Page 97 of Chasing You

My eyes look over everything in front of me, not taking any of it in. “She was about half a minute away from serving someone aspewtini, so I think going home is probably for the best.”

Molly’s face contorts. “Oh, ew.”

“Yeah,” I drag my gaze up to finally look at her. “Ew.”

Her face pulls like she’s about to laugh, and then I do. Relieving the tension in my body with a bout of laughter.

Molly joins me, her cackle bouncing through the space. She snorts, sending us even further into the fit we are in. Both of us have our hands on our tummies, wheezing as we stand keeled over on either side of the bar, losing the plot.

“What’s all the fun over here?” A deep voice barrels through our laughter.

Molly just shakes her head, drying her eyes. “Absolutely nothing, we are just laughing so we don’t cry.”

Miles’s face quickly turns concerned. “Cry? Why would we be crying?”

Molly quietly grabs her tray of drinks, letting out one more snort before she slips into the crowd with a sly look sent my way.

“No,” I say, “um, we just—Tamara went home sick, so now we are down a set of hands and my brain can’t even figure out what I need to do next,” I ramble.

Miles strips off his suit jacket in response, rolling up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt as I stand here watching him with an open mouth. “Put me to work.”

“What?”

He grabs the discarded apron and ties it around his waist—looking exceptionally good while doing it, mind you. “Put me to work, boss.”

That word,boss.

It throws me right back to four years ago, the feeling that jumps in my tummy like an illusion. It’s as if no time has passed at all when those names fall from his lips. I know in this instance, he’s talking literally, but he used to call me 'boss' often—as often as princess. Joking about the way I used to throw my weight around, taking the pants of our relationship and buttoning them tight around my waist.

I can’t speak more than two sentences to Miles these days before he’s saying something that reminds me of our past. It used to be jarring, like a wound being reopened. But now it’s more like a salve, like a soft band-aid covering the wound while it heals, helping it along. I don’t know when it became like that.

“Marina?”

“Huh?” I ask, my mind finding its way back to the present moment.

“I can help. I know you might not think much of me, but I can serve a few drinks,” he jokes.

I drag my eyes to find his warm gaze. “I’ve always thought alot of you, Miles. Even when I wished I could magic you to the bottom of the ocean, I’d always send you with an oxygen tank.” His eyes twinkle with amusement. “In my imagination, that is.”

“Of course.” He nods, his features pulled into a smirk.

His attention is caught as he pulls his buzzing phone out of his pocket, his brows tugging together before he hits a button with his thumb and deposits it back in his pocket.

I place four margaritas on the tray in front of me, avoiding looking at his beautiful face any longer. “I thought you said you wanted to work.” I nod to the drinks.

“Hey, you’re the one talking about the places you wanted to magic me to, not me. I’m ready.”

I finally meet his gaze again, and I can’t help the way my mouth tugs into a smile, no matter how hard I try to force it down. “Then get out there, hotshot.” He just gives me a wink that makes my knees weak as he heads out into the crowd.

He comes back and forth, grinning at me as he picks up the cocktails I’m serving for the next few hours. It feels easy working alongside him. Bossing him around comes naturally to me.

Isla meets us at the bar towards the end of the night, her eyes darting between us. “What’s going on here? What are you doing?” she asks Miles.

“I’m helping.”

“Such a sweetheart,” she says, pulling his apron off and throwing his suit jacket at him. “But you’re needed on the stage in five.”

“The stage?” I ask.

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