By t. murray All Rights Reserved ©

Romance / Drama

Three: Leo

I gazed around the small diner, to the few waitrons buzzing around with steaming cups of coffee and warm muffins. It was raining and storming, thus many had found shelter inside.

“Hey, Leo. Would you like anything else?”

I looked over at Megan, instantly recognising her by the Southern accent. She happened to be among my pile of women, although her departure had been less hostile than Gwen’s.

Her thin, dark hair was drawn back into a neat ponytail. She smiled faintly, her red lipstick perfectly complimentary to her fair skin.

“Nothing,” I muttered, glancing away.

Her smile faded, though she remained at my table. "Hold on. There’s also something I need to tell you.”

“Yeah... What’s that?” I asked dryly. I surveyed the diner for the moment of her silence, loosely noting a blond in the same pink waitresses’ uniform as Megan’s rushing out. Her hair was in sharp waves and a little messy, but it outlined her face well.

Her head whipped away from me before I could process her features, but I did get the chance to study her figure as she lowered a steaming dish to the table.

“Did you hear me, Leo?”

“Who’s the blond over there? Never seen her around before.” I gestured my head at the girl, tearing my eyes away to see Megan with an annoyed expression.

“Please concentrate. I can’t make it to that art class tonight. Can you maybe find someone else?”

My jaw tightened. “What do you mean you can’t make it?”

“My family is supposed to be-”

“You’re coming or you’re finding another subject.” I watched her face drop in surprise, her eyes going wide.

“Leo, I can’t just get someone to agree to-”

“By tonight,” I stated. I drew myself up, my head lifting over hers. If I crossed any further over the line with Ambrosia I’d never be allowed back into class. Of the very little I cared about, that class seemed to top the rest. “Are you capable of that?”

“Yes, Leo. But I don’t even know who to ask.”

My eyes looked over at the blonde waitress again.

She was cleaning up a table now, the tight uniform groping to her body as she moved between tables. My eyes travelled up her skin, causing my hand to twitch.

“Your little friend over there. Make sure she’s early.” My vision moved onto Megan’s dark brown eyes. I could vaguely remember painting their expression.

It was clear to see the worry wallowing in them. I reached up, my fingertips trailing over her strong jawline and small chin softly. “You’re going to do that for me?”

She nodded slightly, though she could no longer meet my eyes. I drew my hand back and stepped past her to leave the diner.

I came past here at least once a day. Megan was fresh out of school when we first met, the youngest I had ever painted. I regretted hers the most.

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