“He’ll probably leave me alone now,” she says, just to sound upbeat. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Anytime.”
And to think that I had a tryst planned for the two of us. That’s not happening now. You can’t put the moves on someone who only needs you around so that she can keep a slimy asshole’s mitts off of her.
Abbi doesn’t need another guy trying to get her clothes off. She needs a pay raise and a night off and a new family. And none of those things is something I can help her with.
“But how was the play, Mrs. Lincoln?” I joke. “Those dumplings really were excellent. Just saying.”
Abbi laughs and then shakes her head.
Chapter 5
ABBI
After Weston parks my car, he walks me all the way to the front door and waits patiently while I open it. He’s the perfect gentleman.
I already knew Weston was a gentleman. My mistake was in thinking that I could pretend—even for a few hours—that my life was the fun kind, with a handsome date and no worries.
“Thank you,” I say in a low voice. “I appreciate all that you did today.” I still have the shakes, too. I should have known that I couldn’t be alone long enough to page through a couple of my mom’s cookbooks without that creep harassing me.
I found a hand-written note in one of the books, though. And it’s in my pocket right now. That’s the silver lining of this shit show. Every memory I have of my mother is precious.
“It was nothing,” Weston says gruffly. “My pleasure. You take care of yourself now.”
We stare at each other for a beat longer. Earlier tonight I could have sworn that Weston looked at me the way a guy looks at a girl. With possibility. But all I see now is pity.
He reaches out and gives my shoulder a friendly squeeze. “Goodnight, Abbi. Sleep well.” Then he gives me a Westonesque happy smile and turns to go.
Wait, I want to call out. Stay a while. But I watch him disappear instead. And then I go inside alone.
When I wake up the next morning, the humiliation hasn’t completely worn off, either. I can still smell Price’s hot breath as he loomed over me in the pantry. And I can still see the disgust in Weston’s eyes as he flung Price against the refrigerator.
That last bit would have been very enjoyable under different circumstances. I’m not a violent girl.
And then, as I roll over and sit up in bed, I have a brand new, awful realization. I forgot to give Weston the twenty-five bucks that I’d tucked into my purse.
He spent the day with strangers and fought off Price. And then I stiffed him.
I let out a little shriek of horror. And then I reach for my phone and start texting.
Abbi: OMG, I just realized I never gave you the 25 bucks! I’m an idiot. Seriously. A waitress should really know better! I’m so embarrassed.
To my surprise, he starts to tap out an answer immediately.
Weston: Hey! I wasn’t actually going to accept it. I only put that to keep the nutters away. Seriously. Well, also because it amuses me to charge for my acting skills.
Abbi: Your acting skills are on point, though.
Weston: Thank you. If this hockey thing doesn’t work out, I’m considering Hollywood. There are roles for dumb jocks, right?
He’s so much more than a dumb jock. But I can’t say that without revealing how deep my crush on him runs.
Abbi: I smell an Academy Award for last night’s performance. And I am very grateful. How about I treat you to your next platter of Thai spiced wings?
Weston: Well, Abbi, I would be happy to accept this as a token of your appreciation for my fake boyfriend performance. An actor has to eat, right?
Abbi: Right. See you soon.
The next time Weston comes into the Biscuit, I bring him a double portion of wings and a basket of fries. He gives me a big smile and a high-five.
But after that, I avoid him. Because every time I see his smile, I feel sheepish about treating him to a front row view of the horror show that is my life. I just want to forget it ever happened.
Between school and work, I’m busy enough to forget almost anything. November lunges into December. Exams loom. Two waiters quit, too, which means Kippy keeps giving me extra shifts.
But hockey season is in full swing, so at least I have that. Just because I’m avoiding Weston doesn’t mean I’ve stopped following the team. They’ve had a great start to the season.
Their biggest matchup in December is against Boston University. And I’m on shift that night, checking the score on my phone every few minutes as I wait tables in the bar.
It’s a tense game, too. It’s tied 2-2 with only seven minutes left to play. But then Jonah Daniels feeds a wrister to Lex Vonne, and Moo U gets the lead back. When the buzzer rings, we’ve won 3-2.
For a long moment I feel pure jubilation. But then it occurs to me that The Biscuit in the Basket is about to be flooded with happy hockey players and the fans who love them. And table seventeen is in my section.
“Hey, Carly?” I tag my friend on the elbow as she passes me. “Switch sections with me? You can have the bar. I’ll take your dining room tables. Forty bucks for the trade.”
“Wait, what? Are you crazy?” she demands. “Who would give up table seventeen on the night they beat B.U.? You’re throwing away extra money and extra hotness?"
“I’m just a little tired,” I say. It isn’t even a lie, because I’m always tired. “You handle the boys. I’m not in the mood to celebrate. I just want to go home and put my feet up.”
“I’m worried about you,” Carly says. “You need a vacation, and a one night stand with a hockey player.”
“Well that’s not likely to happen.” And I’m really not in the mood to watch if Weston spends the evening with a giggling woman on his arm. And then leaves with her. I haven’t seen anyone hanging on him lately. But a win against B.U. should do the trick, right? “Go serve beer and shots,” I say, nudging her toward the bar. “I’ll bring out the last few dinners and go home early.”
“Fine.” Carly pushes two twenty dollar bills into my hand. “But we’re going to have a talk about this later.”
The next time we’re on shift together, Carly reports that Weston asked for me. “Where’s Abbi tonight? He knew your real name, too. Did something happen between you and Weston?”
“Absolutely not,” I tell her. “We’re just friendly, that’s all. And that’s all we’ll ever be.”
“Okayyy,” she says, her tone full of disbelief. “But he looked really disappointed that you weren’t around.”
“I highly doubt that.”
She shrugs. “I have another question, though. What are you doing on Christmas?”
“A whole lot of nothing. Why?”
“Come home to Tuxbury with me.” Carly grew up on a farm on the East side of the state. “We’ll have to go sledding with my nephews on Christmas Eve. But there’s a bonfire and the food is good.”
“Sold!” I say cheerfully. Carly has no idea that she’s just saved me from another awkward visit to Dalton’s house.
Everything is fine. I don’t need a boyfriend—real or fake—to get through the holidays. I’ll handle it alone, just like I always do.
Christmas break is a strange time at Moo U. The campus becomes a ghost town. The Biscuit in the Basket runs at half capacity. Classes are over, so I have very little to do except watch Netflix and sleep.
This place is a little sad, honestly. I feel like the only girl alive.
But a few days after Christmas, Kippy announces that the Biscuit is gearing up for a raucous New Year’s, with live music and late hours. “The tips are gonna be great,” he promises. “Abbi—hang up this flier, wouldya?”
I’m just pinning it to the bulletin board when I hear a deep voice behind me.
“The Hardwick Boys,” Weston says from right over my shoulder. “Are they any good?”
I whirl around and find myself looking right into his dancing blue eyes. “Yes,” I
breathe. But I’m not really talking about the band. Weston is just a little overwhelming at close range. And it hadn’t occurred to me that the hockey team would be back in town early, their vacation cut short by their game schedule.
“Yeah?” he says, looking at the poster again. “Punkabilly fiddle and guitar. Interesting. How’ve you been, Abbi? Any trouble over the holidays? I was thinking about you.”
“You were?” My face gets instantly hot. More pity from Weston. Lovely. “I’m fine. Really. I went home with Carly for Christmas. Crisis averted.”
“That’s good to hear.” He gives me a smile. “Maybe I’ll check out the New Year’s offerings. Will you be working that night?”
“Oh yes. Yup,” I chatter nervously. “I’ve heard that New Year’s is a good time. The live music is a real draw. Lots of booze and happy tippers.”
“Sounds like a party.” He gives me another brain scrambling smile. “See you then.”
And even though I know better, I’m actually looking forward to it.
There’s a sweet spot to waitressing.
When the place is dead, I get bored and make too little in tips. But when the place is slammed, the customers get crabby and I get stressed out. In the middle zone is where this job is really pretty great. When the stars align, you can have happy customers and fat tips as the hours fly by.
And then there’s New Year’s Eve. I’ve never seen the Biscuit so crowded. Every table is taken, and it’s standing room only at the bar. Every available staff member is on shift, and I heard they started a new bouncer tonight just to double up on security.
The clientele is in a good mood, though, and The Hardwick Boys sound terrific. It’s not so easy to hear everyone’s order over the music, but I don’t even mind it. The lively atmosphere and the holiday tips make it all worthwhile.
Table seventeen is chock full of hockey players. Weston seems to have recruited his boys to party here with him tonight. And every time I drop off a beer or even pass by, he gives me a warm smile.
“What’s up with that?” Carly shouts as we stand in front of the bar, waiting for various drinks to be made. “That boy likes you!”
“What boy?” I shout back.
Carly rolls her eyes. “You don’t fool me. I’m not stupid. But I think you might be. Don’t look, but he’s watching you even as we speak.”
I don’t look, because I know she’s wrong. "He’s just waiting for his beer!”
“Yeah? Well he looks especially thirsty tonight,” Carly yells back. “Get on that.” She winks as the bartender plunks her drinks down onto the bar. With a cheeky smile, she loads them onto her tray and goes.
“Hey,” the bartender says, rapping his knuckles on the bar like he always does. “Abbi. I’m gonna need another minute on your order. But the new bouncer is asking for you.”
“What? Table zero is not in my section.” It’s always somebody’s job to keep the bouncer in free coffee and soda.
He shrugs. “He asked for you by name. You’re very popular tonight. Go take him this?” He sets a glass of Coke on the bar. “Tell him I couldn’t add rum. House rules.”
Oh good grief. Like I don’t have enough to do already. But it would take longer to argue than to deliver the man’s soda. I take the drink and head for the vestibule.
On my way, I notice that table fifteen’s beers are empty. Better make this quick. I hurry toward the front door, where the bite of winter air chills my skin. “Here’s your—”
The sentence dies in my throat when I see who the new bouncer is.
Chapter 6
WESTON
“…And then Patrick wakes up in the bed with a shiner. And he’s like, guys, guys? Who hit me?” Tate laughs at his own storytelling. And then he punches me in the arm. “Weston. Bro. You dragged me out here tonight, but you’re not a very attentive date. I’m starting to get offended. Did you even hear what I said?”
“Yup,” I say, turning to face him. “Patrick. Black eye. Got it. Now we can tell him apart from Paxton.”
Tate just shakes his head at me. “Well, at least your hearing still works. But eyes up here, big guy. If you keep staring at Abbi the hot waitress, she might decide the hockey team is creepy. The entire wait staff will start bringing us cold chicken and warm beer.”
“Oh, save it.” I sip from my excellent beer and fight the urge to look at Abbi again. I’m so busted.
“I don’t think you realize how serious this is,” Tate insists. “We’d have to find a new hangout. The pizza place, probably. All those carbs, man. We’ll get fat and slow.”
“What are you talking about?” I grumble. “We’re not getting kicked out of the Biscuit.”
Tate laughs. “I just need to keep your attention for a whole minute. Hudson and I have a bet going.” He checks his watch. “Stay with me for at least another thirty seconds, okay? You’ve got a bad case of ADD. In your case, that stands for Abbi Deficit Disorder.”
He cracks up at his own joke, while I roll my eyes. He’s right, though. I’m sitting in this bar tonight just hoping to get a smile from Abbi. This crush I have on her just won’t be silenced.
We could be so good together. And maybe there’s still a chance for us. I plan to find out.
After all, it’s eleven-thirty on New Year’s Eve. And it’s customary to get a kiss at midnight, right? All I have to do is get a moment with an overworked waitress in a crowded room. No problemo.
Even as I have this thought, I look up to see Abbi streak by. She stops at a nearby table, clears away the empty beer glasses, nodding vigorously as she takes their order. But there’s a furrow between her eyebrows that’s not usually there.
She looks worried.
I watch her trot off to the bar. And then I watch her do a hundred other things in the space of ten minutes. She looks frantic. And I know it’s not because of the packed tables or the drink orders. Abbi doesn’t get overwhelmed at work.
She keeps looking at the door to the bar, though. As if she expects Dracula himself to come through it. And I wish I knew why.
Finally, there’s just a few minutes left until midnight. I’m rehearsing my speech in my head. Listen, Abbi, there’s something I need to ask you. And if you say no, I’ll never bring it up again.
This setup does, I realize, come perilously close to my personal rule of never hitting on people who are just trying to make it through a shift at work. But Abbi and I are friends. And I wouldn’t go there if I didn’t think she was into me.
I slide off my bar stool. “Well guys, wish me luck.”
“Oh shit,” Hudson says, his eyes big. “Don’t crash and burn, man. We’ll have to find another hangout. Hell—even if you knock her on her ass with your sex appeal, we’re still in trouble.”
“How do you figure?” I ask. I’m not really worried, but Hudson is entertaining.
“Dude, you’re a heartbreaker,” he says. “When you’re done with her, she won’t bring us beer.”
“You know, I don’t think that will happen this time.” If I could spend time with Abbi away from this place, I think I’d take all I could get. “Here goes nothing.”
The music has stopped, and all the bar TV’s are tuned in to Times Square. The countdown is just a minute or so away. I dodge between tables, heading for the back, where I last saw Abbi.
Sure enough, she’s standing in the shadows near the kitchen door, whispering with the other waitress, Carly. Their heads are bent together in conversation, and then Abbi gestures toward the door.
I hate to interrupt, but I’m a man on a mission. “Hey ladies.”
They both straighten quickly, as if caught out. “Do you need something, Weston?” Abbi asks.
“Oh yeah he does,” Carly snickers. Then she steps around me and makes herself scarce.
“Well, in a manner speaking,” I say with a Mr. Smooth chuckle. “You got a minute?”
“For you, of course. But—and this is so embarrassing—I have to ask you a small favor. Another platter of wings ki
nd of favor.”
“No problem. Hit me up.” I lean against the paneled wall and give her a smile. And then I let my gaze drift to Abbi’s pretty mouth. I’d like to own it with mine.
But maybe I’m slipping, because it doesn’t erase the crease of worry in Abbi’s forehead. “Price is outside. My idiot step-step-brother.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Do you remember him?”
“Unfortunately.” This is not where I’d hoped to take the conversation. Behind me, the New Year’s revelers begin counting down.
“He seems to have landed a job as a bouncer here. I should never have said that it’s an easy job, or that the pay rate was so great.” She lets out a heavy breath. “And now he’s the guy who’s supposed to walk me home? He just told me he was looking forward to it.”
“Oh, shit,” I breathe.
“Yeah.” She crosses her arms. “If you’re still here when I get off shift, could you, uh, reprise your award-winning role as my boyfriend? Just this once, as a little reminder.”
“Of course,” I say immediately. “Anytime, Abbi. Seriously.”
She tilts her head against the paneled wall and closes her eyes. “I can’t believe I have to deal with him here. The only reason I work here at all was to get away from him.”
“I know. Shit. That’s terrible.”
“FIVE…FOUR…THREE…TWO…ONE…HAPPY NEW YEAR!” screams the entire bar.
Abbi’s eyes flip open, and she gives me a weak smile. “I’m sorry. There’s probably somewhere else you’d rather be right now.”
Not true. “Hey, Happy New Year. Fuck that guy.”
“Fuck him,” she says with conviction. “Fuck him sideways.”
It’s so cute that I can’t help but laugh. And then I grab her into a quick, comforting hug.
It’s not the New Year’s moment that I’d hoped for. But it’s pretty good nonetheless.
'Tis the Season for Romance Page 10