Lag (The boys of RDA #2)(40)
From the small chuckle he tries to cover up, he notices my agitation at him being in my diner. The fact he finds it funny only upsets me more.
“I’m looking for some lunch. Where should I sit?”
I want to tell him there isn’t a place here for him, but besides the one occupied table in the back, we’re deserted. It probably wouldn’t do me well to turn away a customer on my second day. Rather than shoo him out the door, I release an exaggerated sigh and turn to sit him in Jamie’s section. At least then I won’t have to talk to him.
He starts to take off his black fleece but stops before we’ve taken three steps. “Actually, Sim, can I sit by the window?”
No. No. No. Of course he wants to sit by the window in my section of tables. And Sim? I don’t think so, that nickname is not going to fly.
The size of my scowl matches his smile as I lead him to a seat by the window. He’s so smug. It’s annoying. Now that Trey knows I work here, he wasn’t supposed to come back. He is persona non grata when it comes to Bonnie’s. Why is he here? Is making me wait on him some perverse turn on of his?
He has his black fleece off by the time we make it to the small table. His black button down shirt’s tucked into his khakis highlighting his trim waist, and I do my best not to let my eyes linger. Isn’t there a Karma law against this?
I stare at his nose so I’m not making eye contact, but also won’t start fantasizing about how he’d look shirtless. Trey must notice the dueling emotions of anger and lust as they play across my face probably making me look like a psycho. His smile decreases a slight amount, not so much a normal person would notice, but I’ve glared in his direction long enough, I’m aware.
“Look, Simone I didn’t come here to upset you. Can we talk?”
I scoff at his question. “No. Believe it or not, Trey, I’m working.”
He rests both his hands on the table. “Well then I’ll wait until you’re done.”
“I have six hours of my shift left.”
He looks up at me from his seat and lifts one shoulder. “I’ll wait.”
“For six hours?”
“Yup.”
My eyes roll at him, but I’m quick to look to the side so he doesn’t see. He won’t sit here for six hours.
“Trey, for a time I thought your bossy commanding ways were cute, but not anymore. You’re sitting in one of my tables. You need to order or get out.”
Holy shit. I can’t believe I was lippy with Trey Good. Did I channel Marissa? From the way Trey’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open, he can’t believe it either. If I wasn't still in front of him I’d do a fist pump. I didn’t know I had it in me. My celebration is short lived when he’s quick to smirk again and then without picking up the menu places an order for our turkey wrap with a side of coleslaw and a coke.
**
Bonnie’s was swamped at lunch giving me legitimate reasons to ignore Trey as he sat in his little corner table. Oh and the tips. My apron pocket bulges with the cash left on the tables and there’s always more from those who paid with credit cards. If this is the underpaying shift, I can’t imagine what a dinner would net me. Screw fifty, at this rate I might be able to pay my debt off by forty-five.
Jamie and I made a great team even though it was a steady flow of customers. My steps were light as I raced around, bouncing from the high of being busy. It was a great shift — except for the fact Trey’s still here.
He didn’t leave. Six hours and five cokes he sat at his little perch and watched me. I waited for him to at least visit the bathroom so I could sneak in, bus his table, and sit someone else there, but as if he could read my plan the man never moved. Even after drink number five. Is he a camel? All that earlier bravado leaked away the longer he sat there…… for six hours.
The first hour Trey slowly ate his wrap. And I mean slowly. In elementary school they taught us to chew your food something like thirty-six times. Well, he listened.
The second hour he fiddled with his phone while drinking coke two. I pretended like I didn’t care, but as I waited on the table beside him I saw his screen and his game of Dragons Reborn with his character mid sword fight.
The third hour he let me pick up his dirty sandwich plate and he ordered a piece of Apple pie ala mode with his third coke.
The fourth hour he started a conversation with the couple at the table beside him and they joked and laughed for almost forty minutes, all while he sat there sipping on coke number four.
The fifth hour he’d given his extra chair to another table and stretched out in the open space. I gave up hoping he’d leave as I delivered coke number five. He looked comfortable enough to live over there if he put his mind to it.
During hour six Trey switched from coke to an ice tea and ordered a Caesar salad and a piece of chocolate cake. I guess he worked up an appetite from all his stalker activity.
The black envelope I dropped off five minutes ago rests on the edge of his table, a signal he’s ready to pay the $34 bill. The reprieve has ended. Small heavy steps get me to his table and not just because my feet hurt like a bitch.
The round black tray I carry with me is empty, but I haven’t spilled it today and that’s a win for me. He hasn’t touched the tea or salad I placed on his table with the bill and I get a little irritated. Well more irritated than I already am.