Page 21 of Play For Keeps

EIGHT

I HOPE YOU’RE TAPPING THAT

Everly

I am going to die.

“So close, Ev. We’re almost there,” Violet tells me, looking just as tired as I feel. Her platinum blonde hair is pulled back into a slick bun and her lips are a matte red. She grabs a few cocktail napkins from the bar and adds them to the fresh round of drinks on her tray. “One more hour, but who’s counting?”

I am. Every single minute. But that’s what I get for taking an extra night shift.

The best thing about Catch 21 is the food. It’s top notch. Unfortunately, that means that we are very rarely not busy. And tonight has been no exception. It was so slammed tonight that I didn’t get a break and now my feet are screaming at me, and my back is in desperate need of a Swedish massage. Sadly, the only massage I can afford these days is one of those vibrating chairs at the mall and even that I would consider a luxury at this point.

Worst of all, I missed Birdie’s end-of-the-month dance showcase tonight. I’ve never missed one of her recitals, and it kills me that I wasn’t there to watch her. Thankfully, my mom stepped in to take her. That seemed to work just fine for Birdie, who was excited for her gramma to see the dance she’s been working on. But I still hate the fact that I had to miss it.

I fill my tray with drinks and survey my tables, taking in the large open dining room, the wall of glass that opens to a patio with a view of the ocean, and the opulent gold chandeliers that hang from the ceiling. As the wife of Grant Billings, I would dine in restaurants like this one every weekend. And now? I’m embarrassed to admit that I can’t even afford one of their signature cocktails.

A fancy night out for Birdie and me lately is hitting up The Olive Garden, and even that we can only afford to do once a month. But I don’t mind. The freedom I now feel living in Reed Point away from Grant’s controlling ways is better than all the expensive dinners in the world.

Thankfully, the hour passes quickly and then the night is over. Violet and I slump into chairs in the break room and slip off our shoes, stretching the arches of our feet. She pulls one foot onto her lap, massaging the ball of her foot. “Ughhh. Is it normal for feet to hurt this bad? My pinky toe has lost all feeling.”

“I think mine are broken. Is it normal for feet to be this color?” I ask, bending over my knees to look down at my red, swollen, achy feet.

“If this is your way of asking me to carry you out of here, nope. Can’t do it. I’m too tired,” she teases, limping over to her locker to grab her change of clothes. To Violet’s credit, she looks more alive than I do. To mine, she’s four years younger and is not getting up at the ass-crack of dawn with a 7-year-old every day.

Once we’ve changed into our comfy clothes and runners, we slip out through the half-full dining room to the front doors, waving a goodbye to Owen at the bar. He has at least another two hours left before he is out of here for the night.

I make it to the hostess desk when my eyes go wide and my heart rate skyrockets, feet rooted to the floor. “Oh my gosh.”

“Oh my gosh, what?” Violet asks, grabbing onto my arm.

Her gaze tracks mine through the window to where Jake is standing. For the second time this week, he is waiting outside Catch 21 for me, and my body responds to the sight of him, sending a wave of heat shooting up my spine.

“Who is he?” Violet asks, craning her neck to get a better look. “Ooh, he’s cute,” she says, appreciating the view as much as I am. Jake is wearing a backwards baseball hat, light gray hoodie, and a pair of black athletic shorts. I am so into this look. “Wait. Holy shit! Isn’t that the hot guy who was in here a few weeks ago?” she looks at me with eyes as wide as saucers.

I haven’t mentioned Jake to her. I haven’t mentioned Jake to anyone, minus the brief conversation I had with my parents. “Yeah. But you can stop looking at me like that. We’re just… friends. It’s nothing.”

“Friends?” she says, eyebrows raised. “Well, whatever he is, I hope you’re tapping that.”

I gently elbow her in her side. “Stop it. I’m not tapping that. Not now or ever.”

At least, that’s what I keep trying to tell myself.

JAKE

My eyes land on Everly as she walks through the doors of Catch 21, and a smile forms on my lips because I’m a goner.

She’s wearing what seems to be her post-work outfit—a midriff-skimming athletic top and a pair of loose sweatpants that hide her small frame. When she looks at me, it’s like I can breathe again. Whenever I’m not with her, it feels like there’s no oxygen left in the room. She looks like a dream. She’s beautiful. Intoxicating. And she is so far out of my league, I’m not sure why she even talks to me.

I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat, trying not to let my nerves get the best of me. She heads straight for me, a girl with platinum hair in step beside her.

“Hey, you,” I greet her, then immediately wish I had thought of something better to say.

She smiles as she tilts her head, eyeing me warily. “Hi, Jake.” Her voice is soft and sweet, and I notice again the green and gold flecks in her hazel eyes. Her smile knocks the breath out of me. Everly is completely worth the wait.

I knew she had a shift at the restaurant tonight because by some miracle, she has held up her end of the bargain and has been texting me. The messages aren’t coming as frequently as I would like them to, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. It’s a start.

“How was work?” I ask her.

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