by J. Daniels
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 that 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 serving him even though I’d asked her and Shay repeatedly not to do such 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.
Every. Single. Time.
Now? Shay and Kali took him to my section on the first go because what was the point?
He wanted me as his waitress and he got me as his waitress. He’d make sure of that.
I was officially stuck.
I could be a bitch. I could give him shitty service. I could grow a new disease on his food and make him eat it.
Jamie McCade was unstoppable.
And the parts of me that didn’t mind looking at something so beautiful hated him for it.
Yes, unfortunately on top of being the most irritating man in the history of irritating men, Jamie was beautiful.
He was cocky. He was unashamed. He was over-the-top pigheaded and spoke like a Neanderthal wielding a club.
And he was beautiful.
It sucked.
Seriously.
I’d noticed the first day he walked in here and I’d been noticing ever since. But I would never admit it. No way.
Not to him. Not to Kali or Shay, who I knew would agree with me. Not to Syd, my best girl, who I admitted everything to.
Not to anyone. Not ever.
He’d always be a loser. He’d always be a player. He’d always be the man who disrespected my relationship, even though my previous relationship with Wes turned out to be nothing more than a joke—one I wasn’t in on until I was being introduced to his wife and sweet-looking daughter in the middle of a crowded mall—didn’t matter, though. Jamie wasn’t in on the joke either and so, unknowing, he still disrespected it.
It didn’t matter how he looked. His heart was ugly. His soul was ugly. And nothing was going to change my opinion.
“What are the chances he hasn’t spotted me yet and I can sneak out the back?” I asked Kali, turning to her after setting down the pitcher of sweet tea. “I get off soon anyway. You could cover for me with Nate if he asks where I am. Say I’m sick. Say I was kidnapped. Whatever. Just make up something.”
Today had been a great day. A ten-hour shift delight. Great tips. Friendly customers. I really didn’t want to end my night on a low note and go home grumpy.
So if I could find some way of getting out of serving Jamie, I’d take it. Even if it meant getting shit from Nate.
“He already spotted you,” Kali replied without pause.
I pinched my eyes shut and muttered a disappointed “Damn.”
“Yeah . . . sorry. It was pretty immediate.” I watched Kali look over my shoulder, wince, then look back to me to add, “He’s currently spotting you right now.”
Of course he was.
I turned my head and saw dimples and brilliant blues.
Then shifting my attention left, I saw a group of teenage girls sitting in the booth next to Jamie, whispering and talking closely with one another while craning their necks around to stare at him.
Perfect. Just feed his ego, why don’t you.
“Whatever,” I sighed, turning away to pop a slice of lemon into the tea. “Maybe today will be the day he catches something fatal from the food and I’ll never have to look at him again.”
Fingers crossed Stitch tracked in something deadly back there and coated the tile with it.
“I don’t think I want him to die,” Kali admitted quietly. She bit her lip when I frowned at her. “Just . . . maybe he could get sick but with a full recovery? I could support that.”
I rolled my eyes.
“You’re just as bad as Syd. You know that?” I clipped. “She’s so Team Jamie at this point, I’m certain her first child will be named after him. I don’t even believe her anymore when she tells me she got Stitch to do something to his food. I think she’s faking it.”
Syd was the only other person Jamie ever allowed to wait on him, and I swore she loved every second of it.
I think it had everything to do with her being locked down with his best friend.
Brian and Syd were magical. Meeting under the craziest circumstances a few months ago and then building something from that, something beautiful. I was over the moon happy for my best girl and couldn’t imagine anyone better suited for her than Brian.
He had all the potential in the world.
Syd was over the moon happy, too, blissed out and fanatically in love, and because of this, she was wanting to pair me up with her boy’s closest friend, I just knew she was. The signs were all there.
And they were becoming more obvious with each passing day.
She was constantly bringing Jamie up and bragging about him whenever we were together, throwing his name into conversations he had no business being in but doing it casually as to not raise suspicions until I later thought back and realized what she’d been doing.
Plus, there was the whole assigned seating arrangement during Sunday dinner—the tradition Syd started a few weeks ago that had everyone, including Jamie, gathering at her and Brian’s house and eating together.
Syd was putting out place cards now, and every time, without fail, mine would be directly next to Jamie’s.
No way was that coincidental like she was always telling me. I was so onto her.
“I just don’t think he’s an asshole like you think he’s an asshole,” Kali explained, pointing at her chest. “I know assholes. Believe me. I know them all too well.” She shifted her eyes away, then lowered them, pulling her lips between her teeth and appearing deep in thought.
She was referring to her son Cameron’s father. Although I’d never met him, I’d heard enough to know he was definitely an asshole. Kali didn’t deserve his shit, but she still got it dished on her anyway.
And because of this, I decided to drop the asshole debate. Then my eyes caught sight of the cute side braid she was rocking, and I had a perfect subject change.
“Your hair looks really sweet like that, by the way,” I said. I’d meant to tell her earlier but kept forgetting when I got caught up in waitress dut
ies.
Seeing as she was getting quiet on me and most likely thinking about the shit her ex was always dishing out, now seemed like the perfect time to boost her spirits with a compliment.
And I was right.
Kali looked up, reached for the braid that was hanging over her one shoulder, and wrapped her hand around the end of it. “Thanks,” she said, smiling big. “That means a lot.”
“Of course, babe.”
I gave her a wink before I turned around and walked out from behind the counter with the mason jar.
After checking on all my tables twice, I finally took my time walking over to Jamie’s booth. And before I could utter the most impersonal greeting in the history of impersonal greetings, I was forced to witness fangirl flirting on an eye-rolling level.
“You’re Jamie McCade, right?” asked one of the girls from the booth next to Jamie.
She stood on her knees, angled forward with her elbows resting on the back of the seat, her head tipped down as she dragged the tip of her finger across her glossed bottom lip and gazed at him from behind her false lashes.
Her friends giggled with their hands to their mouths.
Give me a break.
“The one and only,” Jamie replied with a smirk.
“Oh, my God. We are your biggest fans,” another girl quickly said. “Like, in the entire world. We love watching you. We think you’re so hot.”
Squeals and muffled “oh, my Gods” erupted from the other side of the booth.
Jamie laughed quietly under his breath.
I was a giggle away from choking on my own vomit.
The first girl elbowed her friend, shushing her, then turned back to Jamie and, with a voice sounding years older than she most likely was, said to him, “I hear you give private lessons. Do you think you could teach me? I’m a fast learner and very eager to please.”
“Wow,” I murmured through a chuckle, looking between desperation and head-up-his-own-ass. “How ’bout I give you two a minute to work out your little underage arrangement. I don’t need to witness this. I’ll be back.” I moved to turn and step away when a hand gripped my forearm, halting me. I whipped my head around and glared at Jamie, yanking my arm out of his hold. “Get off.”
“I’m ready to order,” he told me, his face serious. He turned to the other booth and said, “Call Wax. You can set up your lesson time over the phone.”
The girl looked down at my arm as if Jamie was still attached to it, narrowed her eyes, then glanced from my face to Jamie’s, waiting until she landed on his before she showed her smile again.
“Great. I’m really looking forward to it,” she said, her voice lowering to a purr.
“Right on,” he replied.
“Totally,” she responded.
“God, it’s like I can feel myself getting dumber just from listening to this,” I commented, wincing as I rubbed my temples.
The girl eager for a lesson scoffed, shot me a hard look, then gave a much softer one to Jamie before she spun around and plopped back down in her booth.
Probably for the best. I was certain her kid’s meal was getting cold.
“You are so fuckin’ cute when you’re jealous,” Jamie said, his lips curling up. “I dig that, babe.”
“What do you want?” I asked, ignoring his comment, which was both absurd and completely untrue—in no way was I jealous—all while pulling out my pen and ticket book. I clicked the pen open and began doodling on the top of the ticket, writing Loser in a fancy script and adding devil’s horns and a pitchfork.
It was some of my best work.
Jamie chuckled under his breath. “Not bothering with the greeting today, Legs?” he asked.
I kept my gaze focused on my doodle as I continued tracing, and answered, “What’s the point? You never use my name anyway, no matter how many times I’ve asked you to.”
“I use your name a lot, babe.”
That admission drew my head up and paused my hand. He used my name a lot? No, he didn’t. He never used my name. I would’ve absolutely remembered hearing it, marked the occasion on my calendar, and looked back on it as the day hell froze over.
I watched Jamie’s eyes flicker wider, appreciating the attention I was now giving him.
“Excuse me?” I questioned.
Then he licked his lips, tilted his head with a smile, and added, “You spend the night with me, you’ll see what I’m talking about. ’Cause no joke, and I ain’t ashamed to admit this since, deep down, I think you’ll like hearin’ it, even though you’ll stand there looking pissed off and hatin’ on me like you always do. I know hard up when I see it and you’re wearing it, babe, so I’m gonna give it to you straight. Your name is all I’m saying when I’m in my bed, getting there by myself.”
My eyes widened. Holy . . . shit.
Jamie McCade, God’s model for perfection, was talking about masturbating. I really did not need that visual.
I pinched my lips together and inhaled sharply through my nose, all while ignoring the warmth spreading low in my belly.
“You’re disgusting,” I declared, my voice betraying me and sounding thick with want.
Damn it.
“Yeah, you gotta say that, Legs. Otherwise you’d be admittin’ shit to me you’re not ready to admit yet.”
“There is nothing to admit,” I argued.
“You liked what I just said.”
“I did not.”
“Did.”
Gripping my pen and ticket book with both hands, I tipped forward until I was leaning over the table, narrowed my eyes, and repeated with emphasis, “Did. Not.”
Jamie quickly reached out, wrapped his hand around my elbow now, and held on firm, a lot firmer than before, keeping me at the close proximity I so willingly entered on my own volition.
Shit. The first rule of sparring with Jamie McCade was to keep your distance.
Rookie mistake. I was screwed.
“How long are we gonna keep playin’ this little game?” he asked, his voice dropping low.
“What little game?” I asked back, playing dumb because Jamie was gripping me, he was staring deep into my eyes, and my heart was starting to beat so loudly I could feel it vibrating through my bones, and if I said the words clinging to the tip of my tongue—“I don’t know”—I was afraid of how they would sound and, worse, how he’d react to them.
Breathy. Helpless. Defeated. I couldn’t let him hear my weakness. He’d take advantage. He’d grip harder and stare deeper. He’d pull me closer and then . . .
“You know the game, babe,” he said, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I blinked him into focus as he kept on at me.
“I push and you push back, giving me your smart-ass mouth—which I dig, Legs, no question there—but I’m just sayin’ and this is a heads-up for you, I can only be so patient before I stop waiting around and start takin’. Your playing time is about up.”
My lips parted. I blinked again, struggling to wrap my head around what Jamie had just said, or promised, rather.
He’d just promised to take me. Soon. Like . . . soon soon?
“Uh.” I tugged on my arm still being held by a hand that was feeling a little too good at the moment.
He had big hands. Strong hands. Hands that could crush my heart if he touched it.
“Can you let go of me, please?” I requested.
Jamie gazed up at me. “You’re feelin’ it, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“This shit between us.” His rough fingers moved along my skin, sliding higher and wrapping firmer. “You’re feelin’ it. Right now. Fuck, babe, look at you.”
“I’m feeling like you need to let me go so I can do my job.”
“Not happenin’,” he growled. “Not when I get moments like this with you. Not when I know it ain’t just me. I’m wearin’ you down.”
“You are not wearing me down. You aren’t even close to wearing me down.” I yanked my arm again and met nothing but resistance.
“Do you mind?”
“I’m wearin’ you down, Legs,” he repeated.
“Nope.”
“It’s happening, babe.”
“No it isn’t.”
“Straight up, you say ‘no’ one more time and I’m gonna shut you up real fast in a way you’ll really fuckin’ like but won’t admit to liking. Think about that.”
I thought about it, for all of two seconds, because I was still tipped forward, meaning Jamie’s hand was still wrapped tight around my arm keeping me tipped forward and that quickly became the only thing I could think about.
“No, Loser, you are not wearing me down,” I grated. “Now let go of me or I’ll—”
My threat slid down the back of my throat as I gasped and pitched forward with a yank, Jamie’s one hand staying firm on my arm while his other slid past my cheek, pushing through my hair to grip and hold me at the base of my neck. I was startled, but I didn’t have time to react, pull away, scream, cry out. I couldn’t do anything before his mouth was colliding with mine and he was kissing me, firm and fast and determined, and since my lips were already parted from the gasp, Jamie took that as an invite and tilted my head, angled our mouths together, and pushed his tongue inside.
That was when the kiss became a kiss.
The kind that should be done behind closed doors.
The kind that made your toes curl and your pulse race.
The kind you told your girlfriends about and commemorated with a diary entry.
Jamie tasted good. Too good. And he kissed even better. I couldn’t deny it.
That was why when I wanted to fight or twist or bite down, I didn’t, and the only reaction I gave was a moan that rolled off my tongue and onto his, which was a huge, huge mistake because he heard it and felt it, his eyes flashing open a second after mine and his grip on my neck tensing.
He pulled back slightly to stare, then growled a “Fuck,” which I felt roll up my spine while his gaze held wild with so many things.
Want. Shock. Curiosity. And that unmistakable look someone had when they were right.
Knowing I’d been had, I jerked back abruptly enough that he was caught off guard, freeing myself from this grasp, then I spun around and bolted across the restaurant.