Where One Goes(10)

The familiar melody blares over the speakers, and I can’t help but smirk when George mouths, son of a bitch, letting his arms fall. A triumphant smile blooms on my face as I give him a casual shrug. “When can I start?” I grab my backpack and pull it over one shoulder.

“You can start training today if you’d like, but if you suck, you’ll have to move on.”

“Understood. Can I go change and come back?”

“Yeah, you got a pair of black shorts and sneakers?”

Surprisingly, I do. “Yeah.”

“I’ll have a shirt here for you; be back in an hour.”

With a curt nod, I spin around and head for the door.

“Hey, Charlotte!” George calls, and I turn back around. “How’d you know?”

I smirk. “Lucky guess.” I shrug before heading out.

Ike is laughing heartily as we climb in my truck. Well, I climb in, he just teleports or does whatever dead people do. “God, I know him so well. That was too easy.”

“Thanks for the warning about him being your twin, jackass,” I bite out as I start the 4Runner.

“Must be hard having two insanely hot guys around you at once.” I roll my eyes at him, but the truth is—it is hard. They’re two identical make-my-tongue-smack-my-brains-out hot guys. But I won’t tell him that.

“Yeah. Your looks have me quaking in my boots.” I laugh when I make the smart-ass remark. “So George and Misty are together?”

“No, just f*ck buddies, I guess. It’s complicated.” I can tell he doesn’t like it. “I don’t want to talk about her. Let’s discuss how hot you think I am,” Ike jests.

Shaking my head, I press my lips together to stop myself from grinning. “You’re incorrigible.”

“What’s that? You like my body?” he says.

“Your head is unusually large. Must be that ego of yours,” I retort.

“If you want my body and you think I’m sexy, come on, sugar, let me know.” Ike sings his best Rod Stewart as he thrusts his hips in his seat.

“Wow. I’m going to need you to stop that right now,” I laugh.

“Why? Is it turning you on?” he asks as he continues to thrust his hips.

“More like killing my brain cells from watching it. Now, stop distracting me. I have to go and get ready for my new job.”

With that, he vanishes and I do a double take. Alone. I’m alone.



One hour later, I’m standing behind the bar with Misty while she explains to me how to use a soda gun like I’m an idiot. I’ve waitressed before, and it’s not rocket science, but I politely nod my head and smile as she babbles on. She’s talking really fast and constantly stops to swallow like her throat is dry. I’m wondering if this is a side effect of the coke Ike said she does.

Ike appears and gives me a thorough once-over. The tight, black T-shirt that reads: Ike and George’s, leaves little to the imagination.

“You’re going to make awesome tips here.” Ike waggles his eyebrows, and I blush as I try to refocus on Misty.

Finally, she has me sit at a table and instructs me to fill the salt and pepper shakers and sugar packet holders, keeping me busy while we’re waiting for the lunch crowd to come in. Since I’m new, I can’t serve today, only observe, so I’m sure she’ll have me doing most of the grunt work. Ike sits across from me and watches, singing Get Rhythm, and I refuse to tell him it’s my favorite Cash song. My parents loved Johnny and Elvis. When all the shakers and caddies are full, I set about placing them on the tables, not realizing I’m singing Get Rhythm out loud as I do.

I’m singing and shaking my hips when I bump into a hard body and nearly drop my tray. George stares down at me and takes the tray, placing it on the table.

Grabbing my arm, he asks, “Why are you singing that?” His eyes are dark; accusatory.

I must look as stunned as I feel because Ike says, “It’s my favorite Johnny song.” He runs a wide palm down his face and stares at his brother.

“I don’t understand,” I say to George, but I’m really speaking to Ike.

“How did you pick my favorite song earlier today?”

I stare up into his dark eyes and refuse to blink. I know what broken is. Hell, I am broken. He can’t and won’t scare me. “Anyone who likes Johnny has good taste. You look like a man with good taste.” Misty just happens to approach at this moment and I take a stab for Ike. “I mean in music, at least,” I say, as I glance briefly at Misty.

“Nice,” Ike chuckles.

“George?” Misty asks timidly. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” he releases my arm, our eyes still locked in a standoff. Finally, he turns and walks off with her.

I turn back to my table and whisper, “What the hell, Ike? You did that on purpose. You knew I’d start singing it and he’d hear me,” I hiss.

I glance at him and he’s rubbing his buzz cut, watching George walk away with Misty. His shirt rides up, exposing his abs and that defined V that makes me want to drool. Of course, in that brief second, I realize I’m drooling over a dead guy.

Classic me.

Wanting the unattainable.

“I’m trying to help you reach him,” he says as his gaze moves back to me. Luckily, he misses me checking him out.