Page 40 of Old-Fashioned

Something in my gut, tightened.

This wasn’t like her.

Lately, whenever she took her lunch, she would come tell me.

And she did that because normally, she brought lunch for the two of us.

It had all started three weeks ago, the day after I left her home and told her to take her time and think about what position she wanted me to have in her life.

I had just finished serving four women a sampler that we had which held five of our appetizers. Chicken wings, jalapeno poppers, loaded potato skins, bacon-wrapped weenies, and one of my personal favorites, tamale bites.

When Birdie stepped to my side and said, “I’m tired of you not eating while you’re working. It’s unhealthy.”

I had opened my mouth to tell her I was good, but stopped when her next words followed, “I’m taking my lunch now. I brought enough for you too.”

Then she looked at Frank and asked, “Do you have the bar?”

His easy-going smile, widened, “You bet your cute little ass, Darlin’.”

I didn’t say a word. How could I?

If she would have come right out and ordered me to eat with her, I would have followed her to the ends of the earth.

And the moment I bit into the sourdough chicken, bacon, cheese wrap, with ranch, I was lucky I didn’t land in a food coma.

And that followed every day since, except for the one day a week we both had off due to all of us pulling doubles.

But… today.

Needing to get my eyes on Birdie, I caught Isla’s eye and then flicked my fingers for her to come to the bar.

She immediately stopped talking to the couple that she was taking the order from and made her way to me.

“Have you seen Birdie lately?” I asked Isla.

She frowned at me, then looked around the bar, “No. Come to think of it, a few customers got mad a little bit ago that nobody came by their table to refill their drinks, I apologized because we were slammed. But… that’s not like her to ignore customers.”

No, it sure as fuck wasn’t.

Just as I stepped from behind the bar top, Jewell opened her mouth, “Looking for Birdie?”

She didn’t even try to hide the sneer in her tone. You can’t fire her for being a bitch. You can’t fire her for being a cuntwaffle. Oh, but I wanted to.

Not in the mood to deal with her shit, I dropped my voice into a tone I used to use in the ring, and other places, “Cut the fucking attitude, Jewell. You wonder why you don’t have a good man? Because a good man won't put up with your fucking attitude. Pull the stick that’s shoved up your ass out.” I snapped at her.

I saw the fear in her eyes, from my tone alone, but the bitch was stupid, and she proved that when she shook it off, and freaking scoffed, “Men love my attitude.”

I snorted then, “Yeah, only because your pussy is as used up as a family that tries to save money by washing Ziploc sandwich bags. Now, where the fuck is Birdie.”

“I saw her racing for the bathroom oh about half an hour ago.” She said with a nasty as fuck grin.

I growled, “And you didn’t bother to tell anyone?”

When she opened her mouth, I threw my palm in her face, and stepped behind the bar and headed to the bathroom.

Once I made it to the door, I rapped my knuckles on it, and waited.

When nobody called out anything, I opened the door and peaked my head in, when I didn’t see anyone, I called out,

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