Meet Me Halfway(21)

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.

Before I could force my body to move, his eyes traveled over the woman’s head and landed right on me, widening almost imperceptibly. I could have looked down and seen a sniper’s dot on my chest, and it wouldn’t have caused my heart to stop as much as his stare did.

I should’ve walked away right then. I didn’t owe him anything. I knew that, but some neighborly part of me wanted to repair the rift between us and at least say hello.

With each step I took in his direction, his face seemed to close down more and more, until it finally settled into that flat look I was accustomed to. His companion, sensing his attention was no longer hers, looked over her shoulder at me. Her brows rose, and her eyes darted back and forth between us.

In perfect Madison fashion, I gave her an awkward wave, and then looked back into Garrett’s unfriendly, yet still stupidly attractive, face. “Hey, Garrett. How are you?”

“Fine.”

He took a swig of his beer, his tone sharp enough to slice a chunk out of me if I stepped too close, and I couldn’t help but feel irritated. He was never going to see me as anything more than a gold digger. It was time for me to get over it and stop wasting my time. I wasn’t like that, so his opinion didn’t matter.

No matter what, I refused to let him think his attitude affected me. Pasting on my biggest waitress smile, I said, “That’s great to hear. I’ve got tables I need to check on so I’m—”

“I thought you did something else for work.”

“Um…” I froze, wondering where he was going with that. Both his tone and the curl of his lip told me he thought I was being sketchy. Was he trying to imply I didn’t actually work here? For his intellect’s sake, I sincerely hoped not. I was wearing an apron, for fuck’s sake.

“I do.”

He wanted to ask another question. I could see it in the way he tapped his fingers along his half-empty bottle, the way creases appeared across his forehead and his tongue pushed against the inside of his cheek. In the end, his desire to ask won out against his desire to ignore my existence.

“Then why are you working here?”

The motherfucker really thought I was lying about something. Was he that dense, or just convinced of his own superiority that he couldn’t fathom the idea he’d been wrong about me? Either way, I blamed my pent-up anger from the day’s worth of shit interactions that fed the fire on what I did next.