“Oh, whatever,” Aullie laughed. “Guys like that don’t leave me their number. Guys like his weird buddy in the visor leave me their number. And I am not going out with him.” She shuddered at the thought of spending an evening with that buffoon.
Brittany clucked disapprovingly. “Next time you go shopping make sure you find some confidence that fits you, girl. You could totally bag that. Oh shit, some dude’s waving me down. Asshole,” she muttered under her breath as she wandered off toward an acne-ridden blonde who was staring her down as though she were a chunk of meat.
‘Gotta love the bar business’, Aullie thought.
Chapter 2
Appetizer orders in, Aullie took another trayful of waters back to table fourteen, where she was actually grateful to see the men all invested in the game.
“Here are these for you guys, just in case,” she said cheerfully as she arranged the glasses in front of the four men, snatching away the Brit’s empty shot glass. The TV was behind her and none of them looked away, except for Golden Eyes. His smoldering stare made her feel warm, almost feverish.
“Thank you,” he politely said. When no one else budged, he spoke a bit louder to his friends. “Thank the lady.”
The three of them seemed to reanimate from their dumbstruck sports faces, and a chorus of quiet, habitual thanks were heard round the table.
“So, are we eating? Or…”
Before she could finish, Aullie was once again cut off by Visor Boy. “Fuck yeah, let’s get some wings! Like, a butt-ton of wings!”
“Dylan, what the hell is wrong with you? I’m sorry about him, Miss Aullie,” the way Golden Eyes said her name with a formal title tickled her a little. She wasn’t exactly used to manners in the dive that she worked in. “I’m Weston, by the way.” Not only was it kind of a sexy name, but his accent really gave some body to the ‘W’, making it sound almost regal.
“Nice to meet you, Weston,” Aullie could practically feel her nervous knees knocking together. Get a grip, Aulls, she silently told herself to pull herself together. “So. Wings. What flavor? What sauces for dipping? How many? What are we doing?”
There was some grumbling between the men. Clearly, no one was prepared, and as much as Aullie enjoyed being in Weston’s presence, she did have other things to do. She hoped her anxious jiggling and flicking eyes weren’t too noticeable, but finally the conclusion was come to that they would have one pound of medium and one pound of sweet and spicy Thai with ranch and bleu cheese. She jotted a note on the pad in her order book, promised them it would be right out, and turned to leave.
Before she could take even two steps away, Dylan raucously called, “Oh yeah, and some shots! Make it a round of Jame-o!”
Though irritated, Aullie turned, smiled and scribbled on her pad to acknowledge that she’d heard. Weston glared at his friend, shaking his head and smiling as he brought the glass of thick, dark beer to his lips. Aullie wondered briefly how two such different men had become friends.
Orders were taken, drinks and food were run to tables, and eventually the bar settled back into a lull. The waitresses hung out in hidden corners, gossiping, giggling and complaining out of view of their tables. Aullie’s feet had begun to ache and she was startled to see that it was already half-time.
With eleven and twelve managed, Aullie sauntered over to table fourteen. Though Weston was definitely the highlight of her night, Dylan had wasted no time getting half-cocked on shots and it turned out that he was even more obnoxious when he was intoxicated.
She approached with caution, asking, “Everything alright over here?”
The question was met with an enthusiastic, “Woo!” right into her face. Dylan’s breath stank of hot sauce and whiskey.
“So, I’ll take that as a yes?” She was trying for coy, hoping her exhaustion and annoyance weren’t showing yet.
“We’re great,” the lumberjack said. “I’m sorry about him, I don’t know why he’s acting like such a dick.” With the last word, he turned angry eyes on Dylan and kicked him under the table.
“Really, it’s fine. He’s super mellow compared to what usually goes on here. You guys are first timers, huh?”
She’d directed the question at the group, hoping Weston would answer for them, but unfortunately, it was Dylan who said, “Nah, we’ve been in a few times before but didn’t even realize this was, like, the place to watch the game. You guy’s got a great set up here.”
“Oh, you mean all these?” Aullie held her hands out and gestured at their TV collection. It really was ridiculous, there were more TV’s in the bar than there were tables. On days when there were multiple games, it actually got super disorienting with all those colorful bodies moving out of sync.
“Yeah. Those.” There was a libidinous tone to Dylan’s reply, and his muddy brown eyes were squarely on her chest.
Aullie narrowed her eyes. “Too bad those aren’t for public viewing,” she spat. Before he could annoy her any further, Aullie stalked away. Some girls thrived under that kind of attention, and Aullie really didn’t understand. It just felt so… smarmy.
The second half of the game sounded like an exciting one, lots of table pounding and drawn out ohhhhh’s in the dining room. However, Eric had decided to cut the floor so that everyone could get all of their side work done by the time that their tables finished so then everyone could clear out and stop wasting his labor hours on a bunch of table-campers.
Aullie rushed around, almost frantically, assigning and checking everyone else’s little chores for the night and scribbling her messy signature on checkout forms. Fully aware of how much she had been neglecting her tables, she regretfully marched down the row of booths, dropping off checks and hiding her worn-out soul behind a peppy little mask.
Eleven and twelve were both ready to tab out, thank God, and she approached fourteen to find Weston gone. The other three men made signing motions in the air and Lumberjack said, “All on one check.”
Aullie wondered idly where he’d gone, but was frankly too tired to care anymore. After a long day of classes, studio time, and then a work shift, she was completely worn out. Plus, like she’d told Brittany, it wasn’t like anything would ever happen between them anyway, so it wasn’t like his being there was going to change anything.
Aullie passed out tabs, collected cards, ran cards, returned tabs and, bid all her happy patrons a good night, all without another sighting of Weston.
‘Oh well’, she thought. Dylan had paid fourteen’s tab, and Aullie watched him from the POS as he continued to scribble on the receipt long after he should’ve been finished signing it.
“Told you I’d get weirdo Visor Boy’s number,” Aullie grumbled to Brittany, who was slipping into her coat to leave for the night.
“Bummer girl, I’m sorry,” she replied. Suddenly, Brittany perked up, pointing a bright teal finger in the air. “Unless! Maybe British Dream had to leave early on some kind of emergency or something and dipshit over there is giving you his number instead!”
“Yeah, ha ha,” Aullie’s voice was dripping with sarcasm and she rolled her eyes. She hugged Brittany goodnight and waved at the other girls who were heading out the door.
Eventually, Dylan and his friends left too. Aullie walked the row of booths, tucking checkbooks into her apron pockets and balancing cold, dirty glasses in her arms. The bar stank of fried food and spilled beer, and the air was hotter and muggier than it had been before the rush.
She carried her mound of glassware to the dish pit in the back, the humidity was almost choking. Water rushed through the pipes, the pressure-washing dish machine whirred. It was only ten, so the bar wouldn’t close for two more hours, but the kitchen had begun shutting down most of their stations.
Tackleman’s late-night menu, like most sports bars, consisted of just a few low-maintenance fried appetizers but no one expected it to get busy again.
They were right, too. Aullie and a tall, ginger-haired bartender named Danielle, fielded the five men, tota
l, that came into the bar once everyone cleaned out. By closing time, the bar was swept, mopped, vacuumed, and scrubbed from top to bottom and Aullie had Eric clock her out.
“How was your night?” he asked, not looking up as he flipped through the pile of receipts in her checkout.
“Another night in paradise,” she said with a weak smile.
“Did you want this?” he asked, holding up a receipt.
“Want what?” she asked, but looking closer she saw it was table fourteens receipt. “Oh that, no thanks.”
“You sure?” Eric said jokingly. “You’re just gonna ruin poor Mr. uh…” he squinted through his glasses, “Weston’s night.”
Aullie’s eyebrows shot up. “Is it actually Weston’s number?”
“That’s what it says.”
Aullie snatched the slim sheet of paper away from him. She honestly hadn’t even read what was on the back, and she couldn’t believe that Brittany may be right.
But there it was; a note and ten digits in a very traditionally male chicken scratch:
Weston had 2 go but wanted me to leave u his #
Chapter 3
“You should call him.”
“I’m not gonna call him.”
“But you should.”
“But I’m not gonna.”
Aullie smiled. She and Brittany sat together in two oversized, worn leather chairs inside their local Starbucks. The air smelled pleasingly of coffee and all around them, people of varying ages, genders, and nationalities tapped away on MacBooks and sipped from white cardboard cups. The seasonal flavors were back and Brittany had practically begged Aullie to go get her first pumpkin spice latte of the season. Aullie wasn’t much of a Starbucks fan usually, but she had wanted to tell Brittany that she was right about Weston. Plus, a peppermint mocha had sounded pretty good.
The receipt with Weston’s number scrawled on it was wrinkled slightly and sat on the tiny end table between them. Despite herself, Aullie couldn’t help staring at it as though it was magically going to start talking to her.
“But you have to call him,” Brittany whined.
“I don’t have to do anything,” Aullie said, sucking down some creamy, mint-chocolatey goodness. “Why would I want to go out with some guy who can’t give me his number himself? Ten bucks says the number is actually his weird-ass friend, pretending to be him anyway.”
“But what if he really had to leave? What if he’s like, a surgeon or something? Running off in the dark of the night to go save lives.” Brittany, with her usual dramatic flair, placed a hand over her heart.
“Good, then I’m definitely not interested,” Aullie laughed.
“Oh yeah.” Brittany’s face soured. “I forgot you’re weird and don’t like rich guys.”
It was true. When Aullie’s mom, Evelynn Greene, was in her twenties, she had wanted nothing more than to be an actress. She worked hard slinging coffee and eggs at a diner in the mornings so then she could spend her afternoons on stage, doing plays for small local theatres.
During her moving performance as a schizophrenic in The House of Blue Leaves, she had caught the eye of a man in the audience. The man was Charles Wohrl, a tall, dark, and handsome stereotype with family money who didn’t have to try hard to win her heart.
Two years later, they ended up with the lovely baby; Aulora Jane Wohrl. From the time that she was born to the time she was fourteen, Aulora had lived a wealthy life of big houses, private schools, and nice cars. She hadn’t known anything different until her mother came into her room one day, in tears, explaining that her father had gone.
As it turned out, Evelynn had been so enamored with Charles, that she had accepted his plans to never marry. When it turned out, after fourteen years, that having a family was too much of a financial inconvenience and her father had simply walked out. Some say he moved, some say he just kept himself cleverly hidden but either way, he was gone and Evelynn and Aulora were left penniless.
The women had pulled themselves up by their bootstraps and got Aullie through public school in a tiny apartment. She and her mother were able to make do. But ever since, she had harbored a bitter dislike for rich men. She had even changed her name. Aullie was determined to never depend on a man. Financially or otherwise.
“Well, what if he’s like, a plumber or something? Yeah, like a sexy British emergency plumber who saves people from late night septic tank disasters.” The excitement in Brittany’s voice was endearing, even though the idea was ridiculous.
Aullie appreciated Brittany’s vested interest in her love life, but she really hated dating. Plus, that guy was way too sexy to be a plumber.
“Seriously Britt, it’s probably just his dumb trashy friend. I’m not letting that guy have my number.”
“Well fine,” Brittany said, snatching the receipt off the table and swiping open her phone. “He can have mine.”
“No!” Aullie shouted, springing up from her seat and reaching for the little device as Brittany brought it up to her ear and blocked it with a girly little giggle.
Aullie sat back heavily in her own chair with a resigned sigh. She was fully aware Brittany was unstoppable, once she got moving with an idea.
“It’s ringing,” Brittany hissed, an ecstatic twitter in her voice. Aullie dropped her head into her hands. She was embarrassed for Brittany who, now that she thought about it, had probably never even felt embarrassment before in her life.
Suddenly, Brittany gave an excited little cry and slapped her hand over the microphone. She squealed, “British! Take it.” She tossed her phone at Aullie.
She barely caught the sparkly pink phone and shot a giggling Brittany a death glare. “Hello?” she asked lightly, bringing the phone to her ear. Her heart hammered in her chest.
“Hello? Is someone actually there?” There was a hint of a smile in the smooth British voice and Aullie’s hammering heart was soon met by a flutter of butterflies in her stomach.
“Um, yeah, hi,” she stammered. Brittany looked on, wide eyed with glee, and Aullie turned herself sideways a bit, so she felt she had some semblance of privacy. “It’s, um, Aullie. From the bar, last night? I think your friend left me your number.” She was fully aware and swollen with instant regret for how utterly stupid and ridiculous she sounded.
“Oh, Aullie! Great, I was pretty bummed out when I had to step out and didn’t get a chance to speak with you again. I was somewhat worried that you wouldn’t call.”
“Yeah, well, here I am,” Aullie said with a forced laugh.
He returned the laugh politely. “Yes, here you are. Now I know this is a long shot but is there any chance you’re free tonight? I’d love to take you out to dinner.”
“Oh, shoot, um, I actually have to work tonight.”
“NO, SHE DOESN’T!” Brittany yelled almost directly into the mouth piece.
Aullie covered it and shot her a dirty look. “Can you hold for just one second?” She didn’t wait for a reply, just stuck the phone on mute.
“Britt! What are you doing? I, one hundred percent do actually work tonight.”
“Not anymore,” Brittany leered, with a Cheshire Cat grin. “I’m taking your shift and you’re going because he is hot and British and you haven’t had a date, or even a night out, in how long?”
“I can’t, come on, you know how badly I need the money.”
“No. Stop. You’ll make money on both your doubles this weekend. You’ll be fine. What you need is some time for you. You’re going!”
Brittany was right. It had been a while. She un-muted the phone and brought it back to her ear. “Well, I guess I got the night off tonight. I’d love to go to dinner with you.”
Weston chuckled and said, “Great. I’ll pick you up at say, half past seven?”
“Sounds great. I’ll text you my address from my real number, this phone isn’t mine.”
“Excellent. I’m glad to have heard from you Aullie.” The way her name rolled off his tongue made her feel weak. “I’ll see you tonight.
”
“Bye,” she squeaked. She hung up the phone and tossed it back to Brittany. “Well, I hope you’re happy.”
She smiled back, her full, flawlessly-lined lips twisted devilishly.
“I’m thrilled actually. And one of these days, probably tomorrow, you’re going to be thanking me.”
“Whatever,” Aullie rolled her eyes but she knew Brittany was probably right. If she was being honest, she was pretty excited. “What am I gonna wear?”
“Let’s go shopping and find out.” Brittany winked. The girls tossed their empty white cups in the trash can, gathered their purses, and headed out to Aullie’s groaning little Accord.
Chapter 4
‘This was a mistake’, Aullie thought, once again straightening the hem of her dress. Her raven hair fell stick straight halfway down her back, her straight-cut bangs brushed her freshly plucked eyebrows. Her fair skin was subtly made up and her steel-colored eyes lined with subtle little black wings.
She wore a high-cut, sleeveless dress the color of an eggplant that hugged her slender body, with an asymmetrical skirt that showed a little more of her long, porcelain thigh on one side than she was used to. Since she was already bordering on tall for a girl, she had tried to convince Brittany that flats were a better option. Britt had simply said, “In a dress like that, heels are the only option.” So there Aullie was, teetering slightly on a pair of strappy black wedges.
She stood outside her apartment complex, hoping to spare poor Weston the chore of finding her cramped little studio apartment. Her nervous eyes watched the traffic, worrying that he either wouldn’t show or worse, that he was going to show up in some flashy, rich-boy car.
The seconds ticked by painfully slow. She checked the time on her phone in her small black clutch for the hundredth time and it was still only seven twenty-four. Why had she come out so early?
Suddenly, a car rumbled to a stop near the curb in front of her. The beaten Volkswagen bug looked like a bulbous little dinosaur. It quite possibly could’ve been one of the first bugs ever made. The exterior was dinged up and painted sunset orange. The artist in Aullie fell in love with the unforgettable little car immediately, the rest of her soon followed suit when the passenger window rolled down and Weston ducked his head to look out and greet her. He reached across the interior of the car and pulled the handle, the door swung open and he tapped the passenger seat, inviting her in.
The Naughty One: A Doctor’s Christmas Romance (Season of Desire Book 2) Page 65