Page 12 of Long Shot

This time they groan.

“Come on, Reese.” The first guy winks at me. “I have really big feet.”

It takes me a beat to get what he’s hinting at. I smile and say, “Sorry, I don’t date clowns.”

Not only do his friends laugh, but I hear muffled laughter from the bar behind me. Glad I’m entertaining everyone in the place.

“Guys.” Cade walks up behind me. “Time for you to settle up your bill and get out of here. No more harassing my servers.”

“In fairness to us, we were only harassing Reese,” one of the guys says. “Not the dude over there.”

“You’re an idiot,” Cade says pleasantly. “Now get the hell out.”

The guys don’t even hesitate to listen to Cade, with his big physical presence and imposing demeanor despite looking like a tanned blond surfer dude.

He’s actually kicking out customers. Because they were bugging me.

I don’t know what to do with that.

“I’ll get your check,” I tell the group.

As Cade and I walk away, I say, “I was handling them.”

“I saw that. And you were doing a great job.” His lips twitch. “Sick burn with that clown line.”

I bite back my own smile. “Thanks.”

“But that guy was right on the edge of being a dick and you shouldn’t have to handle shit like that. It’s our job to take care of our staff.”

I pause, clutching my tray, staring at him. Oh, man.

The apology earlier almost undid me. Yes, he was an asshole by publicly calling me out, but I know I deserved it, and I’m used to working for assholes who did way worse things than that—like throwing beer bottles. Hurling knives. Sexual harassment. Kicking a garbage can across the room when pissed. But then Cade apologized and I almost broke into tears.

I’ve learned a lot from the people I’ve worked for; most of all I’ve learned the kind of bossnotto be, after working for a chef who had a reputation as “the country’s worst boss,” and I swore I would never be like that—I would also come to the defense of my team. And still I fucked up so epically that here I am, living across the country working as a goddamn waitress, trying to escape that fuck up.

And now my boss is looking out for me.

Again, it’s enough to make me break down in tears. Except I’m tough. I don’t cry. Ever. “Thank you,” I finally say. “I appreciate that.”

I hurry over to the computer to print out the check for the guys Cade just kicked out. Hopefully that doesn’t mean I’m not getting a tip. Working for peanuts means tips are important. Luckily my last job paid decently and since I didn’t have much of a life, I managed to save a fair bit, so I’m okay, but still . . . that won’t last forever.

That word “forever” makes my stomach clench. Thinking about the future gives me a sick feeling. I like knowing what’s happening, having a plan, having a goal. And my only goal right now is to forget the past, not think about the future, and live in the moment.

I wait as the computer spits out the bill, then tuck it into the leather folder and head back to the table. These guys have run up quite a tab, drinking flights of expensive tequila. Which makes Cade’s willingness to kick them out on principle even more impressive.

“Sorry if we made you uncomfortable,” one of the dudes says as he pulls out his credit card, slurring his words only a little. “We were just havin’ some fun with you.”

“I know.” I smile. “No worries.” They were actually pretty harmless in the big scheme of things, young but well dressed and doing well enough to have a platinum credit card.

Carrie, Marco’s fiancée, is sitting at the bar, smiling. She waved me over. “I overheard you with those guys.” She jerks her head toward the men now leaving the bar. “That humpback whale comment was brilliant.” She grins

I smile back. “Thanks.”

“Did they tip you?”

I check the credit card slip. “Yeah.” I lift wide eyes to Carrie. “A hundred bucks!”

“Good. You deserve it for putting up with them.”

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