The Do-Over (The Miles High Club #4)(32)

“What pasta is it?”

I look in the bowl. Hmm . . . I have no idea. “Spaghetti.”

“What spaghetti?”

“I don’t fucking know, you ordered it.”

Hayden gives me a subtle shake of her head.

“What kind of pasta is it?” the guy barks.

“Whatever the one you ordered is,” I bark back. “Put the wine down and concentrate.”

Hayden takes the bowl from me and peers into the bowl. “Shrimp?”

“Me,” someone says. She puts the bowl down, and he keeps talking.

“Thank you,” I correct him.

He glances up.

“Manners are free,” I say.

“Fuck off, man,” he replies.

“What did you say?”

Hayden snatches the plate from me and puts it down. “This way,” she whispers as she pulls me away by the elbow. “What are you doing?” she whispers as she fakes a smile.

“This job is shit.”

“What are you talking about? It’s a great job.”

“Coming from someone who fist-fucks cows for a living, I don’t believe you’re qualified to call it,” I whisper angrily.

She looks around the restaurant. “Just walk around and clear the tables.”

“What’s that?”

“You said you did this before?”

“I lied.”

“Fucking hell,” she whispers. “Collect the dirty plates, and take them to the kitchen.”

“Okay.” I nod. “That’s a good plan.”

I walk over to a table. A man and woman are talking, his plate neatly packed up. I pick up his plate. “I’m not finished.” He snatches it off me.

“So why are your knife and fork together like that?”

“I was talking.”

“Less talking, more eating. I don’t have all night to wait for you, you know?” I march off.

“Excuse me,” someone calls as I walk past.

I turn to see the hottest woman I’ve seen all week. I smile. Finally . . . something good about this restaurant. “Yes.”

“Could you possibly get me an orgasm?”

“You have no idea,” I reply as I imagine myself bending her over the table.

She blinks. “As in cocktail?”

“Oh . . . right?” I fake a smile. I knew that. Damn it, I need to get laid.

I march to the bar and over to Basil. “Can you make me an Orgasm, please, for Miss Salacious at two o’clock?”

He glances over at her. “I don’t know how to make that.”

“You said you’ve done this before?”

“I lied.”

“Fucking hell. Google it.”

“I already tried. I have no service.”

“This is one colossal fuckup,” I whisper angrily. “The one person I am trying to impress, and you are completely fucking this up for me.”

“Go and ask her what’s in an Orgasm?”

“My fucking dick, that’s what. She’s smoking hot.” We both look over at her, sitting there in her tight black dress and her long dark hair. Another guy comes to work behind the bar. “What’s in an Orgasm cocktail?” I ask him.

He shrugs like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “I don’t know.”

“What?” I screw up my face. “How don’t you know? Aren’t you the barman? Isn’t there a manual or some shit behind there?”

“There is, but it’s written in Italian,” the guy says. “Just do whatever. Nobody ever complains about bad cocktails.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I nod. “Just work it out between you. But make it good because I want to go back to her table at least ten times.”

“Cosmo,” Maria calls. “Plates.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, witch,” I mutter under my breath as I walk back out onto the floor. “Are you finished with these?” I ask two people.

“Yes,” the man snaps.

I glare at him. Why are people being so fucking rude in this place?

It’s like pig city.

I carry the plates back out into the kitchen and see Hayden waiting for food to take out. “What do I do with these?” I ask her.

“Scrape them off into the bin, then rinse them and stack them to the side for the dishy to do.”

“Okay.”

I scrape them off and then look at a huge thing that comes out of a large black pipe in the ceiling. It has a silver big nozzle thing on the end that looks like a drink gun. I try to read the buttons.

Is this the tap?

I look around. How is this the tap?

I hold the plate in the sink and hit the button, and a water jet capable of knocking down a war bunker hits the plate and sprays water all over me and the entire kitchen. The hot plates sizzle as the water hits them. “Ahh.” I try to turn it off, and it goes harder. The hose begins to go out of control and flick around as it sprays everywhere. Everyone is screaming and ducking for cover.

“What are you doing? Turn off the tap, you fucking idiot!”

“If it were a tap, I would,” I cry as I battle the wayward water. “This is a fucking fire hose. Get better equipment, fool.”