Brooklyn

I want to laugh. But it's seven in the morning, and I haven't had my coffee yet. But, the temptation to break into classic, hysterical Ursula on steroids from Little Mermaid laughter, is real. Since when did Camden know so much about love and fucking heartbreak? I'm no stalker, but after having mentally reviewed the caption of his post that showed up on my timeline, uninvited, is hilarious.

"Love makes you feel things. And it happens in the most unexpected situations. Love. A stupid four-letter word, I wish never existed."

I scoff, rolling my eyes. At the same time, my stomach churns at the sight of Camden's glorious six-pack abs, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, the smoke blending in well with the red aesthetic filter he used for his picture on Instagram. Why does the caption look and sound familiar? I'm instantly reminded of last night. This wasn't how I envisioned my morning to start. Camden's words still echo in my head and no matter how much I try and forget, his deep voice replays like an episode from a Netflix T.V Show.

His mouth was super close to my neck. Maybe I'm exaggerating, but it felt like he wanted to bite me. Kill me, even. No surprise here. As if by instinct, my fingers trace the area where he whispered the words in a manner that made my breathing come to a haunting standstill. It wasn't about what he said. It was the way he said it. The words.

Menacing with an air of arrogance, accompanied with vicious familiarity. Against my will, I think about the way he felt against me. Like a demon trapping his angel, ready to break every part of her. The more I think, the more my mind refuses to cooperate. Slapping my head back on the pillow, I sigh angrily before getting ready to start my morning shift at the diner.

Cindy's secret is this insanely adorable eighties themed diner, that serves the best burgers in town as well as their signature milkshakes, which are to die for. Despite the restaurant mainly specializing in fast food, their breakfast food has been in high demand, when they introduced it last week.

The bell rings as I push the door open, greeting everybody with a smile. It makes me believe I'm back in the rock 'n' roll days, where Motley Crue and Guns'N'Roses ruled the world. Posters of popular hair metal bands compliment the red and black checkered walls, as well as the tiles on the floor. On the right-hand side of the diner, is a stereo, containing vinyl selections that any customer can tune in and listen to.

"Good morning, Mr. Ronan," I smile to an older man, seated at the cash counter reading a copy of Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice'. Mr. Ronan is the owner of Cindy's Secret, who built this restaurant in the memory of his wife. The name says it all. Her name was Cindy, and whenever I see him glancing at the photo of his wife with a somber grin on his face, let alone quietly murmuring about the wonderful memories they created together, I couldn't stop the waterworks. Their story is beyond what words can describe.

Despite being in his seventies, Mr. Ronan doesn't look a day older than fifty. If he wanted to, he could still stand in for James Bond, even going far enough as to give the current generation of men a run for their money.

"How many times do I have to tell you to address me as Ronan?" he jokes, his gray eyes gleaming under the sunlight. "I don't have to be reminded about my days being numbered."

I chuckle, acknowledging his request. Setting my bag underneath the cash counter, I tie an apron around my waist, ready to get started, only for my day to be ruined.

OVER.

MY.

DEAD.

BODY.

Ignoring the urge to slam his beautiful head against the counter, I plaster on my best fake smile. "What can I get for you?" I sweetly ask Camden, who smirks at the sarcasm lathered in my voice. Bastard.

"Shouldn't you start the sentence with a 'Good Morning, kind sir, how can I be of service to you?', with a smile that actually compliments your above average face?"

"How about a bittersweet jab to your nuts and I dump your body in the trash? Will that work?" I shoot back.

He flashes me a wolfish grin, eyes hinting at sin. "If you want to play rough, then just ask. Save the rest of the anger for the bedroom."

Jerk.

"What. Do. You. Want?"

"Coffee." His eyes darken, and he places his folded arms on the counter, the scent of his minty cologne infiltrating my nostrils. "Black as my tarnished soul, but a little brown with less sunshine. Hot enough for my tongue to burn and sweet for my lips and fingers to taste. Think you got all of that?" Camden snaps, sinful blues blazing with challenge and an equal amount of malice.

Narrowing my gaze, my jaw ticks as I grab a mug, pouring the coffee from the pot and mixing in some sugar before harshly, but carefully, handing it to him.

"Close, but not what I had in mind."

Rolling my eyes, I flash him a glare.

I maneuver to the next table on my right to take another couple's order. His eyes track me. Camden smirks. "Get over yourself, baby-girl. Although, if you want me to watch...I don't see why not". Once I'm done taking the couple's order, I walk back to the counter.

"If this is about me being your fling-bling for the summer, the answer is still no." Turning my back to place the order, that's when I hear it.

"Dear Diary, I fail to understand what makes you and love so special. Love, a stupid four-letter word, I wish never existed."

His words claw at my soul, and my stomach does a sickening somersault as I stride behind him, pushing the back door of the restaurant open, letting us out into an alley.

"Where did you read that?" I screech, clenching my fists at the side. My mind is hazy when I start putting two and two together, completing the puzzle. He found my diary.

"You mean this?" Camden asks, taking out a tattered, pink journal.

"How did you find it?" I yell, reaching out to snatch it. Reflexes as smooth as a butter knife piercing a hole into the chest, Camden raises it a notch higher. Despite being five-foot eight, I'm no match against his Herculean height.

"I just happened to find it. I never thought of you to be the type to have kinks."

"Give it back!" I try grabbing at my diary like a five-year-old who's being denied her favorite toy.

"Which means you agree to be my girl for the summer."

"When did I ever agree to that?"

"Then it's out in the open," he waves the diary around, dangling from his hand.

"What's special about being your personal bitch anyway?" I question, folding my arms in front of my chest, tilting my head to the side. More importantly, why me of all people? Had it been any other girl in search of popularity, I'm sure they'd be more than happy to jump at the chance.

"Treating you to amazing sex, making out in the back seat of my car and showcasing unlimited PDA ... pretty much everywhere. Which covers point number one. Point number two? I'm perfect for the part. Given that I have this," he points at his face, "and this." He lifts his shirt up slightly, to reveal a V of muscle, intricately carved by the hands of Adonis himself. "To summarize, I'm the actor you've been looking for."

"That still doesn't address the elephant in the room."

His jaw twitches, his expression hardening. "My ex-girlfriend, Olivia- middle name- I don't care- Jenkins, cheated on me. And I want to repay the favor. Every first you listed in this pink trash, I'm at your disposal. I get the privilege of twisting the hockey stick into her chest and then we go our separate fucking ways."

I should feel bad for him. I've never been in a relationship, let alone been on a date before, but I do have a slight understanding of what it must feel like to have someone you love, betray you by doing the worst possible thing. Cheating. Or breaking up over the phone with a text. What it must be like to invest your time, your soul, every part of you to that special someone, only for them to turn their back on you, in a way nobody should ever experience. What I can't seem to fully understand, is how can someone live with so much contempt, so much pride...Doesn't it suffocate him?

"Doesn't it numb you?" I ask. I should be afraid of having dared myself to outright ask him this. But I'm no longer that scared fourteen-year-old, who'd shield her fear through the pages of the books she'd be heavily invested in. "Doesn't the conceit swirling inside you choke you from all four corners?"

"Doesn't it disturb you that you can be this stupid, yet naïve enough to ask me this?" he quips, lighting a cigarette, then takes a long drag and blows smoke into the air. He fixes me with a fierce stare. "Because bowing down to other people's shitty expectations of you isn't my fucking cup of tea. You do one nice thing for someone who you thought you could trust, and you'll never know when they might stab you in the back. You can never tell. It can be anyone. Long story short? I enjoy the art of punishing myself. I fucking love pain." he deadpans, hitting the tip of his cigarette with his forefinger, ashes falling onto the ground like black crystals, before taking another drag.

"I'm in." I give in, shifting my gaze to the gravel underneath my feet, before meeting his daunting blues. There was something about the way he spoke that really struck a chord with me. Why does it feel I'm betraying a part of myself, knowing that he is right after all? "I'll do it."

My throat closes up, my chest lurching onto my throat, when he gets into my face, hissing, "A sweet sidenote for you to keep- this is just an agreement. What happens to you isn't and will never be my fucking problem. Got it?"

"Rot in hell." I bust, millions of questions flooding my mind, one of them being what made me even want to agree to this mess of an agreement in the first place.