White Hair and Red Eyes 

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"Remember to lock up when you're done! Thanks, my love, I owe you," Blaire hollered as she made her way out of the diner. Pausing at the door, she turned back, bright red hair swishing as she did so. Her ruby red lips pursed in thought.

"Sugar, are you sure you don't want me to stay tonight? I know I didn't really help today, and you'll be alone tonight, with Ox leaving and all." I looked at her, raising my eyebrows.

"Blaire," I deadpanned. "You look hot as fuck. Look at you! Gimme a spin," I twirled my pointer finger at her. She let out a laugh, but complied, her sparkly black dress ruffling out around her. "Full offense, I'd be disrespected if you didn't go."

She started to say something, but I smiled and waved off her concern. "C'mon Blaire, this guy's as serious as you are about him, go have fun; I got this." Shrugging, I added, "I've got the temp cook in the back, nothing will happen to me."

"But Tallum, it's Sunday night and I know what kind of guys come in," she chewed her lips. "Especially those bikers."

"You spent over an hour getting ready, Aire," I dryly noted. "And again, you look smoking hot. I'm not about to let you not have fun."

"But-"

"Blaire," I mockingly repeated, hands on my hips and in a sassy twang, told her "Go. It's 10:30 PM. Who the hell shows up thirty minutes before close? It's no biggie, go." Stressing the 'go', I ushered her out with my broom.

"I'll go- only because I know how much of a stubborn hoe you can be," Blaire nodded in the same sassy twang as me.

"And because you're gonna get laid tonight!" I shot back and she giggled in laughter. Giving me one last wave, she left. I heard the soft hum of her car and the gravel under her tires as she pulled out of the lot.

I sighed, knowing the next thirty minutes were going to pass by very, very slowly. It was slow for a Sunday, the last customer leaving as Blaire got ready. The unoccupied seats gave the open room a slightly menacing aura, and goosebumps erupted on my arms.

Lacing my fingers together in front of me, I raised my hands and stretched. If I began cleaning right now, I'd have enough time to finish studying for the test I had the next day.

Mentally noting everything I had to do to properly close the diner, I grabbed the broom again and walked over to the surround sound system. Because the diner also served as a bar, they played all times of music to appease the customers. Since there were no customers, I could play whatever I wanted. Let's go.

I knew the cook didn't really have a preference (except for country, he had... an unusual hatred for that genre as his wife left him for a "country music listening bastard"), I pressed the shuffle button and cranked up the volume, not minding the song that came on.

Besides, I wasn't musically inclined anyways. But the song that was currently blaring was something my father exposed to me as a child, so I didn't mind.

Because the volume was loud and I was so close to the speakers, I didn't hear the distinctive roar of motorcycles outside the diner. Nor did I hear the door of the diner open.

Bobbing my head to the sound of the electric guitar, I began sweeping, allowing myself to get lost in the music.

I was so immersed in the music, I didn't notice the stranger in the diner until I accidentally bumped into him.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Turning around in shock, the broom in my hand ready to be utilized as a weapon, I audibly gasped when I made eye contact with the person I bumped into.

Muttering a quick "sorry" I immediately jumped back, taking in his persona.

The first thing I noticed was the white hair. His flamboyantly color hair was spiky, messy, and everywhere, even with a black headband to keep it civilized. No way it was natural, it was too ethereal of a color to be natural.

The second thing I noticed were his eyes. Holy shit, they were red. Not just a washed out red, a sensual garnet, an expressive crimson. They were currently amused, the expressing giving him a dangerous glint.

Looking away from his face, I observed the patched black leather jacket adorning his well-muscled upper body, the faded Rolling Stones shirt, the chained necklace with a single gold ring hanging from his neck, and black-skinny-jeans-but-not-skinny-jeans on his lanky legs.

He had on worn Doc Martins on his feet, and somehow, instinctively, I knew he invited danger wherever he went.

Sliding my eyes over his figure again, I made eye contact with him, again, fully expecting red eyes. Instead, they were a dark black color. What the hell? Regardless of how much I wanted to, I didn't let my shock show on my face. Stay calm, cool, and collected, Tallum.

He was slouched over, the form something most motorcycle riders that came into the bar had, but once he saw that I had my full attention on him, he subtly straightened up.

"Yo," he lazily drawled. "You still open?" His voice sent shivers down my spine. It was liquid cocaine. He was liquid cocaine. Damn.

"Yeah," I hesitantly said. For some reason, I didn't want to be alone with him in the bar.

"My boys outside want some grub," he began in the sane lazy drawl. "Thought I'd come in to make sure you were open before they came in here making a mess," he clarified and grinned at my wide eyes.

I heard the ping of a bell and turned around to see the temp cook looking at me expectantly. That was our thing- if I had trouble with a customer, I'd nod twice, and he'd call the cops. I furrowed my brows, but shook my head no. For some reason, a part of me wanted to interact more with this guy.

I let out a breath that I didn't realize I was holding in.

"No, no, we're open-" I glanced up at the clock above the surround system, "For another twenty minutes if you and your boys want to eat." This was solely for the good of the business, I thought to myself. Even though this stranger was very interesting. The diner would make our end of day sales, I mentally muttered to myself, somewhat hyperventilating at the thought of dealing with these guys on my own.

"Sweet," he grinned widely, stretching the word out, his deep voice causing my toes to curl. "Lemme go get 'em." He turned around to walk back out, but quickly pivoted. Giving me another blood rushing grin (what the hell was wrong with me?), he said, "On second thought, lemme order before I get 'em."

Take the order. Fake it till you make it. You got this.

"Sure," I leaned the broom against the table on my left. Pulling out the notepad and pen from my apron, I quirked my eyebrow, "what can I get ya?"

As he relayed the order, my eyes grew wide. This wasn't just going to make the end of sale for the night, it was going to make the week!

"Oh, and add on a toy with the kid's meal, please." He ran his hand through his hair, making it even more messy. "Cone will go batshit crazy if they don't get a toy with the kid's meal." He sheepishly admitted, "and I don't wanna deal with that shit."

I grinned at the reluctant admission, maybe this guy wasn't as terrifying as I thought he'd be. Maybe I assumed too soon. I repeated his order to him and when he nodded in confirmation, I tallied up his total.

"Alright, your total for the night is four hundred and seventy dollars and twenty-nine cents. It'll be ready in about 20 minutes, give or take. Is that okay with you?"

"Does that include the tip?" He winked as he said that, and if it were any other guy, I'd be repulsed at the act. With this white-haired stranger, though, it made my belly flutter.

"Uh, no because you're not dining in," I nodded. Why I was acting this awkward was beyond me, but for some reason, I was stumbling over my words like a schoolgirl!

"Nah, for dealing with our late and demanding asses, you deserve a tip. I'll add that in when I come grab the food and pay for it," he gave me a wide smile, his teeth shiny, clean, and white. And he had a nice smile, too? Damn was there anything wrong about this boy?

"The name's Soren for the order, by the way," he added on as I ripped the paper off to give to the temp cook.

I let out a dry laugh at the game he was playing. Deciding to indulge him, I mock whispered, "Oh yeah, thanks for that, don't want to get your order lost in this sea of people." I had no idea where the courage to sass him back came from, but he appreciated it.

He barked out a laugh that had my belly tingling with an unknown emotion. As he left the diner, he looked over his shoulder and slyly winked back, "maybe, or I just wanted to give my name to you."

His departure left a lingering sense of curiosity in the air. As he left the diner, he took a right. I watched him weave through the bikes in the parking lot, and I could see the profile of his face, a smirk playing on his lips.

Shaking my head, to get rid of the thoughts that plagued my mind, I resumed my cleaning. We closed in 15 minutes and that meant I had 15 minutes before dealing with Soren again. For some reason, it excited me. I found myself stealing glances toward the entrance, half expecting Soren to walk back in at any moment, knowing full and well I still had time left.

Soon enough, I finished my nightly duties and was waiting by the counter for Cook to finish cooking. As I was packing up the food, the bell above the door chimed, and my heart skipped a beat.

Just as I was about to dismiss the fluttering excitement within me as mere fantasy, I looked back to see Soren strolling back in. His eyes found mine, and a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Mind if I join you?" He walked up to where I was and leaned against the counter.

I couldn't help but smile, a genuine warmth spreading through me. "Sure, be my guest. I'm almost done packing your food."

He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I figured if I was going to give my name, I might as well see if it left an impression."

"Oh, definitely," I shot back. With a roll of my eyes, I turned my attention back to my task. I couldn't shake the intrigue that Soren had stirred within me. The usual routine became somewhat more animated for a Sunday night.

As I packed up the food, Soren took a seat at the counter. The quiet hum of the refrigerator and the distant clattering of dishes being washed provided a soothing backdrop to the night.

"Alright, here is your food," I turned around and began handing him his many bags. "And here is where you can pay for it."

As he followed the prompt on the pay pad, I couldn't help but take another look at him. He really was handsome. But since I hadn't seen him before, it was highly unlikely I'd see him again.

Once Soren completed the transaction, he leaned back against the counter, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "You know," he said, breaking the comfortable silence, "I may have overstated Cone's need for a toy. I just wanted an excuse to come back in and talk to you."

I raised an eyebrow, a mixture of surprise and amusement dancing in my eyes. "Well, I appreciate the honesty. It's not every day someone uses a kid's meal as a conversation starter. But you had to come back in to grab your food."

He chuckled, the sound resonating in the quiet diner. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, right?"

I couldn't help but laugh along with him, feeling a warmth spreading in the quiet space between us. As the clock on the wall ticked away the remaining minutes before closing time, I found myself wishing the night wouldn't end.

"Maybe next time you're passing by you won't need an excuse to stop by," I laughed, handing him his receipt.

He pocketed the receipt with a smirk. "Thanks for the food and the company."

With that, he made his way to the door, leaving the diner with the soft chime of the bell. I watched him disappear into the night, a smile lingering on my face. The routine of closing the diner had indeed taken an unexpected turn, and the promise of more conversations with Soren left me eagerly anticipating the next time the bell above the door would chime, signaling his return.

But Sweet Jesus, I couldn't wait to tell Blaire everything she had missed. 

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Written for @justwriteit's #8ChapterChallenge

posted 11/28/23