Page 48 of Size Queen

17

Damon

Monday morning comes rolling in, and I’m in a vicious mood. I haven’t slept much over the last couple of days. I have a lot on my mind, and it’s apparent to many of my Rolling Heads that I’m not to be fucked with on this particular day.

Between altercations with a rival gang, police interference, unbelievably low sales numbers at the shop, and now having to deal with Noelle ghosting me yet again, it’s been remarkably frustrating and exhausting. Kace and the guys keep suggesting that I try to get some sleep—even if just for thirty minutes—but I can’t. No matter how consistently I try, my brain stays too active for my own good.

I’ve never been able to fully understand women, but just when I think I’ve started to comprehend their intricacies, I’m always thrown a curveball. I hate admitting it, but I’m aware of what’s keeping me awake. I’ve had “girl drama,” before, and I’ve had girls recount about how they’d spent hours thinking about me. It didn’t make sense to me before, and it makes even less sense to me now.

I miss her. Iactuallymiss her. The idea of losing my own clubhouse in a fire is less of a worry than even the thought of losing her. The concept of a gang war is trivial to me when I imagine not seeing her again and being able to hold her in my arms. Nothing else matters.

My boys are getting worried. Seeing their fearless leader worn-out, frustrated, bitter, and antsy is something I should have spared them, but I can’t care. It’s hot outside—where the nosy cops and mongoloid Snakes are slithering about—and we’re all sticking together. We aren’t going to get picked off one by one; if anyone wants a fight, they would have to face us all.

I step outside to try and get a hold of Noelle. I call her and it rings, but she doesn’t answer. I hang up and try again less than a minute later. She doesn’t answer again, and I decide not to push my luck. I’m not going to be “that guy.”

I do hit her up again, though, this time through text.Hey missy. You free today?

She doesn’t reply right away, but my heart skips a beat when I see her name appear on my phone screen.

I’m at a shoot today, her text reads. I’m not sure what time I’ll be off.

Ah, I see, I text back. I was hoping that maybe we could get together today and hang out.

Oh? What did you have in mind?

I don’t care, I just want to see you, I write. Even if it’s just to meet and talk. Why don’t I get you dinner?

I wait an excruciating two minutes for her reply, but it’s worth it:

I would love to, she says. Would you mind if we went to the waffle house on Cedar? I haven’t been, and I’m craving some breakfast food right now.

Sounds good! I text. Text me after your shoot, and I’ll see you there.

She ends our correspondence then with a simple but nice smiley face.

Noelle’s shootends around seven, and she requests an hour or so to get ready. I know that I’ll be waiting, but I want to get out of the clubhouse and stop brooding and worrying about anything to do with the Rolling Heads or the law. So I get on my trusty Yamaha (now fully repaired), and I take off to the waffle house on Cedar.

The place is called Bro’s Waffles, and the aroma wafting from the door alone is enough to entice me to peruse their menu while I wait. I’m sure I must look at pictures of Bro’s waffles and platters for a good ten minutes, my mind on anything but food.

Finally, she arrives. She looks gorgeous, dressed nicely and glowing.

“Hi,” I say like a nervous idiot.

“Hey.” She smiles weakly.

We hug, holding it for quite a few seconds.

“How are you?” she asks me.

“I’m great now,” I say with a sigh. “How’ve you been?”

“Oh… I could be better.” She chuckles. “You wanna go in?”

“I’d love to.” I hold the door open for her. “This place is packed! How late are these guys open?”

“They’re open 24/7,” says Noelle.

“That’s what’s up,” I say while looking for a place to sit.