Page 5 of Romanced By the Rat
There’s nothing I can do about my growing obsession for Charlotte. I’m a rat, and as far as I know, I’ll always be one. There’s no hope for the two of us, but Jeremy isn’t hopeless. He can be guided.
Chapter five
Jeremy
How has it only been a week of working at Ratcliff’s? It feels more like a month in a war-torn wasteland. That might be dramatic. I’m working as a server at a four-star restaurant, not in a dystopian zombie apocalypse, but my nervous system doesn’t know the difference. I thought this job would be easy money for my upcoming competitions, but clearly, I was wrong.
Whenever I get home from my shifts, I pass out in my uniform. I totally missed the deadline to sign up for the Mr. Bronze Super-Man competition in the next town over. What’s the point of killing myself at a job I suck at when I don’t even use the extra cash to accomplish the goals I got this job for?
It’s not like the tips have been amazing. Most people give me the expected 18 percent, but some of the other servers walk away with hundreds of dollars every night. I’m not even close to that. Of course, I’m constantly spilling food and beverages on my tables, which doesn’t lead to happy customers. I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t tip myself either. Especially after spilling the wine on that beautiful brunette last night, Charlotte. I wanted tocrawl into a hole and die. And after ruining her dress, I rubbed her tit like a psycho.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m usually decent with the ladies. Okay, maybe that’s not totally true. My good looks and physique lead to a lot of one-night stands, but once I open my mouth, it’s all over. I haven’t always been the sharpest tool in the shed, especially under pressure. I’m horrible at many things, but finding the most fucked up thing to say in a situation is where I shine. That’s why I love bodybuilding. Everyone focuses on my oiled, carefully crafted aspects, and not the mess of thoughts behind my skull. Sometimes I wish I had a little person on my shoulder to whisper what I should do in my day-to-day. A guy can dream.
I step through the doors of Ratcliff’s—another day in hell. No one looks me in the eye as I head to the back to clock in and put away my stuff. They probably all know I’m about to be fired. I’m surprised they let me last this long. I may be a shitty server, but I’m usually able to redeem myself by the end of my guest’s meals. I’m a charmer, even if my words lack weight, and I’m able to get my tables not to hate me. It’s not enough, though. I won’t be here for long, and maybe it’s for the best.
Before I make it to the swinging double doors, Claire, the hostess, taps me on my shoulder. “Jeremy, I know you just got in, but we have a one-top that requested you. Can you hurry up and take it?”
“Requested me?” I whip my attention to the front of the house, and my heart stops once I spot her. Charlotte, looking even more beautiful than the day before. I can’t help my racing thoughts, hopeful that she saw through my failures and wants to give me another chance, but then my blood turns cold. If I didn’t ruin my chances with her yesterday, a fresh day of fuckups sure will. I’m not myself here—not thatmyselfis much better. I’ll be a jittery mess and make her run away.
I push myself to the back, ignoring the commotion around me and throwing myself into the utility closet where the staff keep their belongings. I sit on the bench underneath the coat rack, hand over my heart as I focus on my breathing. “What am I going to do? I can’t be her server again,” I say to myself, hoping a pep talk in the quiet darkness will settle my nerves.
“How about starting with not spilling wine all over her?”
“What the fuck?” I jump to my feet, feeling against the wall for the light switch. The cramped room floods into view, and I scan. “Hello?” I call with a shaky voice, not seeing anyone in here with me.
“If you don’t want to screw this up, you’re going to need to calm down.” The strange voice comes from up above, and I search the ceiling, wondering if there’s a hidden speaker.
“Who are you?” I ask, growing annoyed that one of my coworkers is obviously spying on me.
The voice sighs. “You’re wasting time. Charlotte is sitting out there waiting for you.”
“Who are you?” I yell again.
It’s silent for a moment.
“God.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Whoever it is isn’t going to reveal themselves anytime soon.
I exit the closet, taking a deep breath before charging into the dining hall. Charlotte sits at the center of the large room. The lights overhead illuminate her like a spotlight from heaven. Her hands rest folded on the table, and she scans around the room until our eyes meet. She smiles. Jesus Christ, it’s the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. My knees nearly give out, and then I remember I have to remove the distance between us.
“Hello, welcome to Ratcliff’s. I’ll be your server, Jeremy,” I say as I approach her table.
Her smile fades. “I know. I was in here yesterday.”
My cheeks heat. “Yes, of course, of course. I remember. Charlotte, I’m glad to see the wine came out okay,” I say, pointing to her tit.
She looks down at her light pink shirt and back up at me. She studies me before saying, “I didn’t wear this yesterday.”
“Right, of course. I knew that. I’m sorry.”
She nods. A thick, uncomfortable silence passes between us. I want it to suffocate me. I somehow find words. “I’ll be back with some water.” Before I can catch her response, I spring toward the back, cursing myself the whole way.
When I make it to the semi-privacy of the drink station, I let out a heavy sigh, coated with my self-loathing. “I’m a fucking idiot.”
“That’s a little harsh.” It’s the voice from earlier.
I whip around. “What the fuck?” It sounded as if it came right up to my ear. “How are you doing that?”
