The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(31)

“No.”

“Then how?”

She holds her arm up and indicates sticking it in something.

My eyes widen in horror. “You don’t . . .”

She smiles with a nod. “I do.”

“Your whole hand?”

She karate chops the top of her arm. “My whole arm.”

Basil’s mouth and mine both fall open in shock. There are no words for her job.

“What the fuck, man,” Basil gasps.

“You think you know someone,” I mutter under my breath.

“What does that mean?” she asks. “What did you think I would do?”

“Not that,” I huff. “I didn’t even know that was a fucking thing.” We continue to walk for a while. “I pegged you for a nurse.”

“A nurse?” She frowns.

“Yeah, you have that commonsense thing going on. I thought you were a nurse.”

“No.”

“Hmm . . .” We keep walking. “Do the bulls know that they aren’t fucking the cow?”

“No, they think it’s the real thing.”

“Hmm . . . maybe I should buy myself a Fleshlight?” I think out loud. “I mean, if bulls like it.”

“Stick to fucking cows,” Hayden replies.

“Definitely had a few of them in my time,” I agree.

“This is it,” Basil says as we get to a restaurant. “Let’s hope we get the jobs.” He pushes open the door and is greeted by the server. “Hi. We are here to start work tonight?”

The girl fakes a smile and looks Hayden up and down. Hmm . . . I already don’t like her. “Hi.” She fakes a smile. “Just go out the back to the kitchen,” she instructs us.

We walk through the huge restaurant, and I look around. There must be two hundred tables in here. This place is massive. We go through the double doors to find the biggest kitchen I have ever seen. People are scurrying around like ants.

“What time do you call this?” a big fat dude yells. He taps his watch. “You’re late!”

“Sorry,” Basil stammers. “We got lost. It won’t happen again.”

“Do not waste my time,” he barks in a strong Italian accent. He calls someone over with his hand. “Maria will show you what to do.” He glares at us. “Do not mess up in my restaurant. Do you hear me?”

Who does this fucker think he is?

“Okay.” Hayden nods. She hits me on the leg to remind me to speak.

“Sure,” I reply. I don’t like this guy already.

Maria comes over. “Hi, I’m Maria. Have you worked in hospitality before?”

“Yes,” Basil and Hayden both reply.

I’ve eaten at a million restaurants in my life. How hard could it be? “Yes,” I lie.

“Great.” She smiles as she looks around. “Do any of you have bar experience?”

“I do,” Basil replies.

“Okay, you’re on the bar,” she says to him. “And you two wait tables.”

“Sure.”

“Put these on, and . . .” She looks at me. “What’s your name?” she asks me.

“Christo,” I reply.

“What’s your name?” she asks Hayden.

“Hayden.”

“Okay. Put these on.” She hands us both black-and-white-striped aprons.

“Cosmo, you do the front level, and Helga, you do the back corner.” She turns her back to get out some notepads.

“Helga,” I mouth to Hayden. She widens her eyes and tries not to laugh.

“When you hear a bell, it means order up, and you take it to the table.”

“Okay.” We both nod. That sounds easy enough.

“Call me if you need anything.” She walks off.

“Helga,” I whisper as we walk to the kitchen.

She hits me on the leg. “Shut up, Cosmo.”

The bell dings. “Order up,” a guy calls.

The food is laid out on a high bench with heat lamps over it to keep it warm. Staff are buzzing around everywhere.

“Hi.” Hayden smiles to the chef. “I’m new, so . . .”

The chef nods, too busy to care. “This, this, and this to table forty.” He slides over three plates. Hayden picks up two of them, and I go to pick up the other. “One person, three plates,” he yells.

“Calm down,” I mutter.

Hayden does some kind of juggling act and carries two plates with one hand and one in the other. She toddles off, out into the restaurant.

The bell dings again. “What are you ringing the bell for? I’m right here,” I say.

“No talking,” the chef yells.

I screw up my face. “I wasn’t making conversation.”

He slides over three plates. “Table forty.”

I pick up two of the plates.

“Three at a time,” he yells.

“I’m not an octopus,” I snap. “I’ll be back for the other.”

“Not good enough,” he calls after me.

My blood begins to simmer. Fuckwit.

I walk out to the restaurant and look for Hayden. She’s over in the corner, delivering the plates to the table. How the hell did she know what number each table is? I walk over. The table has ten men sitting at it, who are all very tipsy. “Pasta?” I ask as I look around the table.