Chapter 5: Thanks for the Meal.

Vampire Rule N°4: Unlife isn't some cheesy movie for Tweens, don't expect people to fall head over heels because you're pale and look somewhat constipated.

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Max Black was safely nestled behind the counter and nursing a much-deserved cup of coffee, she really hated working nights in the diner, but the month was ending and her wallet was empty, and being a nighttime waitress paid better than just counting on the tips of other struggling clients.

At least it's quiet most of the time, people come by to get a snack and hardly ever decide to eat it there.

However, this wasn't most days.

She held back a sigh, and squinted her eyes to have a better look at the stranger sitting at one of the table booths, his back facing her.

'Nice back,' a voice in her mind purred, and she would agree if it didn't sound like her drunken slut of a mother.

No, she wasn't a mother, she didn't deserve that title.

Mothers were supposed to look after their children, protect them from the angry, hurtful world out there. Not snort line after line of coke while two men with real ugly faces joked about the kind of fun three people could have together.

Nope, that woman was just the body she came out off.

'Bad thoughts,' She chided, and decided to punish/reward herself with a nice bottle of whiskey...before remembering how broke she was.

Maybe hot stuff would leave a nice tip?

He better, with the kind of stuff he bought, all sorts of pies, drinks and a nice serving of coffee, that's at least sixty dollar sitting on his table.

That's double what she makes in a full day's work, all ten hours of dealing with ungrateful grouches, troublesome idiots, hipsters and the occasional pervert.

And he was just blazing it as if he didn't care.

She was so busy drilling a hole behind his back that she barely noticed him turning his head to call her out.

Max froze in place for a moment, believing she just got caught checking him out, and prepared herself for the onslaught of attempts to get in her pants.

'At least, the tips are gonna be good.' She tried to see the bright side, 'and he does look yummy.'

That much was true.

With his high cheekbones, bright blue eyes, red lips so pretty she couldn't help but wonder what they tasted like. Don't get her started on his insanely soft-looking, shoulder length black hair...would it be creepy if she asked what kind of conditioner he uses?

Yeah, he looked good.

"Excuse me, could I have more coffee?" He called her, looking more amused than anything else.

"Sure," Was her answer, gliding to refill his cup and taking a good look at his table in the process.

His very full tables, filled with all kinds of food Han wouldn't let her touch without paying full price despite her working there for months.

Most of them were left untouched, he barely finished the chocolate and cherry cakes.

Those delicious chocolate and cherry cakes…

Her eyes were glued to it, now that they truly experienced what yummy was, and she rememberd that she ate nothing but a pack of gum and a few cups of coffee.

"I think I might've ordered a bit too much, would you like to have some?" He asked, and in that instant she might've kissed him if he wasn't potentially a psychopath looking to make some new age sculptures with her guts.

This was Gotham City.

Even if he wasn't a psycho killer, she had a boyfriend.

Cheating at 20 years old wasn't a good look, even if it was an improvement compared to the woman who raised her.

However, free food was free food.

"Dis is delicious," She mumbled, finishing a slice of pie in five bites without using her hands, a personal record.

"Glad you're enjoying it," The food dispenser said, looking at her cleaning his table in ways most waitresses never would, talk about going above and beyond for the client.

'Client is king, even if he's an idiot throwing away good food.' She thought, almost moaning when the chocolate melted in her mouth, now this was the life!

'Yeah, he's definitely a psycho,' She thought, he was sitting there chewing his food with a grimace as if it was cardboard.

Sure, Oleg was most certainly not a good chef, but he couldn't mess up a strawberry cheese cake that badly.

"Not good enough for you tastes?" She asked, not intending to be that harsh since he did share his food with her, despite being a reckless spender and snob jackass.

"I'm sorry?" And there he went, apologizing to make her feel bad, boy was playing around with forces beyond him, "It's quite good, just can't find the appetite."

"Why you some kind of diet-crazy model?" She pressed, half-curious and half-eager to poke the rich kid a bit, "Why'd you spend sixty bucks on shitty diner if you're just gonna throw it away?"

With the way she talked to him earlier, her tip was already gone, so why bother playing nice at this point?

Being rude wasn't as nice as money, but it had its own charm.

Him frowning and giving her a 'How is that any your f*cking business, b*tch?' before giving her an opening to throw a few jabs at his ego was the outcome she expected, it's the one she'd gotten many, many time before and likely the reason she didn't make nearly as much money as she should've on tips.

Alas, hot stuff over there was dead-set on subverting her expectations.

No, there was no shouting or cussing and no opportunity to tell him that his dick was smaller than he'd like it to be, which was always true.

Instead, that gorgeous prick had the audacity to laugh.

Her back started tingling, and she felt her stomach drop, as if she did something extremely stupid.

"I wish I was, things would be much easier that way," He kept grinning even as she gave him her best glare, "Nah, the truth is that I couldn't afford a meal these last few days, so I thought it'd treat myself now that I'm doing better…"

"Oh," was all she could say.

She didn't think he was lying, telling her he's broke as hell wasn't all that smart if he wanted to get laid, and he didn't seem the type of guy who needs to aim for a pity-f*ck.

Max didn't feel bad for him, she was burried in way too much shit to afford that kind of nonsense, she wasn't that kind of girl anyway...but she didn't feel all that good about herself for some reason.

'Must be the food, Oleg probably spat in the dough for shit and giggles.'

If she didn't feel like looking at him right now, it was for a completely unrelated reason.

But despite her best efforts, an insidious voice kept whispering in her head, a voice that sounded like an elderly african american man for some reason.

'You done messed up girl,' It said, 'Fix your mess while I go get some milk.'

It defitely wasn't coming back with the milk.

"It's still stupid though," She said more petulently than she intended, her gaze locked firmly on what was left of her cake...

If someone talked to her like that, she'd probably punch them in the nuts, and here she was dishing it out to a stranger who invited her to share his meal.

She really was her mother's daughter.

"Hm, maybe, but at least it gave me an excuse." He said, and she raised her eyes only to regret immediately.

He had no business looking that good, it should be illegal.

"An excuse to do what?" She asked, staring at his eyes way too long to be able to play it off, so she just owned it and continued ogling.

"To get a dinner date with you." He said it as if he was talking about the weather, taking a sip of his coffee.

"It's not a date." Max said, ignoring how corny he sounded, and how good it felt to hear it for some reason.

"Really? It sure does look like one."

She took a second to think about it.

A man and a woman eating and talking alone in a restaurant, albeit a rotten one.

It did look like a date.

"It isn't one though."

He looked at her with an expression universally recognized as 'Nigga please'.

"It is not a date." She insisted.

"Sure~" He said, rolling his eyes, "Then what is it?"

"I'm helping you finish your food."

"And I'm letting you ogle me, that's just part of our dinner date." He waved his hand to dismiss her words.

There was no denying her ogling, so she just ignored that part and hoped real hard that he'd let it go.

"It's two in the morning, we are not having a dinner date."

"Breakfast date then? Darn, our relationship is moving fast, can't say I dislike it though." He whistled, a small smile on his face, "What's your name by the way?"

She hated to admit defeat, but there was no way she was winning this battle, not without bringing the big guns.

"I have a boyfriend," Max said, dropping the B-bomb, and waited for the fallout.

Either he gives up, or he says he doesn't care and makes an arse of himself.

'Checkmate, b*tch.'

"Hi, 'I have a boyfriend', I'm John." He continued smiling.

Or he makes a dad joke.

Yes, this John guy was dead set on subverting her expectations.

And the worst part was that she was actually having fun.

Too much fun maybe.

Max could've flipped him off and left at any point if she truly wanted to, but she stayed put and enjoyed the banter.

At some point, she probably went a bit too far.

Maybe it was when she started laughing with him instead of at him.

Or when she let herself feel something when he started matching her humor, tentatively at first when he was not yet certain of how far she'd go, then following her into the sweet depths of political incorrectness and jokes so dark even the French football team wouldn't take them.

Maybe it was the moment she realized they were sharing one booth, their elbows touching every so often, then just kept enjoying the moment.

The looks they shared might've clued her in, but it all felt so natural, so innocent, as if they were just children sharing secrets and not two adults making dirty jokes.

But if she was honest with herself, something she tried to do as little as possible to avoid having to actually deal with her problems instead of shoving them into a corner of her mind then making jokes about them.

If she did choose to be honest, then she'd know it was too late the moment she joked about her childhood but got neither laughs nor pity.

He held her hand so gently it felt warm, despite how cold his skin really was.

"Your mother's a b*tch." He said, and that was as romantic as it could get in her books.

Yes, she might do something wrong, but she was ready to deal with the consequences.

"Ow, what the heck are you made of, dude?" She asked, rubbing her knuckles after they collided with his ribs.

"Why did you punch me?" He asked with a mock-frown and the pleased smile of a man who felt manly.

"You said my mother's a wrinkled ugly b*tch."

"You might've added a few things, but it's true."

"Yeah, but you don't get to say it." She explained, "And my hand still hurts, you should be more considerate."

"Want me to kiss it better?" He asked with a charming smile, and at that moment she felt like she was having a breakfast date with some sort of devious monster.

And she wouldn't have it any other way.

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Yo! It's Your Buddy Hamtaro!

Give me your stones, writing is mentally taxing so knowing some people out there are enjoying the story helps a lot.

Feels free to criticize, advise and suggests at your leisure. That's how a horrendous writer becomes a slightly less horrendous writer, so please do not hesitate.

I got thick skin ;)

Not gonna ask for reviews just yet, it's still pretty early and I know most of you don't want to get your hopes up with the amount of fanfics that get dropped at this stage. 

I hope you had a good time!