That Girl (That Girl, #1)(16)
The other perk of Boone’s is nobody gives a shit about you, your schedule, or what you do for fun. Odd perk, but the biggest and most important one in my book. I can come to work as Jodie from Danielle’s, work my ass off, rake in the tips, and then carry my bacon cheeseburger home on a lit path. I’m thinking I made the best decision moving to Fort Collins.
Walking into the main section of the diner, I see the booths are mostly deserted. Two are occupied, and they look as if they are finishing up. I take a moment to fill up some condiments on the bar while gauging to see if the booths need anything else, or have checked out and are ready to go.
I notice one booth is filled with an elderly couple. Their plates have been cleared, and I eye a credit card receipt on the top of their table, so it looks as if they’ve paid and are simply enjoying each other’s company. They are holding hands and deep in conversation.
The other table is less romantic, occupied by two burly men who look like they just left a construction site. Their empty plates and cups still lay before them. Walking over to clear their plates, I can hear their voices and vulgar language.
“Hi, can I take your plates?”
Beady, bloodshot eyes meet my gaze. “Who the hell are you?”
You never argue with customers, so I simply say, “Your waitress’ shift is over. I’ll clear these for you. Either of you need a refill?”
“Like thirty f*cking minutes ago,” the other one barks.
Frightened and trembling, I reply as calmly as I can. “I’ll be right back.”
The sound of the front door opening grabs my attention as I refill the two sodas. Pretty boy is leading a group of men through the door. My heart instantly sinks to the floor with embarrassment when I realize I’m searching the group for Layne. Quickly, I turn my attention back to the soda machine. Since this diner is casual, they can seat themselves.
“Here you go. Did you guys get your check yet?” I ask.
The beady-eyed one glares at me. “We ain’t paying for this shit. Food was good, but the f*cking service is something worthless.”
To say the man yelled those words in my face would be an understatement. I felt the tiny hairs on my neck stand up as he roared. Those tiny neck hairs always stick up when danger is near. It’s a very familiar and unwanted feeling. Ignoring his outburst, I simply turn around and head to grab menus for pretty boy and his gang.
Larry is standing up by the window, even though no food or orders are up. He signals with his hand to come closer.
“You have to get their money or it’s your ass. Boss doesn’t put up with any bullies coming in here and trying to get free meals. Yes, Kelly's not the greatest waitress, but she did fine.”
“Oh, joy,” I say back to Larry with a fake-ass smile plastered across my face.
Heading out to my new table, I realize I want to be anywhere but here right now. The coffee shop wasn’t so bad, because they were in a truck, and I was in the shop. The driver, Layne, was sort of like a barrier guarding me, keeping all the staring eyes from the truck from landing directly on me.
Not this time. In my tight white shirt and black booty shorts, I’m pretty sure all prying eyes will get whatever they’d like. The night I was trained, I learned to always wear your staff shirt with no stains on it, hair pulled back from your face, and black booty shorts.
The hair wasn’t a problem. The shorts were, but I ventured to a department store and bought a pair. I still haven’t figured out the booty shorts requirement, because all walks of life visit the diner. It’s not like a sports bar or titty bar.
My cheeks flush as I near the table and hear the hushed whispers of, “That’s her.”
“Good evening, here are some menus. I’ll be back in a bit to grab your drink orders.” I keep it quick and simple.
I’m not prepared to jump off the deep end without a life jacket; I’d rather stick my big toe in the freezing cold water bit by bit. The older couple leaves the table, so I quickly get it all cleaned and prepped. The door dings as another couple comes in. Now, this is like the last two nights. Just steady enough to keep you hopping, which I’m very thankful for at the moment. Anything to keep my mind off pretty boy’s table.
“Another soda,” the man growls from the booth.
No time like now to give him his bill. “I’ll be right back. Here’s your bill. I can be your cashier when you’re ready.”
I walk before he has a chance to belittle me again, but I do hear his foul language bouncing off the walls behind me.
Filling the soda once again, I have my back to the diner when I hear someone talking to me.
“Are you okay?”
Turning around, there he is, the driver of the truck. This time he’s fully clothed in a tight tank top, gym shorts, and a ball cap. Just the picture I kept envisioning before falling asleep. It’s him.
Smiling gently, I just nod.
“Are you sure? That guy is an ass.”
Sitting both drinks down on the counter before him, I keep nodding and say, “You get used to it after waitressing for over a year.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “It’s bullshit. You shouldn’t be used to it.”
He puts his hand on the top of mine. My eyes are glued to us connected by flesh, and I’m not sure if a panic attack is on the brink, or another weird sensation is pooling in the depths of my belly. Tears sting the back of my eyes from the overwhelming desire building up inside me. It only took one touch, and all of this.