And I really liked this job.
“Three seconds,” I hissed.
He smiled, looked at my hand fisted at my hip, studied it for two out of the three seconds he had left, and then met my gaze when he quickly ordered, “BBQ chicken biscuit. Extra sauce.”
“You want something to drink with that?”
“Cherry Coke.”
“We don’t have Cherry Coke.”
“You got Coke and grenadine syrup?”
I did a quick mental scan of the bottles we had lined up underneath the counter.
“Yes,” I murmured, having remembered spotting the grenadine bottle.
“Then you got Cherry Coke.” Jamie slapped his hand down on the menu sitting in front of him and slid it to the edge of the table.
I reached to retrieve it, tugged on the corner with the two fingers not clutching my pen, and met resistance when he refused to lift his hand.
He stared at me, at my eyes, my lips, the line of my neck revealed from my hair being gathered over one shoulder, and lower, my breasts down to my toes and back up again.
I glared at him, watching his eyes do this appraising wander, and the longer it went on, the more irritated I became.
“You finished?” I grated.
“With you?” He met my gaze. His eyes were burning now. “No fuckin’ way,” he growled.
“I’m taken,” I repeated.
“You ain’t taken, Legs. Not unless you’re with me.”
This jerk was mental. “That will never happen,” I promised. “And my name is Tori. Not Legs.”
Jamie grinned. “We’ll see about that,” he said, lifting his hand and allowing me to take the menu.
I didn’t know if he was referring to the taken argument or the nickname and I didn’t want to ask. Truth be told, I just wanted to get away from him.
If he grinned at me one more time, I might actually throw that punch.
I spun around, walked to the hostess podium to drop off the menu, ignored the eyes burning into my profile coming from the loser’s booth, and marched toward the kitchen, weaving between tables all while jotting down the order on my ticket book.
Shay saw me coming and slid off the counter. “Great news!” she squealed when I reached her. “Stitch doesn’t care if we call him Stitch. He’s cool with it.” She turned her head and asked through the window, “Right, Stitch?”
Stitch was facing the stove so I couldn’t see his face, but I didn’t miss the slight jerk of his head as he acknowledged Shay.
“That’s about all he’s been giving me,” she whispered. “I took it as a good sign.”
Shay stepped away.
I watched her walk over to her two-top, then risked a glance in Jamie’s direction and caught him smiling at me.
Squaring off, I reached into my apron pocket like I was searching for something, lifted my hand back out, keeping all but one finger curled under, and flipped him off.
Anytime, Jamie mouthed.
Ugh! Jerk!
Grunting, I spun around, ripped the ticket off my book, and slid the thin paper across the metal lip of the window.
I opened my mouth to alert Stitch of the order when a piece of food flipped off the grill and onto the floor. It went sliding across the tile when he kicked it out of the way with his boot.
Hello, fantastic little lightbulb flashing above my head.
Rolling up onto my toes, I leaned closer to the window and inquired, “Is there any chance you’d be interested in letting a piece of BBQ chicken hang out on the floor for five seconds before sliding it onto a biscuit? I got a loser who needs a lesson in manners.”
Stitch turned his head and peered at me behind the pieces of long blond hair hanging in his eyes.
I rocked back onto my heels.
“He deserves it,” I quickly added, worried I was pissing off the hard-looking man by requesting this and blowing my shot at payback. “Really. I wouldn’t ask if he didn’t.”
Stitch didn’t say anything for several stress-filled seconds, then shook his head and muttered a rough “what-the-fuck-ever” under his breath, turning away and going back to the food he was cooking that hadn’t been dropped yet. “You take the fall if this comes back to me,” he ordered.
“Deal.”
Yes! Eat shit, Loser!
I spun around, nearly doing a twirl I was so happy, looked across the room directly at Jamie, and watched that jerk’s smile turn into a full-blown grin that no longer bothered me.
The tile floor back in the kitchen had to be disgusting. He’d get sick from the food. Sick enough he’d never want to eat here again. There was no doubt in my mind.
This would be the last time Jamie McCade ever stepped foot inside Whitecaps.
And knowing that, I couldn’t help myself.
I grinned right on back.
Chapter One
TORI
Nine months later “He’s here again,” Kali whispered in my ear as I stood at the bar facing the kitchen, filling a mason jar with sweet tea for one of my patrons.
I breathed deep through my nose.
God … damn it.
I didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. I didn’t need to turn around.
There was only one “he” that she could’ve been referring to. The same “he” that everyone was always referring to when I didn’t catch the Loser walking into Whitecaps myself and had to be told about it.
Jamie McCade. Gorgeous dickhead.
Local asshole.
Biggest player on the planet.
And the man who would not catch a hint and leave me the hell alone.
I didn’t get it. I was never in the mood to see him, meaning I was never even remotely nice to him when he came in here, giving him nothing but shitty service and killer attitude, and still he kept coming back for more.
And he apparently never got sick!
That was seriously annoying.
I was sure he’d have caught something by now with the amount of germs covering the food I was serving him, but nope. Nothing. He always looked bright-eyed and stupidly energetic, which had me convinced: Jamie was either on a constant dose of antibiotics or had the strongest immune system in the entire world.
I was betting on the antibiotics. He was probably a regular at the local clinic for STD treatment. In fact, I was certain he frequented it so often he was getting reward points toward one free prescription of choice.
Disgusting.
He … was … disgusting. And he was sitting in my section—this I knew for sure without turning around—because he was always sitting in my section, and for some reason, my girls didn’t have my back and were always seating him in my section.
Take sweet-faced Kali, for example. Awesome girl with an adorable kid. And currently blushing because she’d been the one to seat Jamie where I’d be responsible for serving him even though I’d asked her and Shay repeatedly not to do such a thing.
It wasn’t entirely her fault, or Shay when she let it happen, this I knew. And it was why I couldn’t get mad at either one of them for it.
Jamie had proven time and time again that it didn’t matter if he was seated in someone else’s section or not. After being greeted by whichever waitress he ended up with, he’d tip her for the greeting, stand up, find my section by process of elimination, and move to it.
“Three seconds,” I hissed.
He smiled, looked at my hand fisted at my hip, studied it for two out of the three seconds he had left, and then met my gaze when he quickly ordered, “BBQ chicken biscuit. Extra sauce.”
“You want something to drink with that?”
“Cherry Coke.”
“We don’t have Cherry Coke.”
“You got Coke and grenadine syrup?”
I did a quick mental scan of the bottles we had lined up underneath the counter.
“Yes,” I murmured, having remembered spotting the grenadine bottle.
“Then you got Cherry Coke.” Jamie slapped his hand down on the menu sitting in front of him and slid it to the edge of the table.
I reached to retrieve it, tugged on the corner with the two fingers not clutching my pen, and met resistance when he refused to lift his hand.
He stared at me, at my eyes, my lips, the line of my neck revealed from my hair being gathered over one shoulder, and lower, my breasts down to my toes and back up again.
I glared at him, watching his eyes do this appraising wander, and the longer it went on, the more irritated I became.
“You finished?” I grated.
“With you?” He met my gaze. His eyes were burning now. “No fuckin’ way,” he growled.
“I’m taken,” I repeated.
“You ain’t taken, Legs. Not unless you’re with me.”
This jerk was mental. “That will never happen,” I promised. “And my name is Tori. Not Legs.”
Jamie grinned. “We’ll see about that,” he said, lifting his hand and allowing me to take the menu.
I didn’t know if he was referring to the taken argument or the nickname and I didn’t want to ask. Truth be told, I just wanted to get away from him.
If he grinned at me one more time, I might actually throw that punch.
I spun around, walked to the hostess podium to drop off the menu, ignored the eyes burning into my profile coming from the loser’s booth, and marched toward the kitchen, weaving between tables all while jotting down the order on my ticket book.
Shay saw me coming and slid off the counter. “Great news!” she squealed when I reached her. “Stitch doesn’t care if we call him Stitch. He’s cool with it.” She turned her head and asked through the window, “Right, Stitch?”
Stitch was facing the stove so I couldn’t see his face, but I didn’t miss the slight jerk of his head as he acknowledged Shay.
“That’s about all he’s been giving me,” she whispered. “I took it as a good sign.”
Shay stepped away.
I watched her walk over to her two-top, then risked a glance in Jamie’s direction and caught him smiling at me.
Squaring off, I reached into my apron pocket like I was searching for something, lifted my hand back out, keeping all but one finger curled under, and flipped him off.
Anytime, Jamie mouthed.
Ugh! Jerk!
Grunting, I spun around, ripped the ticket off my book, and slid the thin paper across the metal lip of the window.
I opened my mouth to alert Stitch of the order when a piece of food flipped off the grill and onto the floor. It went sliding across the tile when he kicked it out of the way with his boot.
Hello, fantastic little lightbulb flashing above my head.
Rolling up onto my toes, I leaned closer to the window and inquired, “Is there any chance you’d be interested in letting a piece of BBQ chicken hang out on the floor for five seconds before sliding it onto a biscuit? I got a loser who needs a lesson in manners.”
Stitch turned his head and peered at me behind the pieces of long blond hair hanging in his eyes.
I rocked back onto my heels.
“He deserves it,” I quickly added, worried I was pissing off the hard-looking man by requesting this and blowing my shot at payback. “Really. I wouldn’t ask if he didn’t.”
Stitch didn’t say anything for several stress-filled seconds, then shook his head and muttered a rough “what-the-fuck-ever” under his breath, turning away and going back to the food he was cooking that hadn’t been dropped yet. “You take the fall if this comes back to me,” he ordered.
“Deal.”
Yes! Eat shit, Loser!
I spun around, nearly doing a twirl I was so happy, looked across the room directly at Jamie, and watched that jerk’s smile turn into a full-blown grin that no longer bothered me.
The tile floor back in the kitchen had to be disgusting. He’d get sick from the food. Sick enough he’d never want to eat here again. There was no doubt in my mind.
This would be the last time Jamie McCade ever stepped foot inside Whitecaps.
And knowing that, I couldn’t help myself.
I grinned right on back.
Chapter One
TORI
Nine months later “He’s here again,” Kali whispered in my ear as I stood at the bar facing the kitchen, filling a mason jar with sweet tea for one of my patrons.
I breathed deep through my nose.
God … damn it.
I didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. I didn’t need to turn around.
There was only one “he” that she could’ve been referring to. The same “he” that everyone was always referring to when I didn’t catch the Loser walking into Whitecaps myself and had to be told about it.
Jamie McCade. Gorgeous dickhead.
Local asshole.
Biggest player on the planet.
And the man who would not catch a hint and leave me the hell alone.
I didn’t get it. I was never in the mood to see him, meaning I was never even remotely nice to him when he came in here, giving him nothing but shitty service and killer attitude, and still he kept coming back for more.
And he apparently never got sick!
That was seriously annoying.
I was sure he’d have caught something by now with the amount of germs covering the food I was serving him, but nope. Nothing. He always looked bright-eyed and stupidly energetic, which had me convinced: Jamie was either on a constant dose of antibiotics or had the strongest immune system in the entire world.
I was betting on the antibiotics. He was probably a regular at the local clinic for STD treatment. In fact, I was certain he frequented it so often he was getting reward points toward one free prescription of choice.
Disgusting.
He … was … disgusting. And he was sitting in my section—this I knew for sure without turning around—because he was always sitting in my section, and for some reason, my girls didn’t have my back and were always seating him in my section.
Take sweet-faced Kali, for example. Awesome girl with an adorable kid. And currently blushing because she’d been the one to seat Jamie where I’d be responsible for serving him even though I’d asked her and Shay repeatedly not to do such a thing.
It wasn’t entirely her fault, or Shay when she let it happen, this I knew. And it was why I couldn’t get mad at either one of them for it.
Jamie had proven time and time again that it didn’t matter if he was seated in someone else’s section or not. After being greeted by whichever waitress he ended up with, he’d tip her for the greeting, stand up, find my section by process of elimination, and move to it.
