Chapter 3

"Thanks Mrs. Turner, see you next time." Liv sorted a wad of bills and placed them in the cash register before heading back to her last occupied table. The breakfast rush was winding down, but the hyenas showed no sign of stopping.

"Hey bacon wench, more bacon for the king," Cal slammed his fist down on the table, eliciting peals of laughter from his wedding party.

Liv rolled her eyes. "Should have gone to college or joined a convent," she muttered. "Hey Mel, you got any bacon with extra spit?" Liv stood in the doorway of the diner's cramped kitchen, hands on her hips.

"Don't you let them get under your skin Liv. They're just having a good time. Boys will be boys you know."

"Yeah that's what I'm worried about. They're getting to that obnoxious point. It never gets better after this."

"Speaking of which, how'd that jalapeño eating wager go?"

"Now that was funny. Dumbass number two looks like some kind of emo goldfish out of water."

"Yeah, he should," Mel chuckled. "I mixed in a few habaneros from my personal stash!"

"No wonder he wants a glass of milk so bad. I guess I should get that at some point, but I just keep forgetting. Like four times in a row!"

"Ha!" Mel laughed. "I see you finally got that crappy little Porsche working again," he pointed out the kitchen window at the white 944 parked in the gravel lot. "When you gonna get a nice reliable car like my Ho--"

"Don't you dare say the H word," Liv warned. "As soon as I decide life is too boring to even commit suicide, I'll get a car like yours. Until then, I want something fun to drive and pretty to look at. Besides, Murphy wasn't completely broken, I was rebuilding the turbocharger last week. I put in a ceramic turbi--"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Mel interrupted. He grew bored of her car obsession quickly. "One of these days you'll get a nice practical car. Looks like your fan club misses you," he motioned toward the rowdy table.

"Fan-freakin-tastic," Liv rolled her eyes. She caught a glimpse of silver over Cal's cup of coffee and raced over to the table.

"Hey, give me that," she demanded, reaching her hand out to the best man. "Michelle's gonna be less pissed about you having a black eye in some pictures than she'll be about her future husband showing up to his own wedding drunk. Trust me."

"You want some of this?" Mark slurred cockily, putting flask to mouth. "Hey Liv, how come you never left town like I did? I thought you were smart, gonna go to a fancy college or something," he said as he smacked his lips.

"Liv's like me," Cal interrupted, banging his mug of Irish coffee down on the table. "We got left behinded."

"That's not even a word," she sighed.

"Is too. We're left behinders. Everyone else got knocked up or got out of town except us. But they don't understand how awesome it is to stay here. Everything is the same and familiar. I'm gonna be like my grandpop. Born here, died here."

"You're way too pretty to be stuck here in Eagles Landing with this loser," the best man eyed Liv. "Why don't you marry me and get the hell out of here? What do you say fellows?" The table roared their approval.

"My second marriage proposal today!" Liv exclaimed. "Hey, I got a better idea, why don't you give me the flask and take drunky drunk over to get his tuxedo. Your lifespan will be much longer that way."

"You threatening me?" Mark pretended to be offended.

"It's not me you have to worry about. It's the lady dressed in white. Now give me the flask."

"Fine," Mark placed the flask on the middle of the table, crossed his arms and looked at her defiantly.