Overlooked

by Lulu Pratt

  Skye glances at me, a look of exasperation on her face. I can’t help but smile; it’s all I can do not to laugh out loud at Freya.

  “How about a burger?”

  “No! I haven’t eaten a burger in years, and I’m not about to change that now.”

  “I can do it without the bun.” Skye looks at me and winks.

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “Okay, chicken strips in a basket?”

  “What is wrong with this place?”

  “Bread, then. How about some bread?” I’m liking Skye more by the second.

  “I do not eat carbs.”

  “How’s the Caesar with dressing on the side sounding now?”

  “Fine. I saw fruit salad on the dessert menu, I’ll just fill up on that after my lettuce.” Freya says, huffing.

  “And for you, sir, what would you like? Another salad?” My dick twitches at the way she calls me sir. That’s something I’d like more of.

  “Fuck no, I want a burger.”

  “How about I add bacon and cheese to that?”

  “Perfect, Skye.” She goes to take my menu but I hold onto it tight, not quite ready for her to leave the table. And leave me alone to forced conversation with boring Freya again. What was my sister thinking, setting me up with her? Why couldn’t she have found someone like Skye?

  “Did you want to keep your menu?” She holds my eye contact as she speaks, something most people can’t do.

  “Nope, it’s all yours,” I say, releasing the menu.

  Skye turns and walks away from the table, and once again I’m enjoying watching the sway of her ass.

  “Why did you bring me here?” Freya’s voice is halfway between disgust and tears.

  “I wanted a burger.”

  “I thought we were going to a yacht party.” And that’s what she’s all about. I bet if they served burgers on the yacht, she’d eat one. She strikes me as the kind of person who would do whatever it takes to get to play with the moneyed folk.

  Ten long minutes later, Skye returns with our food. Freya’s nose turns up as Skye puts the plain lettuce on the table in front of her. My mouth waters when she sets the burger in front of me, as much for the glimpse I got of her cleavage as for the smell of the bacon.

  “Can I get you anything else?” She asks. Yeah, your lips around my dick.

  “That’s great, Skye. I think we’re good.”

  Freya’s saying something, no doubt complaining about her lettuce, but I tune her out as I bite into my burger. I don’t feel the least bit guilty for ignoring her, she can fuck off while I enjoy this juicy meat in my mouth.

  While I chew, the thought of taking out Skye crosses my mind. But she’s a waitress. What are the chances she wouldn’t turn into a gold digger when she found out about my money?

  When I finish my burger, I lick the last bit of grease off my fingers. Freya is sitting, staring at me, her arms folded across her chest. I’d bet anything she’d spring back into fawning-all-over-me mode if I showed her the least bit of attention.

  “I’ll be right back, I need the shitter.” That should shock her to her gold-digging core.

  I walk in the direction I’ve been watching Skye’s ass move all night. The place is a maze of wooden booths, but I turn a corner and spot her as she moves behind a partition.

  It’s a waitress station, and Skye busies herself by wrapping forks and knives in red paper napkins. She starts when I appear in her cramped station.

  “Hey, Skye,” I say, propping one hand on the partition.

  “Can I help you?” Her voice is sultry, and for a moment I wonder if it’s a proposition. I bet she wants to get on her knees in front of me right here.

  “I just wanted a favor.”

  “What’s that?” She stops her cutlery wrapping and turns to me. My eyes rake over her tight T-shirt and the swell of her tits underneath. I figure she’s early twenties, and they’re nice and perky with a good dose of cleavage on show. She probably gets the most tips in this place.

  Her eyes are fixed on my arms, examining my tattoo sleeves. I wonder what she’s noticed.

  “As you may have seen, my date for the night is a real piece of work. When you come back, tell her you’re sold out of fruit salad. I need to get out of here.”

  She laughs, a wicked, sharp sound that bounces around our little cubby hole and lands straight on my cock. If she can make a sound like that so easily, what would she sound like when I made her come?

  “She’s something else, that’s for sure. I can’t say we get people like her in here every day, or ever. This is a good, honest place for regular people to eat. We don’t get many rich bitches like her. Wealthy people have no place in here.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, those rich fuckers have too much as it is, there’s no need for them to set foot in our territory.”

  “I see.” She’s so young and idealistic. It’s cute.

  “This is what I think of her,” Skye says. She hands me a small piece of paper.

  It’s an empty sheet from her orders notepad. I turn it over. On the back is a drawing of Freya. It’s so lifelike it looks like a photograph, except this Freya has dragon fire coming out of her mouth and pointy horns on her head.

  “You just drew this picture of Freya?”

  “Yeah, I was bored while waiting for another table.”

  “This is amazing. Can I keep it?”

  She shrugs. “Sure. And don’t worry, I’ll tell the dragon lady we’re out of fruit salad.”

  “You’re a star,” I say and kiss her cheek. Her eyes widen and her hand flies to where my lips have just been. Before she has a chance to say anything, I turn and walk back to my table.

  Skye appears at our table a few minutes later and, as promised, tells Freya there’s no fruit salad. Instead she lays the check on the table, halfway between me and Freya.

  Of course, Freya makes no move to look at the check. She doesn’t even glance at it. I pull my wallet out of my jeans pocket. As I open it, the drawing Skye did falls onto the table.

  Freya stares at it, her eyes wide and body rigid. “What’s that?”

  “Just a little picture Skye drew me.”

  “Who’s Skye?”

  “Our waitress.”

  “She should be fired! I’m going to complain to the manager!”

  “Relax, no one is getting fired. Now, if I’m calculating this right, your half of the check is fourteen bucks with tip.”

  Back Again

  (Skye)

  That night in bed, I slide my hand between my legs and remember the hot guy at table six. After he left, I kept messing up orders, kept taking the wrong drinks to the wrong table. I even undercharged one table by twenty bucks, which got me in deep shit with Kevin.

  It’s a good thing I’ve never made a single mistake before tonight. Even my first day went by without a mistake. In the end Kevin just chalked it up to a bad day. I wasn’t about to tell him that the real reason was a bad boy who wouldn’t leave my head.

  My lungs heave at the memory of him. I wish I’d been able to look closer at the art on his arms. It tells so much about a person. From what I saw, the art on one arm was all clever geometric play; shapes that morphed into one another. The other sleeve was a mix of so many styles and subjects, I didn’t have time to even begin to appreciate it.

  I’d bet any money they all have deeper meanings. I tremble at the idea of him wrapping those inked-up arms around me.

  My fingers continue to work around my entrance.

  When he’d kissed me, my cheek burned in heat. That same spot is burning now, a feeling now radiating through the rest of my body.

  The memory of him saying my name pops into my head, as real as if he were standing in the room saying it now. It sends me crashing over the edge. My body pulses with the first orgasm I’ve been able to reach in months.

  All the tension, all the worries about money and my parents and my career vanished that night, and I had the best sleep I’ve h
ad since leaving Michigan.

  In the morning, feeling fresh, both physically and mentally, I head straight to my studio and start on a brand new canvas. I try to explore the themes I thought I saw on the arm I had a better look at.

  “Oooh, are you moving in a new direction?” Ava asks, bringing me a cup of tea.

  “I thought I’d explore basic linear shapes today.”

  “It’s fascinating. I can’t wait to see where you go with it.”

  “Thanks,” I say and take a sip of the tea, inhaling the peppermint smell.

  “I’ll leave you, I don’t want to disturb creative genius at work. I just wanted to bring you something to drink.”

  I stand back from the canvas, sipping my tea and examining it. I can’t go down this little self-indulgent path any further; it’d never sell. Not that my other stuff is flying off the shelves, but at least it has potential.

  I whitewash over the canvas and put it aside. In my sketchbook, I draw out a few ideas about the woman the man was with, and all the places she would be out of place in. I run with the idea, jotting and sketching everything that comes into my mind.

  Soon I’ve come up with a concept for a series of paintings on out-of-place wealth, and how money detaches a person from the rest of the world. An evening gown on the beach. Dangly diamond earrings on a tree in the woods. A tiara on top of a scarecrow’s head.

  I immerse myself in the project for four days, spending every waking hour on the paintings. Ava brings me food and drinks, and I break to eat, but otherwise spend every second of my time on them.

  Thursday meets me with dread I have to work at Johnny’s tonight.

  The three canvases are lined up in a row in my studio, and I fiddle with the green of the trees in the forest, trying to make the leaves appear as natural as possible.

  Noticing my hunger for the first time in days, I put down my brush and make my way to the kitchen. As I approach it, I overhear Ava speaking on the phone in the living room.

  “I don’t understand why you won’t remortgage my property,” she is saying.

  My heart sinks. I pause to listen to her conversation, I can’t help myself.

  “Yes, I know I’m over retirement age, but I have a pension that covers the payments.”

  My heart is now pounding in my chest, and I’m on the verge of hyperventilating. Not wanting to hear anymore, I rush into the kitchen. I try to unwrap the bread bag, but my hands are shaking so much I give up and grab a banana instead.

  It doesn’t matter what Ava says, I’m going to have to take on extra shifts at Johnny’s. And I’m going to start painting more mainstream projects. Enough of the self-indulgent museum pieces, I’m not having a kind woman fritter away her house and pension because of me.

  While I finish my banana, I scan the commissions available on a local artists’ website. I send my details off to a handful, then decide fuck it, I need anything I can get, and send my details to all the current postings.

  Most are for things like portrait paintings. A few are for things like ‘paint my house’ or ‘paint my dog’. Some people have way too much money on their hands.

  With Ava’s comment about remortgaging echoing in my head, I put up a profile of myself with photos of both myself and some of my pieces, as someone looking for work. Until now, I’d always viewed the artist profiles as people who weren’t being true to their art. Now I’m one of them.

  Throwing myself back into my paintings, I decide I need to finish this project as quickly as possible, even if the quality suffers. By the late afternoon I’m absorbed in making the diamond earrings shimmer. I lose total track of time and only realize I’m late for work when Ava comes in and tells me.

  That night, I make sure to set my alarm to make sure I’m not late for Friday’s and Saturday’s shifts. I’m skating on thin ice after last Saturday, and then being late today. Now, knowing Ava’s situation, I can’t risk the income.

  On Saturday, I hide in my waitress station wiping down the menus. Kevin lets me know a party of two has just arrived at table six. I grab two menus and head to it, ready to give my standard welcome spiel.

  When I reach the table, the hot guy from last week is sitting in the same spot he was last Saturday. A different woman sits across from him. A thousand butterflies fill my insides.

  “Hey, Skye,” he says and winks at me.

  “Welcome back to Johnny’s Roadhouse.” My smile is not the fake plastered-on one I normally greet guests with.

  My cheeks burn red when the thought crosses my mind that he’s become the star of my nightly fantasies. Shamed, I drop the menus on the table and hightail it back to my wait station.

  Leaning against the wall, I try to calm my breathing. I pat my cheeks, willing the red to go away. This is nuts, I have to calm myself down, or how will I be able to go out there and take his order? Let alone carry a plate of food to him without dropping it…

  “Hey,” he says, poking his head around the partition. It startles me and I jump, which seems to delight him.

  “Is everything okay?” Instinctively, I revert to my robot waitress mode.

  “You forgot to take our drinks orders.” Okay, I tell myself, he’s just here for normal, everyday restaurant stuff. It’s nothing to do with me; he hasn’t read my mind about what I do with him in my fantasies at night.

  “Oh, oops, what can I get you?” I smile, but am painfully aware of the slight tremble in my bottom lip.

  “A couple of Buds would be great.”

  “Coming right up.”

  “Cheers, Skye.” He winks and leaves me leaning against the wall for support.

  I take a few deep breaths, forcing myself to calm down. What is the matter with me? Just because the hottest guy who’s ever walked in this place is back, I fall apart and start acting like a star-struck twelve year old.

  First Taste

  (Lawson)

  I sit back down in the booth with Julie, my thoughts still on Skye and what I’d like to do to her.

  “You haven’t stopped grinning since we got here,” my sister says.

  “I’m happy, what can I say?”

  “I say I haven’t seen you this happy in ages. And by happy I mean excited. What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean? Can’t your big brother be happy?”

  “Something’s up. I should’ve known when you said you wanted to take me out for a burger.”

  “You’ll see.”

  “Oh God, is it the waitress?” She rolls her eyes as she says it.

  “Obviously, have you seen her?”

  Skye appears with our beers and says, “Here you are, two beers. I’ll be right back to take your order.” She runs away before I can even thank her. That’s fine, she looks as good going as she does coming.

  “Her? You must be ten years older than her. Are you having a midlife crisis already? You’re too young for that.”

  “It’s not just her looks, she cracks me up. And she’s so talented, you saw the picture she drew of Freya.”

  “Poor Freya, I still can’t believe you ditched the yacht party to bring her here. She still hasn’t spoken to me — you probably cost me a friend.”

  “Who cares? You have too many friends as it is. Besides, you don’t need ones who are only interested in money.”

  Julie rolls her eyes and says, “Aside from the fact I love a good plate of ribs, why am I here?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? I wanted to see Skye again.”

  “And?”

  “And I needed your opinion. Is she going to turn out to be a gold digger too? If you say yes, then I know I’m okay. It’s when you say no that I know I need to start guarding my wallet.” Skye talked all that shit about the rich, but people to change their tunes pretty fast when money is within their reach.

  “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

  Skye arrives back at the side of the booth and says, “Have you decided what you want?”

  When she puts it that way, I have to bite my ton
gue to keep from telling her exactly what I want.

  “I’ll have the ribs, with fries,” Julie says. Skye looks at me with raised eyebrows, apparently she approves of my date for the night.

  “And you, sir, what would you like?” Fuck, the way she called me sir again overloads me with the desire to answer that question truthfully.

  “The burger.”

  “The works again?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Awesome.” She turns and goes and I can’t take my eyes off her. Even after she’s out of sight, I keep my eyes on the last spot in hopes she’ll reappear.

  “Enough of this. We’re supposed to be talking about Kelso,” Julie says.

  Kelso Wilson is my ex-business partner. We made billions together, before I decided I couldn’t take any more of the asshole. It was a great business, he built the hotels and resorts all over the world, and I ran them. Except I realized I could get anyone to build the shit, and didn’t have to put up with him in the process.

  We’ve been locked in a legal battle to divide up the business for the past fourteen months. It’s pretty easy to carve off the construction division, but for some reason the asshole thinks he deserves more.

  I’m arguing all the non-construction divisions are all mine, since I add all the value. His buildings always come in over budget and after the deadline. If anything, he’s cost the business.

  “There’s not much to say about him,” I say.

  “I think it’s possible to talk him into a deal. That would save tens of millions in legal fees and get the headache over with.”

  “Whoa, is my legal counsel really advising me over what’s best for me instead of what gets her firm the most money?”

  “Piss off. It’s Saturday night, I’m speaking to you as my brother.”

  “Fine, I’ll go see the piece of shit, but I want all the points I need to hit him with laid out to me beforehand and drilled into me. There’s a good chance I’ll forget it all when I see him, because I’ll be too busy punching his face in.”

  Skye had arrived at our table as I was speaking. Her eyes widened as she heard the tail end of what I’d said.

  “Ribs for you, and a burger. Is everything else okay?”