3
As Don pulled into the parking space in front of the restaurant, he suddenly realized that he shouldn't have taken her here. He had already known that her appearance, and their age difference would raise eyebrows inside the restaurant. He was too old and sad to care about that, but, this is where Nicole worked, and he wasn't sure what impression he'd make on her walking in with this bruised and battered teenage girl.
Don had been coming to this restaurant for years. He loved the food, but more than that, he came for Nicole. She'd worked there at least as long as he'd been coming in, and now he always asked to sit in her section. She was friendly and pretty, and she always made Don feel welcome. Maybe it was just her job, but he liked to think it was a bit more than that.
Nicole was probably younger than him, but not by much. She had nice legs, and he presumed, a nice ass under that burnt gold polyester uniform skirt. Her face was kind and bright, with beautiful green eyes framed in wavy auburn hair. And, while Don had never considered himself to be a "tits man", he did like to take surreptitious peeks at the stretched material and strained buttons of her uniform around her enormous breasts. He'd often fantasized about taking his hard cock out of her mouth, slick and dripping with her spit, and sliding it between her tits to fuck them.
Over the years, Don and Nicole had developed a friendly rapport. Sometimes, when it wasn't busy, she would sit with him for a few minutes at a time and talk with him. She'd made it clear to him more than once that she was single. And while Don tried to talk about his wife as little as possible, he knew she knew he was married. There was one conversation in particular that Don thought about quite a bit.
"How come you never come in with your wife?" Nicole had asked him, sitting in the booth across from him.
"I don't know," Don shrugged. "She's not interested."
Nicole looked at him quizzically. "Not interested in pancakes, not interested in going out, or not interested in you?"
"Yes," Don answered flatly.
"I don't understand why a woman with a good man wouldn't be interested in pancakes," she replied with a smile.
It was the most overtly she'd ever flirted with him. Don had wanted to respond in kind, but years of rust had seized up those gears in his brain. In the end he could only shrug and smile. He had played the incident over in his mind many times since. The flirting warmed him, but his response made him wince with almost physical pain. It seemed to him like a missed opportunity. More than that it felt like a setback. He feared his lack of response had told her he wasn't interested.
It was too late to leave and go to a different place now. Don would just have to take the girl in there and let the chips fall where they may. "Can you walk by yourself?"
"Yeah," she said. "I'm doing better."
As they walked towards the door, Don suggested that she go to the restroom to clean up a little. Even without the painful looking bruise and growing shiner, she was a frightful sight, with smeared makeup, disheveled hair, and bits of grass all over her. "It'll help you feel better," he suggested helpfully. As he opened the door for her, she pulled the hood far over her head and walked quickly off to find the bathroom.
"Hey," he called after her. "Do you drink coffee?"
"Yeah," she mumbled, barely turning to him as she kept walking.
The girl found Don about ten minutes later sitting in a booth. When she slid in on her side she found a cup of coffee and an orange juice already waiting for her.
Don thought she looked even prettier with her makeup washed off. She looked a bit older without it. Nevertheless, the cleaner look gave her an impression of innocence and possibility. With her makeup gone, Don could see the fading bruise on her neck
"Drink the juice first," Don suggested. "It'll get your blood sugar up. That'll help."
She pulled off the hoodie before drinking the glass of juice greedily in one long gulp. Don couldn't help but look at her as she drank. Her shirt was light blue, with two open buttons at the top. Around her neck and short sleeves was a fringe of white lace. The shirt was tight, and he could clearly see every movement of her small, perky, teardrop shaped breasts under it.
"I recommend the pancakes," Don said when she finished. "They have real maple syrup here. Get something else too."
"What's unreal maple syrup?"
"If you have to ask, then it's what you've had. Maple-flavored corn syrup. You're in for a treat." He smiled warmly.
When the waitress came she looked the girl up and down with suspicion. She came to a quick and bad opinion. Then she looked at Don, contemplating whether she needed to reevaluate her opinion of him too.
He was in luck that Nicole was off, but they ended up with Margot. She had the worst case of resting bitch face Don had ever seen, and a personality to match. He could never understand how someone who was so annoyed at being asked for things would become a waitress.
The girl ordered a full stack of pancakes, eggs, bacon, and hashbrowns. Don knew she'd eat it all. While ordering, Flora turned her face toward Margot, revealing her bruised, swollen cheek. Margot clicked her tongue and looked suspiciously at Don.
"Lacrosse accident," Flora explained quickly. "The girls got pretty rowdy at the last practice." She was speaking with some kind of affectation that Don took to be her impression of a rich suburban girl.
"Huh," Margot grunted before looking at Don again as she turned to leave.
"Thanks," Don said when Margot was out of earshot.
"She's kind of a bitch, huh?"
"Yeah," Don agreed. "So, I'm Don," he said expectantly.
"I remember," she said flatly. There was a long pause and Don thought he was going to have to ask her, when she finally added, "I'm Flora." She said it almost grudgingly.
"Flora," Don repeated with spirit. "That's a pretty name."
"Is it?" she asked before taking a sip of her black coffee.
Don let it drop. "So what's up with you, Flora?"
Flora took another sip. "What."
"I mean, what are you doing that's getting you knocked out and left in a field twice in one week?"
"I told you, Don," Flora answered, looking over her mug at him. "Fucking."
Don smiled defiantly in the face of her attempt to shock him. "Well, I've done plenty of fucking and I've never ended up like that. Are you sure you're doing it right?"
Flora scoffed. "Yeah, pretty sure. Everyone tells me I'm the best lay they've ever had."
"And you're proud of that?" Don asked.
"Yeah," Flora answered. "Wouldn't you be?"
Don thought for a second. "Yeah, I guess I would."
"Did it ever occur to you, Don, that you're not doing it right?"
"Hmmm," Don pondered. "I suppose that's a good question. I don't know. Maybe not, but I think even you can admit that that busted cheek and black eye of yours is not the right way."
"OK," she conceded. "But that was never the plan."
"What was the plan?" he asked.
"Get laid, get paid, get gone." Flora said mechanically.
Don sat back. Whoa. "So, you're a prostitute?" He whispered the last word.
"No!" Flora was indignant. "I'm not a whore!" She was way too loud.
Don looked around and met the disapproving glares of a few fellow diners.
