Neal ran his thick hand through his hair. “Oh, they know, I’m sure.”
“So is this worth following?”
“Why not? More action than we usually see here in Winchester…even though it didn’t happen here.” He smiled.
Nicki’s brown eyes lit up. Yes. “So do you want me to type up the initial information from court this morning?”
“Yep. Email it to me when you’re done.”
“Will do.” She felt giddy. This story had to be the one. She stepped into the reporter pool and found the cubicle with the computer and phone that was used by all freelancers. Fortunately, no one was using it right now or else she would have had to use another “official” reporter’s cubicle, and that was never pleasant. Those reporters and the girl on wants ad—all six of them, including the sports guy—were territorial. In fact, Nicki was surprised they didn’t piss all over their cubicles to drive away offenders like herself, just like dogs in the wild. There were two extra cubicles but only one that was equipped to handle a reporter, and being able to use it was always a crapshoot. Sometimes, Nicki would write her story at home and email it in that way, but the computer here was more powerful and faster than her little notebook.
She booted up the computer and settled in. While the computer warmed up, Nicki texted Sean on her phone: Its a go! She hated not putting the apostrophe in, but texting had made her lazy when it came to punctuation. It didn’t matter—Sean would know what she meant…if he bothered to read it.
She composed a two-paragraph story, then emailed it to Neal. It had taken her twenty minutes as she picked at it. She tried to catch everything Neal would change before dropping it in the paper. She knew it was his job and he certainly knew better than she, but it was still aggravating having her words changed.
Then she scribbled a few to dos in her steno pad. She wanted to talk to a police officer and she thought she might want to talk to Edwards himself. She could do those things tomorrow and maybe have another article (or two) in the paper this week.
She checked the time and realized she needed to hurry home, grab a bite to eat, and then get in uniform. Napoli awaited her.
Chapter Five
NICKI HAD QUIT her job answering phones at Crown Auto Plaza—preowned car hell as far as Nicki had been concerned—one month after Neal had taken her under his wing. If she wanted to attend court hearings, she needed a good chunk of the day to do it. But writing for the paper alone wouldn’t pay the bills. She continued waiting tables at Napoli Pizzeria and selling makeup to make ends meet.
Nicki hadn’t minded working for Crown Auto, but she’d slept with one of the mechanics there a few months before and had regretted it since. Ken had been nice enough but definitely not her type (read: lousy in bed), and he became obsessive after she’d broken it off. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but he didn’t get it when she said she was no longer interested. He kept asking, no matter how many times she said no. So being gone from Crown Auto helped. She blocked his number on her cell phone and that was it. Well, that and he came to her apartment one Saturday after she quit, and Sean had been hanging out with her. Ken probably assumed Sean was her new boyfriend and didn’t stay long enough to find out for sure. She could have kissed the BAMF on Sean’s knuckles for scaring Ken off. Of course, it wouldn’t have taken that much for her to kiss his fingers anyway.
Crown Auto might have been history, but she still worked for Napoli five nights a week, Tuesday through Saturday. The tips from Napoli were her most significant source of income. She also ran her little tail off every night of the week, because even slow nights were busy compared to most places—Napoli was a favorite of locals and tourists alike, and the place rarely had an empty table during the week. So she kept in shape without having to work out on a regular basis. And since Nicki had been working there for five years, she was the senior waitress (God, she hated that moniker) and could get whatever hours she wanted. And she met a lot of good-looking guys at her job. That was always a plus.
So she squeezed into her black and red uniform. It wasn’t the most attractive, but she did what she could with it. The top was short sleeved with a stiff collar, and the pockets had red piping. The back of the shirt said Napoli in script on a diagonal from the waist to just below the underarm. It was a button-up shirt, so Nicki usually wore it so that she could show just a little cleavage. She was only a C cup, but she found that if she kept the shirts snug, her C looked good enough to keep the guy’s gaze off her eyes for part of the time (usually when she was writing something down). It didn’t hurt that she wore a necklace whose heart pendant nested perfectly atop the swell of her two breasts. Her waist was also small enough that anything larger than C would have looked like too much. The black jeans that went with the uniform had red piping down the sides, so half the time she felt like she was in a high school marching band. But they were mostly black, so they looked pretty cool, and they also hugged her ass, another feature she was proud to display. She wore black sneakers with the ensemble. Over the years she found that athletic shoes were the best—they had more cushioning so her feet didn’t ache after an eight-hour shift.
Tuesday nights were the slowest, and she’d only had five tables since she’d arrived. It had better pick up soon, she thought, because she’d be getting three more people in the next half hour. But, as always, by the time her help arrived—one waiter, one waitress, and a busboy—the place was buzzing and ready for them all.
A couple of hours into their steady stream of customers, three bikers walked in the door. Would they want to sit at the bar or could she persuade them to sit in her section? She’d always gotten great tips from bikers, so she tried to snag them when she could. Mandy and Brian could barely handle what they had, so she’d be happy to take these guys off their hands. She walked to where they stood, by the sign that asked them to Please Wait to be Seated, and said, “Are you hungry or just need a little something to quench your thirst?” She wore a flirtatious smile and waited for them to answer.
The tallest one, a lovely shade of brown with smoldering coal eyes, brown hair, and clean-shaven face, smiled back, his teeth a startling white. “What would you recommend, señorita?”
Ooh, she was going to love waiting on this table, unless, of course, they only wanted the bar. This hot guy was already playing the game. This was going to be fun. “Me? I’d get a large pie and a pitcher. But that’s up to you, of course.” She made eye contact with his friends, as well, so they wouldn’t feel left out, but she ended with her eyes back on Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Fucking-Hot.
He looked at his comrades. “Well, guys, pizza sound good?”
Both of his companions nodded, apparently the strong but silent type, and Nicki smiled again. She reached to the menu stand at her left and pulled out three menus. “Right this way, please.” She could feel their eyes raking over her entire backside and she felt chills. Oh, yeah, she’d get a really nice tip out of this table…providing the kitchen didn’t fuck it up for her. She couldn’t complain, though—the new head cook was finally getting his shit together, so last weekend was better than it had been in quite some time. Tonight would probably be okay too.
She led them to the last empty seat in her section, a quiet booth near the front. “Hey, could we sit over there instead?”
Shit. The short blonde guy in their group pointed over to an empty table in Mandy’s section. Not only would Mandy wind up screwing up so badly that Nicki would have to cover her anyway, but Nicki also wouldn’t get the nice tip these guys were certain to leave. But…the customer was always right. “Sure,” she said, making sure her smile was as wide as it should be. After they got arranged and she passed around their menus, she said, “Our specials tonight are Fettucine Alfredo with a house salad or the Meatball Grinder with kettle chips. I’d like to point out our appetizers on the first page of the menu and recommend the breadsticks. I promise you you’ve never had breadsticks like Napoli makes. And we have a variety of beers on tap, including Coors and Michelob. If
you’d prefer, we have a number of microbrews as well, featured on the back page.”
Hot guy looked up from the menu, teeth gleaming, and asked, “What would you recommend?”
She smiled. “Well, I’d start with the breadsticks with marinara and a house salad. I’d probably either get a pitcher of Coors or a bottle of Fat Tire Amber. And then I’d get a large thick crust pizza. I’d probably get the Everything but the Kitchen Sink, which has no fewer than five meats and six veggies.”
He looked at his friends who barely nodded their assent and said, “That’s what we’ll have, then. Make it a pitcher, but I’ll take a Fat Tire too.”
Nicki winced. She said, “Mandy will be your waitress, but I can put in your order for you.”
Hot guy said, “What? You don’t want to wait on us?”
Nicki slapped on a large mock sad face. “You’re not in my section. I’m sorry.”
“Our loss, I guess.” He paused. “So what’s your name, Not-Mandy?”
She smiled again. “It’s Nicki. What about you guys?”
“I’m Carlos.” He waved his hand across the table to first the blonde guy and second the hairy salt-and-pepper brunette who should have thought about using some Just For Men. “And this is Jake and Eddie.”
“Nice to meet you all. Enjoy your meal.” She smiled one last time. “Mandy will be with you shortly.”
Damn. Well, that’s what happened when your section was close to full. She punched the order into the touch screen for the kitchen, then found Mandy spazzing out making two salads in the server area of the kitchen. How that girl managed to consistently fuck up and/or stress out serving only four tables at a time, Nicki would never know. She kept hoping Mandy would quit one night and walk out, but so far, she’d stuck to it. “Mandy, you have three at table twelve.”
Mandy looked up, pausing with the dressing ladle in hand. “Shit. Are you kidding?”
“No, but I already got their order. Do you want me to take their drinks to the table?”
Mandy’s brows relaxed. “Could you?”
“Sure.” It would give her one last chance to flirt before moving back to her tables chockfull of families, couples, and old people. The bartender was busy as well, taking an order from a customer at the bar, so Nicki poured the pitcher of Coors, then fetched a Fat Tire from the fridge and popped the tab. She placed them on a tray, along with three frosted beer glasses, and walked back to Mandy’s table. “Here you go, guys,” she said, placing first the bottled beer in front of Carlos. And, my, oh my, he’d removed his leather jacket to reveal a smooth, well-defined bicep with a large skull tattoo delicately painted on it. Yum. Then she poured their first beers for them, starting with Jake, then Eddie, and finally Carlos. “Can I get you anything else right now?”
Carlos set his bottle down after taking a sip of beer. His eyes climbed from her waist to her eyes. “Your number.”
Sweet Jesus. This guy was smooth and had caused—in a mere second—Nicki’s legs to melt into rubber. This guy wasn’t local, though, that much she knew, so what the hell would he want with her number? Maybe just to see if she was really interested?
She considered him for a moment. No need to seem overly fucking eager and pathetic. Then she smiled, whipped out her notepad, and scribbled down her name and phone number. She ripped the page out and slapped it on the table next to Carlos’s beer bottle. Before removing her hand, she said, “Guard this with your life.” She smirked and winked, then turned around and walked to her section, checking to see how each of her tables was doing.
She didn’t dare look back. No way could she dare look over there—not yet, at least.
As the evening wore on, however, she looked over at their table on occasion and got some smiles. Mandy finally got her ass in gear and brought them their breadsticks. Closing time approached—ten o’clock—and Carlos and his guys were on their third pitcher, long having decimated their pizza. She was down to four of her own tables who were either eating or finishing up, so she stood in the server area at the back of the restaurant, printing out the tickets of her tables that were done.
She felt her phone vibrate against her hip and pulled it out. She didn’t recognize the number and wondered who would be calling her this late in the evening. She answered it while tapping on the touch screen in front of her. “Hello?”
“Is this Nicki?” The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
“Yeah.”
“This is Carlos. I wondered what you’re doing after you blow this joint tonight.”
She smiled. Shit—he didn’t waste any time. “That depends.”
She could hear his smile through the phone. “On what?”
“On who wants to know.” She paused. “And why.”
She printed out the first ticket and began tapping on the screen again to pull up the next one. Had to remember to add two orders of cheesecake to it…if she could concentrate. Finally, Carlos said, “Well, I want to know.” His voice dropped a little and it sounded husky, sending shivers up Nicki’s spine. “I’m leaving Winchester tomorrow and wondered if you’d want to give me a reason to come back sometime.”
Holy fuck. How the hell could she say no to this guy? Well, she couldn’t. “I won’t be done here till at least ten-thirty…” and maybe longer if Brian and Mandy sucked as usual. “We could meet around eleven maybe. Would that work?”
“How about you meet me at the lounge at the Winchester Inn when you’re done?”
She grinned and finished adding the cheesecakes, then made the next ticket print out. “Okay. I’ll see you then.” And not only did she get Brian and Mandy to hustle so that they were done closing by ten-thirty, a first for those two, but she also ran to her apartment to shower. She didn’t shampoo her hair, because she didn’t have time to redo it, but she sprayed some perfume in it once she took it out of its ponytail. The rest of her, though, smelled like stale grease and garlic. She reeked of Napoli, and the shower was essential. But by the time she was done, she smelled like vanilla. What to wear, though? She eyed her little black dress tucked in the back of the closet, a little too snug and a little too short, but she figured Carlos would think it was just right.
Chapter Six
BEFORE LEAVING HER car, Nicki smeared some hot pink lipstick on her lips. She checked in her mirror, relying on the streetlamp over her car to help her make sure she didn’t have any on her teeth. She checked her entire face, then stepped out of the car, tugging on the dress a little so her butt cheeks didn’t peek out.
She took a deep breath, then walked toward the hotel entrance. The glass doors slid open as she approached, and she looked around the lobby until she saw the sign on the left pointing toward the lounge. Her three-inch black heels clicked on the tile but there was no one around to notice. A woman stood at the desk, but she was on the phone and didn’t look up.
Nicki arrived at the door to the lounge. It was dark inside, but her eyes quickly adjusted. She spotted the bar and saw Carlos, sans his friends, nursing a beer. He was talking with the bartender who seemed to be enjoying a quiet evening. Nicki could see only three other people in the bar.
She approached the stool and Carlos looked over. Was that really a look of shock on his face? “Nicki?”
“Hey.”
“You look ravishing.” Ravishing? Nice. That was the plan. She slid up onto the stool. “Would you like a drink?”
She thought she might. Let’s see…he’d had several beers by this point, so she might want something a little stronger to catch up. She didn’t want to drink too much, though, for several reasons. One was she had a lot of work to do tomorrow. Two was she didn’t want Carlos to not go for it. She knew if she had too much to drink, he wouldn’t touch her. Well, probably, but she didn’t want to take the chance. Guys could be funny that way. They wanted you a little loose, but not too loose. “I think so.” She looked at the bartender. “What’s your specialty?”
He shrugged. “How about a White Russian?”
She nodded. “Sounds great.”
She looked over at Carlos who had been studying her collarbone, barely covered by a one-inch black strap. His eyes met hers. “So what do you usually do in this town for fun?”
If she had a dime for every tourist who asked… “Depends on what you like to do. I’m sure you already found the biker bar.”
“Bad Boys?”
“Mmm hmmm. In the winter there’s skiing farther up the mountains. Hiking’s big—we have lots of trails. In the summer, there’s rafting, and there are a lot of softball and soccer teams that play for fun. A lot of people like camping and fishing. Oh, we also have the water park.”
Carlos smiled again, a mocking look on his face, as the bartender placed Nicki’s drink in front of her. “I asked what you do for fun.” Carlos handed several bills to the bartender.
Nicki sipped her drink. “Ah, specifics.” She took another sip. “Well, I don’t have as much fun as I’d like to. I work three jobs, so they keep me busy.”
“Guess I got lucky that you found time for me.”
A lopsided grin crossed her face. “No, you just happened to catch me at quitting time.” She placed her hand on his. “But I would have made time for you if your timing hadn’t been so impeccable.”
He squeezed her hand and smiled, then picked up his beer. He asked her to tell him about her other jobs, but she said she would later. She didn’t feel like talking about herself, so she asked what he was doing in Winchester. He told her he was on his way to New Mexico but that he had a friend in Winchester he’d wanted to see on his way through Colorado. Jake and Eddie were old friends from Colorado Springs as well. He mentioned that he was going to New Mexico “on business” but left it at that.
Both of them finished their drinks at the same time, and Nicki knew the awkward moment of truth was nearing. But there was nothing awkward about it. Carlos simply leaned close to Nicki and said, “I have a room here. Would you like to stay a while?”
Got the Life (A Nicki Sosebee Novel) Page 3