IOU: A Romantic Comedy

by Kristy Marie

  “What are you doing?” The shrill sound snaps all of our heads toward the bar, where two girls have their hands on a pitcher of beer. “It’s my table!”

  The blonde squeezed into a button-up shirt with the top four buttons undone shoves at the brunette who has a tight grip on the pitcher’s handle. “It’s my table, Taylor. Check the chart out front. You can’t have all my tables.” Her voice is calm, but it has an edge to it, like any minute all hell is going to break loose.

  “I have ten on the blonde,” says Sebastian, already passing over a ten-dollar bill.

  “I have ten on the brunette,” counters Rowan, digging a couple of bills out of his pocket too. “You in, Mav?”

  I watch the dark-haired girl dressed in the same white shirt hold her position. “It’s my table,” she reiterates.

  “No, your tables are over there.” The blonde nods to a group of high school kids who are known not to tip well. “Tucker reassigned your zone.”

  At the mention of said Tucker, the brunette drops her hold on the pitcher, and the one stuffed in the shirt smiles victoriously. “Don’t try taking my tables again, or I’ll tell Sam. No one needs you bringing your drama to work.”

  “I change my mind. I hope the brunette kicks this bitch’s ass.” I don’t acknowledge Sebastian’s comment.

  “Is it wrong that I hope she slams her head on the bar?” That’s Rowan. He’s always the violent one of our group.

  I turn and face him. “What do you think this is? WWE?”

  He shrugs unapologetically. “A nice reality check never hurt anyone.”

  I scoff. If Rowan is the one giving you that reality check, it does.

  I shake my head and turn back to the bar where the girls have now separated.

  “Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?”

  The dipshit waiter we were saddled with steps in my eye line, blocking my view of the door behind the bar where I assume the girls disappeared into.

  “I’ll take a Scotch, neat,” says Sebastian. “He’ll take one too.” Sebastian tips his chin at me.

  “No scotch, just water,” I correct him.

  “I am so sick of this virgin version of Maverick,” he whines, kicking his foot onto Rowan’s and my bench. Rowan knocks it off quickly. “Where’s the reckless guy I once—”

  I aim a glare right at his playing hand. One look. That’s all it would take for Rowan to jump across the table and break it. Would I do that to one of my closest friends? Maybe.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Rowan growls for me.

  We don’t feed the rumors of who I used to be. We only feed the rumors about who I am now. The last thing Sebastian wants us to do is start talking about each other’s pasts. His has more secrets than mine.

  Our waiter clears his throat awkwardly. “Anything else for you right now?” Finally, I look away and at the waiter still standing here talking and not fetching our goddamned drinks.

  “Ye—” I start but then read his name tag. Tucker. “Are you the manager, Tucker?” Underneath is his title in small words reading assistant, not manager. Is this who the girls were talking about?

  He stands straighter, proud of his assistant title. “Assistant, yes. Is there a problem?” His tone is professional, but a level of fear bubbles just beyond his flat and dull affect.

  The little sniveling shit in front me is a college student. I’ve seen him around. I didn’t know his name, but that’s not surprising. I don’t know most people’s names. I can’t be bothered learning names. You’re either in a contract with me or not. Those who aren’t are at the table with me. No one else matters.

  I glance back at the bar, waiting to see if the brunette has come back out.

  She hasn’t.

  “Not yet,” I say flatly. I dismiss him by swiping, waking up my laptop, and pulling up an email. The girl behind the bar is not my problem. In fact, she’s not a problem. From the sound of it, this asshole and his bitchy little helper are the problem.

  “Uh . . . Okay then. I’ll get you those drinks now.”

  None of us acknowledge his existence.

  I go back to my spreadsheet and Sebastian back to texting.

  I don’t know how much time passes. It seems like only minutes, but when Rowan’s phone dings, it has me pulling my head up and realizing I now have a plate of food in front of me. “When did you order?” Where the fuck was I?

  Sebastian snorts. “About twenty minutes ago. You were doing that weird, chanting thing.”

  My lips purse. “It’s called brainstorming.”

  “It’s called schizophrenia. We’ve asked you to stop talking to the voices, Mav. It’s weirding us out.” He’s fucking lying, and his deep baritone laugh confirms it.

  “I’m working out scenarios in my head, dick. I’m not answering voices.”

  Sebastian shrugs. “Seems like an awful lot of chatter going on in there. I’m telling you, clear the demons. Smoke a joint and get laid, it’ll clear all the voices out.”

  It’s pointless to attempt a conversation with him.

  “I’ll pass. I’ve seen the shit you do high.”

  He leans forward, a big stupid grin stretching across his face. “Did you see my video last week? The shit got removed because they thought it was porn. Got over three million views, though, before it was taken down.”

  Rowan makes a disgusted noise. “Dude, we told you we don’t watch or heart your shit. Stop asking us, you’re making it weird.”

  Unfortunately, it’s not weird for me. Sebastian and I have been friends for too long. I’ve seen his strange, and it no longer fazes me.

  “Did you see it, Mav?” He sounds like a little kid, eager for praise.

  I cut him a really-do-you-think-I-would-watch-my-friend-fuck-a-girl look.

  He waves me off. “It wasn’t that bad. All over the clothes stuff, but the noises she made. . .” He bites his knuckle and makes this face of ecstasy. “So fucking hot.”

  I finger the collar of my shirt. Fuck. I’ve been sweating. I really did get consumed.

  Sebastian catches the movement. “See? So fucking scary. I’m on my third drink.”

  “I just get worked up when I’m going through all these numbers. It’s fine.”

  Rowan doesn’t look convinced. “Aren’t you taking the same Calculus as me?”

  I shut my laptop and stuff it in my bag. “It’s harder for me than it is for you.”

  Grabbing the knife from the rolled napkin, I cut into my steak. Perfect. “Thanks for ordering for me.” I know it was Sebastian.

  “You would starve if we didn’t.”

  I doubt that.

  “And I don’t want to hear any excuses that you can’t go to Gigi’s after we leave this snooze fest.”

  Ah. How could I forget?

  I take a bite of my steak, and Rowan’s phone dings again.

  “Do you have a problem I should be concerned about?” I nod at his screen, knowing he’s playing online poker just by the sound of the ding. I know it because once upon a time, I played it.

  “If I did”—he pauses, flashing me a smirk—“I wouldn’t ask for your help.” But he would get it anyway. “I’m a big boy.”

  “We know,” chimes in Sebastian, never looking up from his phone. “And if you don’t lay off all those fries, you’re going to be an even bigger boy.”

  Rowan tosses a fry, and I try not to grin. I’m mid-bite of the only thing I wanted tonight when I hear Sebastian groan and throw his fork down. “Can we not eat without being interrupted?”

  I chew the greatest steak ever and swallow. “This isn’t a date. Relax,” I aim at Sebastian before wiping my hands and meeting the eyes of the person who is crazy enough to interrupt us.

  “I’m so sorry to bother you, Mr. Lexington.”

  Mr. Lexington. That one never gets old. It sounds like he’s speaking to my father.

  I eye this frat boy’s shorts and Hawaiian shirt. “You have fifteen seconds to make your case.”

  I don’t ha
ve time for this. My steak is getting cold, and I didn’t finish my spreadsheet. Neither of which makes me happy nor puts me in a very receptive mood.

  “I need a favor,” he rushes out.

  I hear Sebastian mumble into a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “Shocker.”

  “What’s your name?”

  I don’t really care, but he’s nervous, and I don’t have all day for him to spit it out.

  “Todd.”

  I nod. “Great. So, Todd, this is how this works.”

  He nods eagerly.

  “You have exactly five seconds left before I pick up my fork and resume eating, after which my friend Rowan here will escort you away from our table.”

  His hands drop to his side.

  “My suggestion is to speed the fuck up.”

  If you’re desperate enough to interrupt my dinner, you’re desperate enough to ask me for a favor in one breath.

  “I’m short on rent money!”

  Rowan rolls his eyes. This particular favor is common amongst college students. The first time away from home and they blow student loan money, Mom and Dad’s money, etc. Sometimes for girls. Sometimes for drugs but never for actual bills.

  “How much?” My fingers itch to grab the fork. Ever since that first bite, I’m starving.

  “Fifteen hundred.”

  Huh. I expected more. Most of the time, they come to me when they are nearing eviction.

  “I need the money by tonight,” he adds, his thick neck working to swallow his nerves.

  Frankly, I couldn’t give a fuck when he needs the money. I’m never rushed. “I take thirty percent to be repaid in thirty days plus your IOU.”

  They aren’t good terms for Todd, but they are very profitable terms for me.

  He nods reluctantly. “I can do that.”

  I reach into my back pocket and fish out a card and a Sharpie, writing the words IOU across the back. I slide it to the edge of the table. “Give your number to Sebastian.” I nod to Bash just in case this kid doesn’t know him. “He’ll send you the info.”

  “But I need the money by tonight!”

  Again, I don’t fucking care.

  “You get the money when I say you get the money. Unless you want to add a rush fee?”

  I finger another card. Don’t do it, kid. Don’t get that desperate.

  He shakes his head. “I can wait.”

  They always can. Even if I do plan on giving him the money tonight—I do honor deals after all—I don’t like being rushed, especially when I’m eating. “Number?”

  He calls out the numbers, and Sebastian begrudgingly types it into his phone.

  “We’ll be in touch,” I say, dismissing him by picking up my fork and taking a bite. Fuck. Now it’s cold. I sigh into my plate just as Todd scampers off.

  “Why do you let them ask for favors at any time of the day?”

  I level Rowan with a look. “The best ones always come at the worst time. Nothing beats a desperate soul willing to do anything for a favor.”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  “Better here than my house.” I wave off his annoyed look and move the food around on my plate. “This shit’s cold,” I whine.

  “No one cares. If you hadn’t been calling out for your demon friends earlier, you would have had most of it eaten by now.”

  Sebastian, always the smartass.

  “Again, I was not chanting. I was brainstorming.”

  His eyes go squinty. “You were chanting.”

  I go to argue, but Rowan beats me to it. “Just shut up and eat. We’re ready to leave.”

  Leave or play poker? I guess it doesn’t matter. I accomplished the majority of what I needed to do tonight.

  “Ask that waitress to reheat your food.”

  I catch Sebastian’s half-assed concern and follow his finger to where it’s pointing to the brunette we saw arguing earlier behind the bar.

  “Excuse me, Miss,” calls Sebastian. She turns, pausing just a moment like she isn’t sure if she should acknowledge him. “Yeah, you. Come here.”

  I feign interest in her snug white top with a large brown stain down the front. Did she go to the back and throw down with the blonde? If so, I’m impressed.

  “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

  Rowan makes a disbelieving sound. We’re no gentlemen.

  “Can you have this reheated?” I ask.

  Her eyes narrow at my plate before flicking up to meet mine. “I’ll get your waiter.”

  I slide the plate to the edge of the table. “That won’t be necessary.”

  There’s something to be said for a gambling man. Risk is always our reward. I live by the challenge and die by the loss. And right now, I want to see the cards this girl is holding. Is she a doormat, or does she have some fight in her? I couldn’t tell earlier, but now, I’m in the betting mood. Those stormy eyes of hers aren’t submissive. So why shut down at the mention of her assistant manager? Is she scared she’ll be fired?

  Her finger slides the plate back toward me. “It will be necessary. Tucker will be happy to reheat your food.”

  I slide it back, a smirk playing at the corner of my lips. “I want you to do it.” I shove the plate a little farther until it meets her waist. “And quickly. I’m tired of waiting.”

  I realize about two seconds too late, as my delicious steak and potatoes slide down my shirt, that I was right. Those eyes did have some fight in them.

  “Oops,” she says, feigning shock. “I’m so sorry. I will have Tucker order you another.” Her eyes go hard as she backs away from the table. “I’ll even have him order it warm.”

  Rowan shoots up from the table about to teach our little waitress a lesson.

  “It’s fine,” I assure him, knocking the remnants of food onto the floor before lifting my gaze to the hotheaded waitress. “I appreciate that”—I read her name tag and say with a low warning—“Ainsley.”

  Her throat works. She’s not so big now.

  “Look, I’m—”

  I cut her off. “Going to tell my waiter to bring my food now before I call Sam personally.”

  She agrees, nodding up and down. “Yes, sir—I mean, of course. Right away. Again, I’m so sorry.”

  Once Ainsley has disappeared into the back, I manage to get most of the food off my shirt before—“I told you we should have gone to Gigi’s.”

  Rumor has it she’s banging an old dude.

  “You threw food on him?”

  The horror in Boss’s eyes doesn’t give me the warm and fuzzies. I’d just about had myself convinced in the car that it was no big deal, accidents with plates happen all the time. For all the hot guy knew, I was a new waitress with butterfingers.

  I look down at Bostic’s feet, his black combat-style boots, shiny and clean, unlike my scuffed ballet flats. “Technically, I didn’t throw it,” I say hesitantly, raising my gaze to meet his. It’s not as aghast as it was a few seconds ago. Maybe the killer cup of sweet tea I made is helping.

  “So, it was an accident, then?” The one arched brow he raises dares me to lie.

  “Uhh . . . I wouldn’t say an accident. More like . . . his fault.”

  The other eyebrow rises just a fraction. “His fault?” I’m starting to believe that coming back to the firehouse after my shift was a bad idea.

  I blow out a breath that makes my lips vibrate with a funny noise. “Fine, okay. I did it on purpose.” Hair falls across my shoulder, blocking Bostic’s and Luke’s—who’s pretending not to listen as he stirs the pot of spaghetti noodles for the ten thousandth time—view of my reddened cheeks.

  “Did he do something to upset you?”

  Yes! This is precisely the question Bostic should be asking. Except, how can I admit the truth without sounding like a hateful ass that needs to be shamed? I bite my lip and flash a look of help to Luke, who quickly turns back around and stirs. Traitor.

  “He did.” I nod several times, hoping Bostic will jump in with another question. Spoiler alert: he doesn�
�t.

  Okay.

  No big deal. Women lose their shit all the time. If they didn’t, men would act like they ran the world. A little bit of crazy never hurt anyone.

  Except for the dick-ish dude’s shirt—that’s for sure ruined. He can kiss wearing that sexy as sin, dark button-down goodbye.

  “What did he do to deserve his dinner on his lap?”

  Okay, now Boss’s tone seems like he’s trying to make me feel bad. It’s working.

  I stand from the table, grab his empty tea glass, and go to the refrigerator and pour him some more. He’s going to need it after this story.

  “Taylor was giving me a hard time,” I admit with a soft shrug. “She had Tucker take all the good tipping tables and left me with the high school kids and some of the frat guys. You know those guys never leave a tip.”

  Luke flashes me a sad look, but Bostic’s stare never wavers.

  “I know that wasn’t a good reason to take out my frustrations on a customer.” It was supposed to be my table, but Tucker changed my zone at the last minute. “But Tucker had warned me off their tables, and I had enough drama already, but the guy kept insisting I take his food back and heat it.”

  If I hadn’t been in such a pissy mood, I would have stopped to appreciate his glacier blue eyes—and I’m not talking about the pretty, light, icy color like you find above the water’s surface, warning you of impending doom. No. I’m talking about the dark menacing glacier that sits just below the surface, waiting to destroy the next unsuspecting victim. He was frighteningly beautiful, the slight twitch of his lips luring you in as his next breath destroyed you. And I fell epically for his bait.

  “Why couldn’t you have just taken his food and heated it? Would it have been that bad?”

  I finish pouring Bostic’s tea and make my way back to the table, setting it down harder than necessary. “Don’t start making sense, Boss. I can’t take it.” I suck in a deep breath and take a seat. “All I’m saying is I didn’t want any more trouble. I simply wanted to get Tucker, but he started doing this thing with his mouth.”

  Luke makes a noise, turning around. “What kind of thing? Like something kinky?”

  It’s the first time I’ve smiled all night. I turn, touching my finger to the corner of my lip. “No. It was like this twitch. Like he was mocking me or something.” I think back to the man with the thick head of hair that looked mussed and wild as if he got out of the shower and dried it with a towel and didn’t bother taking a comb to it. Right. His lip thing. “It was as if he was trying to get a reaction out of me.”