I Am Bulletproof *Sequel to Perfect Weapon*

Sequel to Perfect Weapon


1. Chapter 1

        ~1 Year Later~
        "Excuse me miss." An older man called out to me. I glanced at him. "May I get a refill?" I smiled and took his glass, heading back to the kitchen in the back.
        Being a waitress wasn't so bad, but I knew this wasn't what I wanted to do with my life.
        I still kept in touch with Andy, Bill, and the guys, but I hadn't seen them in person since I left. Bill was constantly telling me to come and visit but I kept putting it off. I liked my life here and all of that brought back bad memories.
        I had found a roommate here, in LA. She (Jesse) soon became my best friend. She knew I had a rough past but she doesn't push it. She doesn't even know what happened really.
        She works at a tattoo parlor down the street. I had gotten a couple of tattoos down there; they did wicked jobs.
        I didn't know why I hadn't moved to LA sooner; my life down here's great.
        I brought the man's now filled glass back to him. He looked middle aged, with graying hair and thin rimmed glasses. He looked like a writer.
        "Anything else I can get you?" I asked, wiping my hands on my apron.
        "No, thank you. Wait... actually, yes." He adjusted in his chair so he was facing me. "You have a lovely bone structure. Are you a model?"
        I gave a short laugh. "Me? A model? No."
        "You should. May I paint you?" He cocked his head.
        "Excuse me?"
        "I mean, may I paint your portrait? I'll pay you of course."
        "Oh, uh...sure. I mean, you didn't strike me as an artist."
        He smiled warmly. "What did I strike you as?"
        "A writer."
        "Why?" He asked simply.
        "Probably the glasses. Maybe just your reserved look." I shrugged a shoulder.
        "People might surprise you. Miss...?"
        "Alex." I said, then quickly added my last name when he continued giving me a questioning look.
        "Right. Well, I'll give you my business card and we can decide on a date to do your portrait." He said, standing. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a rectangular card. I took it from his outstretched hand and read off the information.
        "Wyatt Vander."
        "Just Wyatt, please. Vander is far too formal."
        I nodded and pocketed the card.
        "Waitress." Another man called from across the room.
        "Be right with you, sir." I said.
        "I'll let you get back to work. But, please, do call." Wyatt said. He reached into his wallet and pulled out the money to pay for his lunch. He handed me a 10 dollar tip.
        "I will." I smiled. As Wyatt left, I walked across the room, to the other man.
        "What can I help you with?" I asked, clasping my hands together.

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