by J. M. Adele
“Isn’t that the point?”
“Well, yeah. Here’s your coffee.”
“Bless your heart.” Jenna blew across the surface before sipping the brew.
“Listen to you, sounding all southern.” A grin tugged at Chelsea’s lips.
“You rub off on a person. It’s hard not to go ‘round saying ‘y’all,’ after spending a day in your company.”
“Y’all is a legit contraction. I don’t know why y’all insist on saying ‘you guys.’ Last time I looked I didn’t have a set of balls between my legs.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Is it okay if another person joins us?”
“Depends on who it is.”
“Hannah needs to cram for her molecular biology exam.”
Shades of pink rushed over Jenna’s cheeks. “Oh. Hannah.”
“Yep. Why? Who were you hoping for?”
“I wasn’t hoping for anyone in particular. She’s doing science? I pictured her more as a philosophy major.”
“Ha. Maybe a minor. But she wants to be able to pay her bills, just like the rest of us.”
“Which I won’t be able to do unless we study.”
“Right. Shutting up now.”
Jenna put her pen down and relaxed back against the pillow. “Did you hear that Greyson has to work as a server as part of his rotations requirement?”
Chelsea snorted, pulling her glass away from her mouth just in time before she made a mess. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, he’s rostered on tomorrow night. I think Matteo is sparing him from the weekend rush. Mainly because it’ll hurt the restaurant to put a newbie on a busy night. Dane cackled like a villain when he found out.”
“I’m sure he did. Who’s Grey buddied up with for training?”
“Who’s training? Hi Jenna.” Hannah plonked herself and her books on the end of the bed, stretching her legs across, and leaning her back against the wall.
She’d thrown on a pair of ripped jeans and a loose T-shirt—also ripped—that hung off her shoulder, exposing her tattoo.
“Greyson is doing some time in the front of house,” Chelsea offered, because Jenna must’ve singed her tongue on coffee, or something, the way her mouth opened and closed like a fish. And she might’ve had an eyelash in her eye because she was furiously blinking.
“Chelsea has to train him on how to give service,” Jenna’s voice crackled out.
Her tongue returns! What had Hannah said about her gadar pinging? All sorts of vibes were zipping between the two. Chelsea was probably flushed too.
“I was just telling Chelsea she needed to teach him how to service her. What a lucky coincidence.”
Jenna’s head jerked back. “I’m sorry, did you just . . . ?” Jenna’s timid question accompanied another blush.
“Yes, she means what you think she did. She’s worse than me.”
“Sex is a natural thing. I don’t get why they’re dancing around each other. If you like someone and they like you too, you should just be together. There’s nothing stopping them.” Hannah stabbed a pencil through the messy knot of hair on top of her head and flipped open her textbook.
“I guess so.” Jenna’s face twisted like Hannah had hit a raw nerve. She started gathering her things. “I’m going to study at home. Thanks for the coffee.”
“Oh, okay. Anytime. Do you want me to walk you to the station?”
“No. It’s not that far. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye, Hannah.” She backed out of the room, hugging her bag to her chest.
Dropping her pen, Chelsea pushed her chair back, ready to follow Jenna out, but Hannah bounced off the bed.
“I’ll see her out. I think I upset her.”
“Would you mind? Thanks, Hannah.”
“Not at all. I’ll be back soon. I might take Ryan’s car. He won’t mind.”
“Okay.”
Turning back to her books, Chelsea sighed. Now her concentration was shot too. What had upset Jenna? And the coffee aroma was too damn tempting. She figured she’d grab one, since they were in for a long night of cramming. And an even longer period of torture the next night. A whole shift with Greyson taggin’ along.
Lord help her.
_____
Greyson watched the way Chelsea’s ponytail bounced, and how her hips swayed as she weaved through the restaurant, setting up for service. He was one lucky sonofabitch. He got to tail that ass all night. Pity he had to concentrate on his job at the same time.
She handed him an order pad and an apron, stocked with pens and a waiter’s friend. “When you write the customer’s orders, do it in the sequence in which they’re seated. That way you can serve the right dish to the right customer without asking who ordered what. It’s more professional.”
Shoving the notepad in the apron, he tied it on while following her to the bar. Carafes of water lined the shelves of a fridge behind the bar where Beau was busy restocking the fridges.
“Hey, Beau.” Barely missing a beat, she continued the rundown of his duties. “Never let the water run out. Keep an eye on all your tables whenever you’re on the floor, because people will want to order drinks. Be careful of dousing the tables in alcohol. Too much will cause you problems. Beau keeps an eye on that too, but it pays to be aware.”
Well, hell, there was more to this than he thought. He stopped watching her lips and started paying attention to the words slipping past them.
Following her to the host’s station, he couldn’t resist a peek at that ass again. “Spread the napkins on their laps after seating, and before handing them the menu. Dane does this, mostly, but you might have to, on occasion. You need to memorize the menu and any special dishes the chef decides to add, depending on his trip to the market. Customers will want to know how things are cooked and what each dish is like. You shouldn’t have a problem with that.” Her hand trembled as she passed him a menu.
She was nervous. Well, color me surprised. He couldn’t find enough spit to swallow as his blood pumped harder. Grey shook his head to snap himself out of a lustful haze.
“Chelsea.” He touched her arm to get her attention as she marched through the room. “Take a breath.”
Peering over her shoulder, eyebrows raised, she finally came to a halt. “Sorry. Am I dumping too much on you at once, sugar?”
She wasn’t sorry at all, but the ‘sugar’ she threw in sweetened her sarcasm and got his pants growing uncomfortably tight. “Definitely.” He refused to adjust himself.
Her beautiful blue eyes dropped to his neck, slipping slowly down to his belt, before darting back to the server’s station. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. “This is where we restock everything.”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Over three years.”
“Why did you go to a college in Boston? Why not Alabama?”
She fiddled with the silverware before facing him. “Scholarship. But I figured a different experience would be a good idea. I needed to spread my wings before I settled into a fulltime career.”
“What if you end up staying here?”
Arms crossed, she leaned a hip against the bench. “That’s not gonna happen.”
“Why not?” Hooking his thumbs in the top of his apron, he pushed down the lump of unease in his throat.
“Because I have plans.”
Why did he feel like he should fall to his knees and beg?
“Plans can change.”
“Maybe if nobody is relying on you to follow through, they can. But I’m not letting my mama down.”
“I respect that.”
He hated it, but he respected it.
Tilting her head, she gave him an amused smile that had his heart forgetting what to do. “Can we get back to work now?”
Exhaling, he memorized the shape of her smile. “Yeah. We can do that.”
She turned away from him again. As much as he liked the view, he decided that he didn’t like watching her walk away. He’d rather she
was running towards him, ready to jump, so he could grab two hands full of that ass and kiss her stupid.
He caught up, watching her add a setting to a table. “Are you going home for Christmas?”
“Yeah. I’m leaving in two days.” Her smile stretched her lips and crinkled the corners of her eyes.
Adrenaline swamped him under a tide of want. He had to blink. It was as if the emotion behind her answer lifted a veil, and let him see her, unguarded and real. Excitement transformed her from gorgeous to utterly stunning. His body bunched, ready to strip away her shield and get tangled up with the woman who hid beneath. He could see himself with her, burning brightly together, building an amazing life. Driving each other crazy. Hell if he knew what he’d do when she left for good.
If.
If she left.
Grey knew he was staring, but he couldn’t wrench his eyes away.
“What about you? Is Matteo giving you some time off to go home?”
Home? His forehead bunched. Was that even his home anymore? It didn’t feel like it, and that made his lungs squeeze a little.
“Are you kidding? I’m the new guy. I have to get through my probation period before he’ll let me outta here.”
“Don’t you get special treatment, being family, and all?”
“No, Chelsea. I have to prove myself just like every other schmuck. What is it with you and the family thing?”
“Nothing. I just thought, maybe since he’s your uncle he might want to give you time to see your folks.”
“I’m spending Christmas Day working. With my uncle. I will be with family.”
“Lucky you. That’s great.”
“Quit the sarcasm, sweetheart. I am lucky to finally be working where my heart is. I’d rather be here than home any day.” He tugged on his apron. “I miss my siblings and my mama and Nonna, but that’s where it ends.”
Liar. He missed his Papà too. He was just too pissed to admit it.
“I wasn’t being sarcastic. I do think it’s great. You’re fortunate to have an uncle who cares about you and your future. A lot of people don’t have that.”
“I know.”
He watched her thoughtfully as she busied herself, avoiding his eyes.
“What about you? Do you have that?”
“I have my mama.”
“No uncles?”
“Nope. Just great friends. Sometimes a girl’s gotta pick her own family.” Smoothing the table cloth, her shoulders lifted on an inhale before she faced him. “Let’s go test your knowledge of the wine list before the doors open.”
Her evasiveness ground his patience to a stub. She wasn’t like an onion where the layers were easy to peel off ... she was a hundred-year-old tree. If he wanted to get to the center, he needed to wield a saw.
But, it was Grey that felt severed. Here was this woman who’d been raised by a single mom, with no other family to rely on, and she’d gone clear across the country to make something of herself. All she wanted to do was get home and use that knowledge to build something she could share with her mama.
He had a family that loved him and he’d turned away in a selfish search for what? Notoriety? Acclaim? Wealth?
Was it even worth it? Why couldn’t he take the experience and knowledge he was going to gain and take it home with him? Make something lasting he could share with his family … with Chelsea?
If she’d have him.
But he’d still have to get through two years with Matteo. He got the impression his uncle would be as happy about him leaving as his father was.
“After you.”
Did We …?
Matteo said this was meant to be a slow night. Grey’s head was damn near ready to spin off his neck. The entrées had gone out on a few of their tables, with a couple already up to mains, and new parties were still lining up at the door. He was used to being busy. He’d grown up busy. It was putting on a smile and being polite and accommodating that he was having trouble with. Was it so hard for people to say thank you? And what the fuck was it with people clicking their goddamn fingers? He’d pictured herding a few assholes out the door already. At least in the kitchen, he could set his tongue free. Cuss words were cleansing. There was nothing like spitting out ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’, or ‘sonofabitch’ when things weren’t going his way.
Chelsea moved from one task to the next, all with a smile on her face and a hop in her step. She had a way about her that put the customers at ease, and had them enjoying their night before the food even arrived. The service staff held a lot of power in this business. They could make or break a restaurant. He hadn’t really thought about more than the food, until now.
Dropping off another order to the kitchen, Grey made his way back to the floor where Chelsea was greeting a new party in their section. He slowed his steps, noticing the stiff set of her shoulders and the clipped tone of her voice, and struggled to keep his own composure. Whatever had her back up, set his hackles rising too.
He tacked on a smile and moved beside her, sizing up the party of four gentlemen in business suits. “Good evening, folks. My name is Greyson and I’ll be assisting Chelsea with your service this evening. Would anybody like a drink to get started?” Motherfuckers.
See? He felt better just thinking it.
Gold cufflinks winked under the dim light as one of the men adjusted his tie, his predatory blue stare ignoring Greyson and following Chelsea as she retreated a step.
“How is your mother?”
A bit of southern flavored his accent, the words dripping with threat. Grey moved over, shielding her from potential harm. If this guy knew Chelsea’s mom, it definitely wasn’t on good terms. Grey wasn’t real interested in giving him a five-star evening. Maybe a boot out the door. Now, that would be fun.
She stepped around Grey, order pad in hand, smile fastened tight. “You know as well as I do, that’s none of your business.” Directing her attention to the other members of the party, she licked her lips and poised her pen. “What would y’all like to drink?”
“Uh—”
A chubby guy in pinstripes started to speak up before being cut off by the blond in cufflinks.
“A bottle of Bollinger, on ice. Is she still making those delightful cakes?”
His stare hadn’t detached from Chelsea, but she matched it with her own cool blue return.
“One Bollinger comin’ right up, gentlemen. I’ll let Greyson take any other drink orders while I get you some water and the wine.” Spinning on her heel, she aimed for the bar, stopping to check on another table as she went.
Questions jostled for freedom as Grey turned back to the man, pen threatening to snap under the pressure of his clenched fist.
“I’d like a beer.” The guy in pinstripes put up a finger, daring to step into the minefield about to blow.
Good, ‘cause I’d like to go to the bar, motherfucker. Grey took down the other requests and left them without another word. He wasn’t cut out for this shit.
Chelsea had some explaining to do.
Following his tunnel vision, he was sure his boots made tracks on the floor as he traced her steps, finding her behind the bar, filling an ice bucket.
“Who’s the guy?”
His question rolled off her shoulders as she kept scooping without sparing him a glance. “Table nine just arrived. Could you go and greet them, please? I’ll check on the entrées for seven before taking ten’s order.”
“Cut the shit, Chelsea. Who is he?”
The metal scoop clanked off the side of the ice bin as she threw it back down. “No, Grey, you cut the shit. We don’t have time for this right now, and it’s none of your damn business anyways. The customers are waiting. Get your ass moving.” Hefting the bucket and stand, she took off.
Once again, he found himself watching her walk away as he ground his teeth together. It was unbelievable how he’d grown to hate that view after just a couple of hours.
“Don’t just stand there, man, step on the gas.” Beau poured a c
ouple of martinis from a cocktail shaker, adding them to a tray for another server.
“I need a Bud and two shots of Grey Goose for table ten.”
Grey collected his own tray and began loading it with a carafe of water and glasses, while Beau made the drinks.
“Do you see the blond guy in the suit looking at Chelsea like he wants to grind her under his shoe?”
“Yeah. Who is he?”
“I thought you might know. You’ve never seen him before?”
“Nope. Is he a problem?”
“I think he might be, but I don’t know. He knows her and her mom. She was real tetchy around him.”
“Sorry, man. I don’t know who he is. I’ll keep an eye on him, though.”
“That’d be great, thanks.”
Sliding the tray off the bar, he nearly tipped its contents onto Dane when he materialized from thin air.
“For fuck’s sake, Dane, stop doing that.”
“Tsk. No swearing in the restaurant.” Dane held a hand under the tray to help steady it and jerked an elbow towards table ten. “Who’s the douche?”
“We’d all like to know.” Beau checked out the party of suits with a keen eye.
Dane’s eyes were checking out Beau. “You’ve had your hair cut. Looks good.”
“Uh, thanks. Kelly cuts it for me.” Beau spun his wedding ring on his finger before he rubbed a hand over his hair.
“Lucky girl.”
Grey cut in, “Are you ADHD? We were talking about the douche on ten, remember? What name are they booked under?”
“It’s a business name. I checked when I saw our girl drop her happy. Winchester, O’Neil. Don’t ask me what they do.”
“Could you do me a solid and watch him? I don’t like the way he’s lookin’ at Chelsea, and she’s not talking either. Something’s not right.”
“Sure thing, cowboy.” Dane trotted off.
Beau dipped his chin. “We’ve got you. Better get moving with that tray.”
He served the drinks to the table and caught up with Chelsea at the server window in the kitchen.
“I’ll look after ten tonight.”
“Here, help me with these meals for seven.”
Stacking the plates up his arm, he watched her through narrowed eyes. He wasn’t letting her dismiss him on this. “I’m serving ten tonight.”