I jerk when we stop and the driver kills the engine. Rubbing my eyes, I yawn. I must’ve fallen asleep. “Thirty minutes,” the driver barks. I stand and stretch, wondering if I can leave my backpack, but decide against it. When I pull it down, I can’t help noticing Mr Mysterious’s eyes on me again. He’s sitting up. I stretch a little extra, showing off my naked midriff, before I smirk, grab my bag and head off the bus. The older couple is already inside the diner. The driver looks me over. “Could’ve left the bag,” he mutters. I breeze past him and enter the greasy place he’s chosen for our stop. My stomach growls, but I decide to hold on to my money. A radio is playing 1970s music, and the scent of frying bacon fills the air. I sink into a booth. It’s only the five of us here in the middle of the night. “What’ll you have, hon?” A waitress in her fifties, clad in an ill-fitted red dress has snuck up on me. “Just water, please.” “You’ve gotta order something.” Crap. “She’ll have milkshake and a burger,” says someone with a deep baritone behind me. “And fries. Lots of ’em.” I spin around. There stands the mysterious passenger. He looks like he’s in his forties, tall, weathered, dirty-blond hair. His body appears tight underneath a tattered leather jacket and blue jeans. Brown eyes, so dark they’re nearly black, a nose that looks like it’s taken a beating or two. It makes him look dangerous, but in a good way. Like a movie star, an action hero. He’s got a bit of a Mickey Rourke vibe, before all the plastic surgery. “Same for me, hon. And add coffee to that,” he says to the waitress and she trots off, hips swaying. “This seat taken?” He indicates the seat across the table. “Eh… Of course it isn’t. Help yourself.” “Thought maybe you wanted to fraternize with the charming driver.” I scoff and look over to the fat man at the counter, ordering just about everything on the menu. “You didn’t have to order anything for me. I wasn’t hungry.” “Oh, please. I know a starving girl when I see her. Indulge me.” His knee brushes against mine under the table. The touch of his rough jeans on my naked skin sends off a bolt of excitement through me, making my nipples stiffen. He doesn’t miss it, glancing at my breasts and up again. When he meets my eyes, something flickers in them. Something naughty. Oh please. I know a starving man when I see one. I let my gaze wander over his broad chest and then back up. Meeting his eyes from under lowered eyelashes, I bite my lip. Starving, and hot as hell.