange mush. It looked exactly like something a four year old had half chewed, and then spat out. Ugh. The steak was no better—it looked rubbery, and I wondered if it would bounce if dropped. I shuddered inwardly and looked up.

    “Enjoy your meal,” I groused, dropping the plate onto the table with a loud thump. Small droplets of gravy splattered onto the table. I wasn’t sure it could be classified as a meal, or even an edible substance for that matter, but whatever worked to get tips. My eyes glanced over at the poor customer I was serving—or, more honestly, poisoning—and I almost gasped aloud.

    I had just served the hottest, most delicious looking man I had ever seen. I could tell he was tall, even though he was sitting down, because of the length of his muscled upper body. His short hair was a light sandy color, and it framed his handsome, high cheek-boned face. The most noticeable thing, though, were his piercing eyes. They were a beautiful turquoise, almost sparkling with magic, and they were staring right at me. I was instantly pulled in. I couldn’t look away; those eyes were just too entrancing. I had the strangest feeling that I could have died right then and there, and I wouldn’t have noticed. Or cared.

    “Thank you, umm…” His eyes flickered away from mine for a microsecond to squint at my nametag. “Marrisa.” He spoke politely, and his voice had the slightest hint of an English accent. It was entertaining just to listen to him speak.

    I didn’t bother correcting him. I stood there like an idiot, too dazzled by his insane hotness and alluring eyes to realize he was waiting for me to reply. “N-no problem. Umm, if you ne-need anything I-I’ll be happy to help,” I stammered after an awkward pause. I did my best to not trip over my own tongue, but failed miserably.

    He looked down at his rubber and mush, and instantly, I was freed. Before he could pull me back into a stupor with the gravitational force of his eyes, I escaped to the kitchen, pushing through the heavy swinging doors. When I began to make googly eyes at random customers, no matter how handsome they may be, I knew something was wrong.

    “Hey Marri,” my coworker, Jake Conners, said with a grin. He flipped a hamburger into the air as he spoke, and then caught it expertly with his spatula at the last second. “Pretty busy today, huh?”

    I groaned. “Unfortunately.” My annoyance from earlier was beginning to creep back. I stared over Jake’s features for the hundredth time today. What else was there to do during the pointless eight hour shifts?

    Even though he was two years older, Jake was not too much taller than me—maybe three or four inches taller than my own 5’4’’. Even though he was short, he was very much in shape. Busting tables all day was more of a workout than it sounded, especially when hardly any of the food on the plates had been eaten. He had straight black hair, and had always worn it longer, covering his pierced ear (and unpierced ear) and brushing his shoulders. Usually his hair was more than one color—white, blue, green, red, etc—but today it was just black. He told me he hadn’t had time to dye it yet.

    His eyes, although usually covered by his dark hair, were beautiful in my opinion, even compared to that hot guy I had poisoned. At first glance, they were a pale, kiwi green, but upon closer inspection, it was amazing to see they turned a deep gold around the edges. Today he was wearing contacts, but generally he wore black, thick framed glasses.

    Jake saw me looking him over, and joked, “What’s up, Marri? Checking out my sexy body? My abs of steel?”

    “Haha. Yeah, you wish,” I replied, sarcasm heavy in my voice. I smiled. Jake was a good kid. He was the only one who put up with my often pessimistic views on life on a consistent basis, and the only one who could make me smile without even trying. It was weird, but I felt he could tell how I was feeling most of the time. I still couldn’t imagine why he would even bother associating with someone like me, though.

    “Miss Rose and Mr. Conners, get back to work!!” my boss, Doug, barked, his beady eyes threatening to burn holes into our skulls. His face was like a plum; rounded, plump, and reddish purple, topped off with a diminishing splotch of greasy, black hair. The only difference was that plums tended to look much more appetizing, not to mention that fact that plums usually didn’t burn things with their vision.

    “Yes Sir!” I said, and saluted mockingly as soon as his back was turned. But I obeyed, picking up a pitcher of water to patrol the tables, hunting for empty water glasses. Plum or not, this man could still fire me. And not just in the literal sense.

    As I approached the table with the incredibly mouth-watering guy, I listened in on his conversation. I wasn’t eavesdropping on purpose. I wouldn’t do that. Nope, not me. I was just a waitress, doing my job. Someone had to check to make sure he was still alive. Who knows what was in that food I served him?

    Okay, so maybe that’s a lie. The first part, anyways. I was surprised he hadn’t passed out from the substance he was consuming. I filled his glass, a lot slower than usual. I didn’t want to spill on him, right?

    “I’m not kidding! This guy was like 6’4’’. My training wasn’t even close to enough. I had no other choice,” a different, larger man sitting across from the hot guy said defensively. Whoa, had that other guy been there all along? I hadn’t even noticed. As soon as I acknowledged his existence, I didn’t pay any more attention to him. And what were they talking about? Boxing? Ooh! The hot guy’s a boxer? That must mean he’s got a great body.

    “Any special abilities?” the hot guy asked nonchalantly.

    “Nothing like yours, Drew. A little bit of elem—” He cut off suddenly as Drew shot him a dark look. I thought I saw Drew’s eyes flash up to me and then back to his friend, but it happened too quickly to be sure. I was hardly paying attention, though. Drew! That was his name. I almost fell into a trance. Drew. Drew. Drew. What a lovely name.

    “Thank you Marrisa,” the delectable Drew murmured softly, disrupting my fantasies. Without seeming to think about it, he looked up at me, those captivating blue-green eyes hypnotizing me. What a rare, stunning color. “Some more Coke, please?” Drew gestured to his empty glass, his voice like sweet, warm honey.

    “O-of course,” I responded, but my feet didn’t move.

    He sighed and looked away. I quickly spun and fled to the kitchen to get his drink, but not before I heard his friend say, “What are you doing?? God, that poor waitress.”

    “Oh, Scott. Can you not tell? She is the one,” Drew replied evenly. “I can feel it. Cute, too.”

    It was right then and there I knew I was in love.