Loving the Bad Guy

red the silence of her cramped studio apartme

over with her eyes barely open while she fumbled for the snooze button, dreading the inevitable grind ahead. But as her sleepy

quickly rushed into the bathroom, grabbed her toothbrush, applied toothpaste and started brushing her teeth in a rush, she finished brushing so fast that she wasn't sure she

orn-out apron and a faded t-shirt which clung unto her petite,

ran through, trying to ensure she doesn't get to the diner o

f time. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of old wet wood and damp, mingling with the comforting aroma of coffee and sizzling burgers on the grill. The walls, on

less patrons who had passed through its doors. Each creak of the floorboards and rattle of the chairs sp

yes that held a hint of sadness. He and his wife had once run the diner together, their partnership a beacon of warmth and hospitality in the bustling city. But ten years ag

establishment bore the scars of neglect, its faded charm a testament to the trials and tribulations of its faithful caretaker. His daughter went to college in Miami on sch

er job, she still couldn't afford to lose it. New York city, still wrapped in the hazy embrace of dawn. Stacy's worn sneakers pounded against the pavement as she raced to make up

urried inside, ignoring the disapproving glare of Mr. Tate as she hurriedly packed her long effortlessly beautiful brunette hair up

the diner, the monotonous routine broken only by the occasional patron stopping in for a cup of coffee or a grea

y allowed herself a moment of respite. Leaning against the counter, she closed her eyes and sighed "never thoug

t from Mr Tate because that was the only way she would be able to pay her bills and rent. She kept thinking abo

screech of tires followed by the unm

cial hair slightly above his luscious pink lips and beneath his jaw which stretched up broadly across his cheeks and thinly connecting upward towards his hair from the sides, his car was a sleek black Bentley, the epitome of luxury

ther seats were supple and inviting, offering the ultimate in comfort and elegance. Every detail of the car was metic

attention wherever it went. Seemingly infamous for his reckless driving a

voice sharp with anger as she glared at him no

response. "Watch where you're going, sweetheart," he retort

he one who should be watching where you're going! You almost ran me o

thin. "I don't have time for this," he muttered, b

ypical," she muttered under her breath, "these rich kids keep feeling like they own

with each step. The encounter with the wealthy looking stranger with a Bentley had only added

nto the threadbare couch, feeling utterly drained. The events of the day replayed in her m

scavenging for something quick to eat. She settled for a microwavable meal, t

of her burdens pressing down on her weary soul. She had hoped for a moment of peace af

y with sleep. She dragged herself to bed, collapsing onto the mattress with a heavy sigh,

that would test her resilience and strength in ways she never imagined. But for now, all she could d