Page 10 of Filthy Player

After I returned to Beaux’s table, I’d delivered their food, refilled their water — all of them passing on more beer — and done my job without any further flirting. It wasn’t until they left, though, that I’d gasped at the tip they’d given me.

Seven hundred dollars.

Seven hundred freaking dollars.

It was obscene. Two pitchers of beer, six burgers and fries, and a few salads weren’t worth nearly that much.

By the time I’d rushed to the parking lot, elbowing and shoving slightly drunken customers out of the way, they were gone.

I wanted to thank them. They had no idea how much that helped me.

It could keep the creditors breathing down my neck out of my hair for several more weeks.

For once, I had some spare money to lighten our load a little bit, at least in one area.

And Beaux Hale played a part in all of it.

“Ugh. Damn it,” I groaned and rubbed my shoulders. Waiting tables and then spending most of the day bent over the hood of an engine or slumped over a desk didn’t bode well for my posture or my health.

An echo of an engine running sparked my attention and I looked at the neon, Budweiser wall clock. We didn’t open for another twenty minutes but it wasn’t uncommon for customers to show up early, generally with a distasteful disposition due to needing help with their car before their workday started.

Just what I needed. A grumpy customer to match my mood.

I went back to working, head down, so focused on shuffling money away from Peter to pay Paul that I jumped as the bell rang on the front door.

I looked up at the sound of the bell still ringing and a masculine, deep chuckle I’d heard only hours before.

Beaux Hale was standing in my dad’s garage, looking just as shocked to see me, as I was to see him.

“What the heck?” I asked. “Are you stalking me now?”

“Not at all.” His grin widened, he stepped forward. “But I can’t say I’m disappointed at all.”

My long-time neglected girl parts quivered and took notice.

Beaux’s thick mop of blond hair was messy on top, shaggy, almost to the point of needing a haircut but still just this side of sexy and cool. He had a dirt smudge on his cheek that only made him sexier. A man with some dirt on him was much better than perfectly polished in my book.

Plus, he was wearing a gray, Rough Rider’s T-Shirt, black athletic pants, and tennis shoes that looked like they needed to be replaced years ago.

Casual.

Unassuming.

Sexy as hell.

I was royally screwed.

CHAPTER FOUR

BEAUX

Well, well, well. Imagine that. The girl I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since we left Ride’Em Rough last night happened to be sitting in front of me, lips parted in an inviting way, almost calling me to press my lips against hers and slide my tongue inside.

The amount of attention my dick had gotten in the last ten hours to thoughts of Paige were so obscene I had left my house this morning thinking I might need a sexual appetite suppressant.

It was unnatural to be so stuck on a girl, jack off so many times and still want more.

And lucky, lucky me…I’d never been so grateful for Betsy, my rusted out Ford pickup, breaking down than I was in that moment.

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