Page 7 of UnScripted

THURSDAY NIGHTS CAN GO either way. Some are slow and others fast. I should’ve known there was gonna be trouble tonight the second she walked in as if she owned the goddamn place instead of me. She’s only been here a few days, but she already fits like she’s worked here ages. Not that I’ll ever tell her that.

Her hips swung from side to side; her smooth, tan skin glowed under the light. She wore the apron like a dress; it ended at the top of her toned thighs. Her hair swung around her like a cloud. She curled it, and the silky strands hung almost down to that itty-bitty waist. The bubble-gum pink lipstick she wore hit me like a punch to the gut.

She walked straight towards me. She was an arrow, and I was her target.

But she is far from the first to try to play this game with me. Breaking eye contact, I turned back to the cash register with a twenty in my hand, fingers jabbing the keys until the cash drawer spit open. I handed Big Jim his change. But he didn’t even notice as I placed the money in front of his drink. He was turned in his seat with his mouth hanging open staring at my new waitress like she was a piece of candy.

“Who is that?” He whistled through his teeth.

“Dev. Come here sugar and meet Big Jim,” I gesture like I don’t give a shit, but the tick I feel pulsing in my cheek betrays me as he leers at the rounded curves of her cleavage poppin’ out of a turquoise top.

She winks at him, holds out her hand but he picks her up in a bear hug instead, welcoming her to “the family.”

“Not yet. She needs to prove herself. It’s only her first week,” I tell Jim.

“Oh, I’ll prove myself all right,” she answers leaning an elbow on the bar, expecting my eyes to dip to her chest.

I don’t.

Her eyebrows raise slightly in surprise that I didn’t even take a peek at her ripe breasts spilling from her top.

“Tina will be in soon. She’ll show ya’ the supply closet in case we get slammed and run out of stock up front. The band is playing tonight, and we’re gonna get busy. Can you handle taking tables one through twelve and serving the bar orders from the kitchen?”

“Of course. If you even bothered to interview me, you’d know I waited at Hooters in downtown Chicago for four years.”

“Be careful sugar. The men in these parts won’t hesitate to take what you put in front of them. They’re as wild as the woods and just as rough; not city-slicking suits with manicured hands. You're sending out signals, girl. You better make damn sure ya’ know what you're about,” I finish slappin’ my hands down on the bar in front of her hoping to scare her good. I’m not worried about people getting fresh with her. I’m concerned about my own damn hands itching to feel her soft skin and my thumb dying to run across her lower lip. Shaking my head, I turn away and do something I haven’t done in months—drink on the job. My hands reach for the glass automatically, pouring a shot of Jack Daniels.

She grins, turning around to take a drink order. My hand grips the bar hard. Her jean shorts barely cover her butt, ending where her glutes and hamstrings meet leaving her long legs on display for everyone to see. Her calves are muscular and tight, the line from her quads visible from the side. Damn, she must lift weights too.

I raise the glass to my lips, swallowing hard. It goes down like fire in the back of my throat.

Hiring her was stupid. It was impulsive, and now I’m gonna pay the price thinkin’ about her in ways I shouldn’t. Shit, I was burning through women, riding like a demon in the dark, getting rich and high when she was still a speck in the stars. But now she’s standing right in front of me with eyes sayin’ things she can’t possibly mean. And if she does—I’m already lost and half-way to hell for thinkin’ about all the ways I could take her with me.

His eyes have me hypnotized as he warns me about the big, bad, dangerous men I’ve seen around town. “I can handle myself,” I answer with a shiver. But it’s not one of fear; it’s all anticipation. My last boyfriend, Jeff, was the gym teacher at the high school in Naperville where I worked.

After weeks of flirting in the hallways and hot looks across the teacher’s lounge lunch table, we hooked up, both being drunk at happy hour. Our first sloppy kiss turned into actual dates. Each was hotter than the next. My mouth watered the first time he peeled his shirt over his head, and my hand traced down his chiseled chest, his cut abs and inside his boxers. Jeff had it all—charm, golden looks and a body ripped like a cage fighter and between his legs he was well-endowed. I thought I had won the boyfriend lottery.

Jeff was sweet and treated me good.

Until he didn’t.

So, that leaves me at three. I’ve only had sex with three men; none of which were the strong woodsy type who took what they wanted.

I raise the pen to my lips, staring off in space as I wait for him to place the beers on my tray. The last time I was with Jeff was on our disastrous date on Valentine’s Day, when he asked me to move out.

I thought he might propose since we’d been together for years. But instead of getting engaged—I got dumped.

I’m too young to give up on the hope for finding the catch of a lifetime. I have a fleeting thought that I’m standing in front of one, but I have a feeling more than one woman tried to catch this shark. Sharks are dangerous, silently circling until they come up out of nowhere to rip you apart. There’s no wedding band on his finger, in fact, there’s no pale skin telling a story he ever wore one.

“Hello? Doll? You still with us?” Roger asks tapping me gently on the head.

“Yep. I was just replaying all my super ninja moves. Like I was saying, I can handle anyone who gets fresh with me.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunts. “If anyone gives you trouble, you come to Federico or me. He’s the big guy at the door. You haven’t met him yet since the weekdays have been slow. If anyone gets drunk and handsy with you, let him know.

“Roger, that.”

He grunts and nods over to the window outside the kitchen, “Food’s up. Get to work, doll.”

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