Riptide Affair, page 6
Probably shoulda got that...
Speaking of my little encounter yesterday, I dig a hand into my purse sitting on the floor and come up with the foil packet. Only one purple pill is gone out of the twenty-four it started with, and that one empty slot is the only tangible reminder of what I did. What we did.
I toss the second pill back reluctantly and swallow it down with a gulp of water, cursing myself for not only replying to the trial ad, but for signing a contract that ensures I promise to take another pill every day for almost a month.
Sometimes I shock myself with my own stupidity.
Slumping back onto the couch, I grab the remote and bring up my Netflix list. It's filled with romantic comedies, but I'm so not in the mood so I opt for a documentary instead. The face of a handsome serial killer fills my screen a second later, reminding me how conniving and vile some human beings can be, and just like that, I'm chastising myself again.
Jared could have hurt me. Really hurt me. For as long as we were stuck in there together with no means of escape, shit could have gone south fast. But...I was lucky. He's harmless. Kind and chivalrous. I'm the one who got all grabby. I was the pursuer. The villain.
Tingles race up my legs as I recall, for the thousandth time, how it felt to have his hand cupping me, his lips on mine, his body pressing mine to the wall. How all I wanted to do was tug his pants down, grab hold of his—
“Oh, to hell with this.”
I grab my phone, jabbing at the screen in sexual frustration as I place the call.
Playing hooky won't help. I'll just lie on this couch all day and fantasize about Elevator Man, probably with my hand inside my night shorts, and that's not constructive at all. Might as well indulge in a distraction that pays me to be there, and I can't think of anything better to erase Jared from my thoughts than pissy patrons, finicky cat ladies, messy toddlers, and the hiss and bubble of peanut oil.
Kate's laughter hits my ear first. “Let me guess...you changed your mind.”
“I'm an idiot.” I rub the tension from my forehead, one leg off the couch in a lame attempt at getting up and around. “Please don't let me adult anymore.”
“Sorry,” she chirps. “I'm your friend, not your keeper.”
“Well, I need one of those, too. Did you ask Harper to cover for me yet?”
“Nope. I'm working your section.”
I sigh heavily. Again. “I'm coming in. Be there in thirty.”
“You sure? Playing hooky might get you back in the right head space.”
“Definitely not. If I stay home I'll find myself at the bottom of a bottle by noon. Plus, I need the money.”
“Well, in that case, stop by the gas station on your way in and grab me a pack of Big Red. I'll do your side work.”
“Sure thing.” I force my butt off the couch and shuffle my slippered feet to the bathroom. “I'm fairly certain you were a guardian angel in another life.”
She huffs. “What makes you think I'm not a guardian angel in this life?”
“Good point. See you in a bit.”
Even though I should be dragging ass and biting the heads off all who cross me, when I walk into Woody's two minutes before the start of my shift, there's a smile on my face and a bounce in my step. The massive aquarium spanning the entirety of the east wall, acting as a barrier between the restaurant and the bar on the other side, is filled with lazily-swimming koi, and I take a moment to appreciate its beauty. White and orange tails trail through the water like veils, swishing lazily, curling around the wall of bubbles floating from top to bottom. The floor of the tank is covered in spiky shells, ceramic sea urchins, and hundreds upon hundreds of pieces of jagged glass in rainbow colors. Although lethal, even those are beautiful this morning.
And it's that seemingly innocent observation that causes me to speed-walk away.
I hate that tank. Like, hate hate it. Sixty-feet wide and twenty-feet tall, the gargantuan glass box of water scares me silly, never failing to dredge up memories of the creek, the accident—memories I'd prefer to keep locked away. I couldn't swim then, and I still can't swim now, so me and water aren't exactly friends.
Not only that, but I try to stay as far away from that tank as possible because of what's on the other side. My work place may be rated PG, but if you were to accidentally enter through the back door instead of the front, you'd find yourself on the wrong side of that tank. A side that's definitely not safe for kids or the elderly. Not that that's ever stopped either from sneaking in. I can't count the number of times I've been taking out the trash and spotted one of the bouncers escorting an underage teenage boy out the back, chastising him for trying to sneak a peak at the peep show taking place on stage.
“Uh oh. I know that face.”
I snap my attention away from the time clock to find Laura with her elbow propped up against the cooler, grinning like a chimpanzee who just discovered its genitals for the first time.
“Yo, Kate!” she shouts over her shoulder. “Come look at this!”
“Come look at what?” I check my reflection in the darkened computer screen. “Do I have granola in my teeth?”
Kate comes to stand in the doorway, arms crossed as she does a quick once-over and shakes her head. “Shit...”
“Sad, isn't it?” Laura asks.
“Yup,” Kate nods. “She's so screwed.”
“Me?” I jab a finger to my chest. “Why am I screwed?”
Laura places both hands over her heart. “Because you've got it, sister. You've got it bad.”
I'm confused. Do I have the pox? Herpes? Dandruff? “Got what bad?”
“Post-coital euphoria,” Kate says, her voice laced with insincere sadness. “Also known as afterglow. Maybe you should have stayed home.”
“Afterglow?” I laugh, because it's that damn ridiculous. “Oh, please. I haven't been this pissed off about something since April went through that Brokeback Mountain phase and we all had to wear cowboy hats and denim mini skirts for a week.”
Laura shrugs. “Can't deny the glow.”
“Leave her alone!” Harper bellows from the drive-thru box. “It's not her fault she's the only one of us getting laid!”
Laura raises a finger. “Uh, no. She did not get laid. And I'm not passing up what may very well be my only opportunity to tease her about being a love-drugged wiener addict instead of a spinster with cobwebs in her cracks.”
The girls erupt in a fit of laughter, but I'm over it.
“Congratulations,” I smile. “You're all going to hell.”
The bell above the front door jingles, signaling it's nine o'clock on the dot, and I tie my apron strings, square my shoulders, and shove a napkin into Laura's mouth mid-hyena laugh. Then I strap on a brittle smile and head toward the front.
The pep in my step never falters. Not once. Even though two tables of freshly-graduated seniors stiff me, Martha Todd's daughter squeezes an entire bottle of mustard onto a table, and I slip in a puddle of water and ram my hip into the kitchen counter, I'm still smiling in the midst of the lunch rush. Bruised, stained, annoyed, but smiling.
“Mer!” Harper calls from the kitchen door. “You got another table!”
My smile hardens. I'm pretty sure my left eye develops a twitch.
“No way. I just got sat not two minutes ago.” I glance over her shoulder and out the kitchen doors to find that Harper has, in fact, double seated me.
“What the hell, woman?”
Harper raises her hands in surrender and a multitude of wrist bangles clang noisily. “Not my fault. They walked right past my station and sat down.”
I grumble out a few choice swear words, but grab the pen from my hair and stomp toward the dining hall, preparing to serve my least favorite kind of patrons.
“And you didn't tackle them for the sake of even seating?” Laura asks as she passes with a full tray. “For shame.”
Harper grins. “I should have. One's got a great ass.”
“Great ass or not, that doesn't mean they get to completely dismiss the Please Wait to be Seated sign right in front of their face,” I snap.
Laura and Harper exchange coy smiles. “I think the afterglow's gone,” Laura whispers.
Harper nods. “I think you're right.”
“It was never there to begin with!”
They ignore my outburst.
“Oh, and they want hot tea,” Harper throws out before slinking back to the front.
I let my head fall back and take a second to stare at the sagging ceiling tiles. “Of course they do.”
Pulling up my big girl britches, I round the corner, almost tripping over an empty fry box, before coming to a jerky stop next to my manager who's monopolizing the hot tea station.
“Can you pour another?”
Kate nods and grabs another metal teapot. “April hasn't called today, has she? We're running low on shrimp.”
“She hasn't. But I don't see why you can't put in and sign for orders. You've been here longer than she has,” I say for the billionth time.
Kate gives me a half-smile. “Because I'm just a little peon and she's the queen.”
“Some queen,” I scoff. “What's the point of owning a restaurant if you can't even be bothered to run it? If she wasn't so busy spending all her hard earned money on vacations and designer track suits for her purse dog, she'd realize she needs to delegate. Give you more responsibilities.”
“Because keeping you girls in line isn't enough of a load?”
“Hey. We're well behaved...ish.”
“Yeah,” she laughs. “Ish.”
In my heart, I truly believe Kate is capable of running Woody's all by herself. She's been here long enough to witness the place change hands four times and knows the ins and outs better than our so-called boss ever could. But as it stands, April's absence is appreciated, albeit inconvenient, because our 'queen' has a bad habit of treating everyone like a third-class citizen, especially the dishwashers and cooks. Her level of entitlement and holier-than-thou attitude is both astonishing and nauseating for everyone within spitting distance. If she were here on a day-to-day basis, morale would plummet. The fact that she's not here today is a small mercy, even in the face of a shellfish shortage.
Kate hands me my tea and I take it, paying no mind to the subtle heat radiating through to my palm. I'm used to it. “You deserve to manage Woody's. One of these days April will see that.”
“Keep dreaming!” she calls after me.
I will. Seeing Kate run this place instead of that Cruella de Vil wannabe would be a dream come true.
Pushing back through the swinging door for the umpteenth time today, I make my way to my freshly-sat table and take a moment to plaster on my biggest, friendliest smile, before turning the corner.
“Hi, guys! My name is Merrin and I'll be—”
My words die a swift and painful death and I freeze, locking up in shock, but not before allowing my fingers to slacken just enough to lose my grip on the teapot.
Horrified, I watch, unable to do a damn thing, as it makes a slow-motion descent before coming to a startling explosion of hot tea and clanking metal. Scalding liquid splashes, covering everything and everyone in the booth like they're sitting in the middle of the splash zone at Sea World.
“Oh my God!” I snap back into control and reach for the towel in my back pocket, trying my damnedest to sop up the mess, but all that does is slosh the puddle over the edges of the table and into the laps of two grown men throwing out a string of curses. “I am so sorry!”
“Christ Almighty!”
Stunned, I look up into severe blue eyes. Familiar blue eyes. Then glance down at lips I'm well-acquainted with, only right now they're pulled tight in a hateful grimace. The strong shoulders that once bowed over my body rise from the booth.
“Real fucking great.” He wipes at the tea staining his tan slacks. “Where the hell's your bathroom?”
His livid tone has my tongue seizing up and a knot the size of Texas tightening in my gut, but I somehow manage to point a shaking finger over his shoulder, toward the back corner of the building. It's all I can do. There are no words. No thoughts. No sentiment that can dull the sting of his wrath.
“I don't have time for this.”
With those lovely parting words, Jared's powerful legs stride away until he disappears around the corner and I'm suddenly slaughtered by a barrage of memories which are now tainted by our second run-in. His easy laugh, gentle caress, the way his hot breath fanned out across my chest. A smile infused with warmth, passion so fierce it left a physical mark on my body... Every attribute I attached to the man I met in the elevator comes into question, making me wonder if I saw only what I wanted to see; to validate the way I acted.
I cut my eyes to the man Jared left behind and swallow down the emotion trying its damnedest to strangle me.
“I'm so sorry, sir. Let's get you moved to another table.”
“Sure. How about that one?” He points to a table that seats four instead of two. “We have one more coming anyway.”
“Of course, yeah, whatever you want,” I stammer.
The tall, impeccably groomed blond man smiles at me, and it's so bright with pity that it hurts. “Sorry about that,” he says softly.
I shake my head. “No. I'm the klutz that soaked your friend with hot tea. I'm a walking lawsuit today.”
He grins, and my eyes are drawn to the deep dimples adorning his cheeks. He's not my type, but he's definitely adorable. “Yeah, well, maybe he deserved it,” he says. “I'd say that little outburst had to do with his scorched genitals, but that'd be a lie. Dickhead is pretty much his default setting.”
Puzzled, I look toward the bathrooms. Jared didn't seem hateful or ill-tempered in the elevator, but I guess that just goes to show how badly I suck at reading people. When it had been just the two of us sitting on the floor, I'd seen a man who was funny, gentle, and charming. Not a person prone to violent outbursts.
I offer the blond a tight smile before ducking away. “Your meal's on me.” It's the least I can do.
When I turn around, Harper's right there, winking, holding a tray of sloppy brown towels and a broken teapot. “I got this.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, wide-eyed and disoriented.
Somehow, I'd convinced myself that I'd never see Jared again so I packaged him up and stored him away as a happy, albeit embarrassing, memory. It seems fate has other plans.
Since the table is pristine again and all my other customers seem content, I head for the bathrooms before giving myself a chance to chicken out. I'm on a mission. A stupid one.
Hands shaking, face the shade of a ripe tomato, I wait in the secluded foyer and pace the worn carpet, picking at a loose thread on the hem of my shorts.
I can't believe I did that.
I mean, I can, because I'm a certified klutz, but why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be today?
No matter how ugly he acted, Jared deserves a proper apology, so I wait. And wait. And wait. Until I hear the sound of the hand dryer kick on and then off, and the men's room door swings open with a hard shove and I have to jump back to avoid getting smacked in the face.
“Hi!” I chirp lamely.
Jared's eyes swivel around to meet mine and he freezes. I do the same.
“Look, um...I'm really sorry about that.”
For spilling tea on you.
For running out on you.
For ravishing you in a hot, broken-down elevator...
“Really...really sorry.”
Jared shakes his head, then pushes right past me, heading for the dining hall.
Just like that.
“Wait! Where are you going?” I'm stunned and, honestly, a little hurt. He'd walk out on me without a single word? Really?
The look he offers me is downright glacial. “Well, I thought I'd go out and eat my lunch if that's okay with you, or were my pants not enough? Got some ketchup you'd like to spray across my shirt? Salt that needs dumped in my hair?”
His stern tone is an arrow to the heart. Today, his eyes are different. Harsh and cold like winter, when before, they were the ocean or a clear summer sky.
“Look, I just want to apologize,” I explain, feeling small and out of sorts. “Again.”
“It's fine,” he barks. “You were clumsy and ruined my favorite slacks. I forgive you. Can I go now?”
My chin jerks back in surprise, feeling his words in the tightness of my chest, the churning of my stomach. And then, those sensations turn inward, and I instantly hate myself. I would never in a million years let someone this mean and insensitive touch me.
But I did.
“What the hell is your problem?” I allow my anger to overshadow common sense.
“My problem?” He throws out a humorless laugh. “Right now, my only problem is a ditsy waitress with a bad case of butterfingers who won't let me out of the damn bathroom. That's my problem.”
“Ditsy waitress?” I snarl through clenched teeth. Indignation wraps around me like a hot chain, curling my hands into fists. I'm seconds away from punching him square in the nose, employment security be damned. “You didn't seem to care how ditsy I was when you were jamming your tongue down my throat.”
I shove against both his shoulders, wanting—no, needing—to hurt him in some way, but he doesn't falter. Doesn't stumble an inch. The man is granite.
“Excuse me?” he seethes, eyes wide. “What the hell are you talking about? I've never seen you before in my life!”
My lungs pull in a quick, painful gasp.
Wow...
Wow!
Am I really that easy to forget?
Am I really that unremarkable?
An all-too-familiar sting burns the back of my eyes and I know I have to get away from this man before I break. This is too much, especially for one ditsy, unremarkable waitress.
I shove at his shoulders a second time, letting anger fuel me, and this time, he stumbles back.
