Sweet Dreams (Colorado Mountain #2)(16)

I looked at my watch then at Jim-Billy. “It’s just past eleven thirty.”

“I had a tough mornin’,” Jim-Billy replied, heading to his stool.

“What happened?” I asked, abandoning the still dirty table and going to Jim-Billy.

“I woke up,” Jim-Billy answered and then stopped talking.

“You woke up…” I prompted.

“Yep,” he said. “Now can I have a draft?”

I couldn’t help it, after that scene with Tate, what he said, what it might mean, the fact that I really didn’t like him and not only had to work with him but he was my boss, what Jim-Billy said made me laugh so hard I had to throw my head back to do it. Maybe it wasn’t that funny but I really needed the release of a laugh so I took it.

I put down my cloth and the spray and headed behind the bar.

“Don’t know if I’m allowed but seeing as you had to wake up and all, you deserve a draft.” I grabbed a mug and went to the taps. “And anyway, maybe me serving you will get me fired.”

“You wanna get fired?” Jim-Billy asked.

“Right now I do,” I replied.

“You been here two days, woman,” Jim-Billy reminded me. “And three days ago you practically begged Krystal to take you on.”

“Yes, but I got to work with Krystal those two days, Tate’s in today,” I told him, filling the mug with beer.

“Darlin’, every other waitress in this bar and most the women in this town would think it the other way around,” Jim-Billy returned.

“I’m not them,” I retorted, pushed back the tap and took the beer to Jim-Billy seeing his eyebrows up and his forehead scrunched together in long lines.

“You got a problem with Tate?” he asked in disbelief.

Seeing that even though Tate wasn’t nice enough to know better but I was, I didn’t share by saying words I shouldn’t say.

I threw a beer mat in front of Jim-Billy and put his mug on it. “We just don’t see eye-to-eye.”

“Shit,” Jim-Billy muttered and I saw he looked like he was fighting a smile.

“Shit what?” I asked.

“Nothin’,” Jim-Billy mumbled into the beer mug that was at his lips.

“Shit what?” I repeated and Jim-Billy took a sip then grinned at me.

“’Nother time, Lauren, when you aren’t on and you and me are shootin’ the shit, drinkin’ a brew, I’ll tell you shit what.”

“Jesus, Billy, we aren’t open for twenty minutes.” I heard Tate say and I jumped a mile as he walked up behind me and then stopped at my back, just to the side but then leaned a hand into the bar so he was totally in my space. So totally in my space, I felt the heat from his body and if I moved, I knew my shoulder would brush his chest.

I was forcing my body to stay still again while Jim-Billy was surveying Tate and me and continuing to fight his smile.

“You know how it is, Jackson,” Jim-Billy replied and that was the second time I heard someone refer to Tate as Jackson and I wondered why. Was that his last name?

“I know how it is, Billy,” Tate said in that soft voice of his. Then he said, “Ace, you gonna wipe down those tables or what?”

I twisted my neck to look at him to see he was staring down at me and he was closer than I expected and I expected him to be pretty danged close. He was also back to looking impatient and I resisted the urge to give him a sharp elbow to the ribs.

“Right away, oh Captain, my Captain,” I mumbled and moved away, nabbing the spray and cloth.

* * * * *

“Two Miller Lites, a vodka rocks and a Jack and Coke,” I ordered from Tate, my eyes bent to my pad of paper where I kept my notes as to what I ordered.

I learned about two hours into my shift that this was a perfect way of avoiding eye contact and pretending he didn’t exist at all. If I tried hard enough, I could almost believe my drinks appeared by magic.

Now it was ten minutes from the end of my shift and I was nearly home free.

This tactic had worked beautifully and I’d been able to do it nearly my entire shift seeing as we were busy nearly all day. Ten bikers roared in at one thirty and hadn’t left and with the drifters and the regulars I’d been pretty much on the go which was an excuse to be away from Tate.

I was also attempting to ignore Tate’s very existence by sliding into research mode, trying out strategies in an effort to up my tips. I was keeping track and I figured what I was doing was working.

My first strategy was to be a little more friendly and talkative, take a little more time and hang out and it appeared the boys liked that. So, since that worked, my next strategy was to find out names, memorize them and use them. Even if you weren’t at your regular bar, anyone liked to be made to feel at home, and nothing felt like home more than someone knowing you, or acting like they did, or at least that’s what I guessed and, from keeping tabs on by my escalating tips, I was right.

In no time at all, I found when I was in my approach to see if anyone needed a fresh one, eyes slid to me, smiles lit faces and the witty rapport would ensue, sometimes even before I made it to them they’d call out a joke or a silly compliment I knew they didn’t mean.

And sometimes they’d order drinks even though their last ones weren’t close to empty.

And my tips went up and up.