“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 ohhhhhs in the dining room. However, Eric had decided to cut the floor so that everyone could get all their side work done by the time their tables finished and 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, 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 began 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, total, 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 fourteen’s 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 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 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 she was born to the time she was fourteen, Aulora lived a wealthy life of big houses, privates 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, 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, her father had simply walked out. Some say he moved, some say he just kept himself cleverly hidden but 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 eve
r 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 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 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 bad 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, 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 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 he either wouldn’t show or worse, 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.
Her heavy shoes clicked against the pavement as she trotted over and climbed in. The worn, sun-bleached brown leather covering the seats was soft and had been well maintained. The whole car smelled hearty and delightfully old. Then, there was Weston.
Even in a simple navy striped button down and crisp dark jeans, he looked like a living, breathing GQ cover. His hair was swept back neatly but didn’t look too heavily gelled, which Aullie was happy with. Nothing grosser than trying to push your fingers through a sticky mess of gel, she thought. His almost inhuman golden eyes flashed in the last bits of evening sun, up this close, Aullie noticed a ring of green around his pupils. And his smell, boy was it heady. Warm, musky and manly. His lips were set in an easy-going smile as his eyes took her in, from her metallic purple toenails all the way up.
“You look amazing,” he said.
God, your voice is like honey, she thought to herself, suddenly desperate to taste his mouth. “Thank you,” she said, bashfully looking down into her lap. “You do too, seriously.”
“I knew I’d have to be standing next to you all night, so I did my best.” He set his wide hand, with its long delicate fingers, on the gear shift and wiggled it around. His knee jerked as he pumped the clutch and with a low groan and a pungent blast of diesel smoke, the ancient bug shifted into drive and then merged onto the street.
“I do have to say, I really love this car,” Aullie said.
“Thank you,” Weston said with a wide, genuine smile. “I actually rebuilt it myself. Always had a thing for VW beetles, my brother and I were big into the ‘slugbug’ game when we were younger. I always told him I was going to get one when I was older so that I’d always see at least one in the morning so I’d have a head start.”
Aullie laughed. “That’s cute.”
“When I saw this one it was basically a pile of rust, but I saw it’s potential and, well, here it is. Up, running and all.”
“So, you painted it bright orange?”
“Yes,” he said, abashed. “I thought it would be fun. Don’t see many orange ones anymore do you?”
“Ha ha, no. It’s funny, though, orange is one of my favorite colors. It’s just so… I don’t know. Happy.”
“Happy,” he said, nodding as he considered it. “Well, I guess that’s the perfect word for it. I’m honestly just happy that it runs.” As if to illustrate his point, the car screeched as they pulled up to a stoplight, the brakes clearly weren’t as happy as he was that the ancient car was running.
“So, where are we going?” Aullie asked. The ice still hadn’t quite been broken, she was definitely nervous. Weston was not the usual caliber of man she went out with, physically at least. He was so good-looking she almost wondered if she was dreaming.
“Actually, we’re not going anymore,” he said with a smile.
Alarm exploded through Aullie. “What do you mean by that?” I knew he was too good to be true. I feel for this attractive little trap, and now he’s some kind of serial killer. He’s kidnapped me. I’m going to die in this little orange bug!
“Because we’re here.” The slyness in his eyes acknowledging that he’d heard the mild panic in her voice and that his little joke had been a success on his end.
The adrenaline that had surged through Aullie’s veins seemed to instantly dissolve. She gave a shaky laugh, feeling an embarrassed blush stain her cheeks.
Weston worked the vintage bug into a parking spot on the side of the two-lane street. As it turned out, he was not a very adept parallel parker. Thankfully the bug was small, so he was able to maneuver it in without hitting the parked cars in front of and behind them.
“Wait here a sec,” he said, opening the door and stepping out. Aullie watched him curiously as he walked around the front of the bug. It was only when his hand touched her door handle that she realized what was going on. He was opening the door for her.
Evergreen: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Page 129