Page 5 of Outlaw Heartstrings
I nod. “Bring me back some spaghetti and meatballs? Extra parmesan?”
“Of course.” Mom gives my arm a light squeeze and just her presence here makes me feel better.
The bickering resumes as my family climbs into the car, Oliver taking his turn behind the wheel. As soon as they drive off, I shuffle down the hallway and find myself wandering around my lavish new master bedroom, checking it all out. Everything is sleek and modern, but in a warm, cozy way.
The place came furnished, but it’s clear that Mom’s been busy with bedding and curtains and all her personal touches.
My attention turns toward the large glass sliding doors, drifting to the sun setting over the hills in the distance. This view is a stunner.
But as I stand here admiring the landscape, I spot someone trying to climb over the property’s front gate.
What the…?
I slide open the balcony door to get a better look and confirm that my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me.
Yup. Definitely a bad guy.
Alarmed, I try to fish my phone out of my pocket so I can call the police.
Under normal circumstances, I’d probably find a hockey stick and confront the intruder head-on. However, in my injured state, I know I’d be unable to defend myself.
But before I’m able to dial 9-1-1, the intruder slips and falls over the gate.
I frown when I realize that the ‘bad guy’ is actually a tiny, little woman.
She falls—face first—into the flower garden. She shrieks.
The skirt of what appears to be some sort of skimpy costume flips up.The motion detector spotlights blink on, illuminating some nice, wide hips and a pale, round ass hugged by cute blue floral panties.
I don’t know whether to be turned on or freaked the fuck out.
But I fling my phone onto the bed and hobble on my crutches—faster than would probably be advisable in my condition—out into the front yard.
2
ALBA
With a sigh that expels eight hours of being on my feet, running back and forth to the kitchen, I hang up my frilly white apron on one of the hooks in the back of the restaurant.
Wait—now that I think about it, it’s been closer to ten hours since I’ve been at work. Because I came in early to cover for one of the new waitresses whocalled out sick.
I try to cheer up, reminding myself that I’m fortunate to be working at the most popular restaurant in town. And two extra hours means extra tips. It could be a whole lot worse. I could still be waitressing at the old dive bar across from the firehouse, feeling lucky to get a handful of coins tossed into my tip jar from the local drunks.
“Great work today, Alba.” Out of nowhere, my boss appears behind me and makes me jump.
“Oh, um, thank you, Mr. Drummond.” I urge a polite smile across my face and try to sound pleasant. I turn toward my narrow cubby and act busy, hanging my fairy wings on the hook together with my apron.
“I’ve been watching you out there and you look good.”Uh, ew? He steps closer, his eyes traveling up and down my legs. “I have to say though, if you want to make thereallygood tips, that skirt of yours needs to be a teeny bit shorter.”
I shut my eyes to steel myself for this conversation. I don’t even have to be looking at him to know he’s probably still ogling my bare legs.
Nothing outside of the norm here. Just my pervy boss being pervy as usual.
Drummond is such a weirdo. But I put up with it, because well,paycheck.
He makes all of us servers here atLe Trésor des Féeswear this skimpy little outfit. It looks more like a Tinkerbell costume from some creeper’s wet dream than a uniform that should be worn inside a classy business establishment.Clearly, it’s a personal kink of his.
I shudder to imagine what’s on this guy’s browser history.But as I said,paycheck.
