I wiped my hands on my t-shirt, uncaring if I got it dirty, and started grabbing plates of wings, smelling them and stacking them in order along my arm. I’d been working at the restaurant long enough, I could tell the flavor of each wing sauce by smell alone. It made my job a whole lot easier since the cooks had a habit of not labeling them anyway.
Turning, I bumped the swinging door open with my hip, dashing out to each meal’s designated recipient, smiling and re-filling drinks before heading back into the kitchen to do it all again.
Overall, I didn’t mind waitressing. It wasn’t always easy, but the tasks themselves were fairly straightforward and it kept me busy. The only slow time I ever had was at the beginning of my shift during the grace period before the dinner rush.
Which was why my boss hadn’t batted an eye at my late arrival. He was younger than I was and high as a kite most days, so he was pretty laidback. It bugged me more about being late than it had him.
I’d stressed about it the entire way here, deciding I would start taking my uniform to the office to change so I could drop Jamie off and head right back out. Layla was about to start her new job soon, and I’d have to start dropping him off at my parents again anyway. It made sense to cut out as much wasted time as possible.
About halfway through my shift, I finally got a lull in my tables. It was times like this I envied the smokers who had an excuse to step out back for a break. If I had the money to spare, I’d buy a pack and light one up and hold it, just so I could join them.
Checking on the few customers I had, I made sure they’d be set for a bit and then made my way to the bar. Nate always worked the same nights I did, and he was my favorite person here. “Hey, Nate.”
“Hey, Curly, where has your cute ass been all night?”
“Working. We can’t all laze about, twiddling our thumbs behind a bar.” I grinned at him.
Nate was a damn good bartender, and he had the giant jar of tips to prove it. Around the same height as me, he had black hair slicked back, tattoos covering every inch of his arms, and big green eyes that worked like a charm when he needed something. He had a mysterious and dangerous vibe to him but was a gooey pushover on the inside.
He also happened to be a horndog with a firm belief in open relationships and group activities. I’d lost track of the number of times he’d tried to convince me to give the lifestyle a shot. Not with him, but in general.
My answer had always been the same. No, thanks. Reverse harems were sexy in books, but the female anatomy could only take so much. I swore my vagina clamped shut just thinking about more than one dude climbing on top of me in a twenty-four-hour period.
“Guess I’ll be too busy twiddling my thumbs after close to make you a drink then.”
Recoiling, I clutched my chest and dropped my mouth open. “You wouldn’t dare.” He just pointed at me, making me chuckle.
I tapped my hands on the bar, getting ready to head back to check on tables when a familiar face snagged my attention. I froze, blinking several times, unsure if it was actually him or not.
Dressed in jeans that pulled taut around his thighs and a dark green Henley, Garrett sat perched on a stool at the far end of the bar. He was leaning to the side, one elbow resting on the bar while his other hand curled around a bottle of beer in his lap.
He wasn’t alone. Sitting next to him, blessed with his undivided attention, was a woman. She could’ve been a stranger I supposed, but his posture was relaxed, and his face lacked the tension I’d begun to think was a permanent feature. It seemed like he knew her, liked her.
I wondered what it was about her that enticed him, what he preferred in his women. Looks could often be deceiving, but she appeared to be in her early forties with thick, luscious curves, and long, coppery waves that fell about her shoulders. She was gorgeous.
I liked to think I had a decent ass, but there was nothing luscious about my thighs, and no one would be writing ballads about my B-cup breasts. Biting my lip, I forced myself to snap out of it. Who cared what he saw in her? It’s not like I wanted his attention.