She’s hustling around like a pro, hitting table after table, never once having to be called back for forgetting whatever it is these needy fuckers ask for. So much so, she’s snuck around the counter twice now to stealthily swipe away the hint of sweat building where the loose strands of her mini ponytail are pushed behind her ear.
I’ve been tucked in a corner booth on the opposite side of where she’s working for about an hour now, and not once has she stopped moving, but she doesn’t seem to mind. I’ve followed her every move, waiting to see her make a face when she turns away from a hungover punk, or overworked trucker, but if she is annoyed or irritated, she doesn’t show it.
She smiles sweetly, nods agreeably, and seems to know what everyone needs before they have a chance to ask for it.
She’s the picture-perfect employee from where I’m sitting, and in the fifty-something minutes I’ve been here, I got what I needed.
Tossing a ten on the table for taking up the space, I nod at the redheaded woman who brought me a water and drop into the booth just wiped down in Davis’s section.
She’s back to making her rounds this way in seconds and stops beside the table I now am at a minute later. Order slip in hand with the pen pressed to it, she smiles at the thing.
“Thanks for waiting. Can I get you something to drink? A soda or maybe a shake?”
“Which is your favorite?”
“Oh, I love the—” She looks at me, mentally trained to look away so fast, she has to do a double take. “Oh shit.”
Her eyes widen, and she peeks around her.
I bite back a grin. “It’s safe to say no one heard.”
“Uh-huh. Where’ve you been?”
I raise a single brow. “Been waiting on me, or what?”
“Obviously.” She juts a hip out, creating an even deeper curve at her middle. “Do you really think I’m the type of person who, in the middle of something as we are in the middle of, would simply not obsess over every little thing, every single day?”
“I’m a little surprised you just threw that out there.”
“Are you?” She’s full of sass and sarcasm. It’s cute on her. “Because you’ve known me since forever, so I feel like you should’ve expected this.”
I did, but I’m not about to tell her that. “You could’ve called.”
The girl gapes at me and leans her hip the opposite way. “Do you not understand what happens when someone obsesses over something? You know what, never mind.” She eyes me, and it’s clear she wants to say something but decides against it. She presses that pen back on that little paper and arches a brow. “What can I get for you, kind sir?”
Leaning forward, I tug on the edge of her apron playfully. “You’re about to take the dude with the hat a basket of fries, right?”
A small scowl covers her face, but she nods.
“Don’t take the ketchup.”
“Why?” Her head pulls back slightly. “If I don’t take it over with the basket, I’m going to end up making two trips.”
“Take him the basket, set it down in front of him, and look him in the eye when you ask if there’s anything else he needs.”
Davis blinks at me, completely lost. “But I already know what he needs because he asked for ketchup on his burger. Logic says he’ll then want it for his fries.”
“I have watched you for the last hour, Baby Franco, and you had no idea because your little eyes never wander around this damn place, so you have no idea who is looking at you and when.” Opening my fist without taking it off the table, I point toward the ball cap dude. “That guy? He’s turned his head your way more than once. It has nothing to do with waiting for a refill or to order or anything else I’m sure you’re lining up in your head right now to throw back at me because you’re so damn prone to arguing.”
“I am not prone to arguing!” she hiss-whispers. “I happen to think full circle, which means every possible scenario pops into my head and I play the process of elimination game to get them out.”
“You’re arguing about arguing instead of listening to what I’m telling you. Quiet, and listen. Walk over there, do what you gotta do, and look him in the eye when you do it.”
I pull my phone out, aimlessly scrolling through it to get her to walk away, and she does, but I don’t miss the slight shake of her wrist or the tight press of her lips as she makes her way back to the jockstrap at table four.
It’s hard not to laugh when her chest rises with a deep breath as she leans forward a bit to set the fries down, but she doesn’t have time to straighten her spine before the guy’s eyes pop up to meet hers. She didn’t even have to wait.
I can’t hear from here, but he nods, she smiles, and the conversation is taking a little longer than asking for fucking ketchup.
I stare, and finally, she goes to walk away but stutter-steps twice, and I rub my hand over my mouth to hide my smile.
Condiments in one hand, straw in the other, she sneaks a small glance in my direction as she quickly sets both down in front of him. She doesn’t look him in the eye this time, and within seconds, she’s sliding into the seat across from me.
Her mouth forms an O but it takes her a good second to push the words out. “What just happened?”
“You tell me.” I watch her closely, and she smiles into her hand.
“I don’t know. He started asking me for the stupid ketchup as he looked up, but then he totally lost his train of thought. He did the whole chuckle thing you do, you know, how you sometimes stop and start to laugh in the middle of a sentence?” she says, then quickly continues, “And then he remembered what he was asking, and asked again, so I was like, yeah sure, but then I got nervous and forgot to look away.” Suddenly, she glares at me. “Wait. Was he being flirty?”
“Did you feel like he was being flirty?”
“Well, he kind of gave me one of those sexy side-grins I love, and his eyes did that flick down, flick up thing after, so I don’t know… yes?”
Sexy side-grins?
Her eyes widen, and she pushes off the table, her back against the cushion. “Hold the ship. He totally wanted me to notice him checking me out. He was being flirty.” She looks off, as if stunned by the realization. “Weird,” she whispers then, but when I shift in the seat, her gaze darts right back. “Where you going?”
“Home.”
The hint of triumph in her gaze is gone, replaced by the nervous nibbling of her lip as creases begin to frame her eyes.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
My eyes narrow at her quick response. “Davis.”
She shoots from the seat. “No, nothing. I have to get back at it anyway.”
I glare, trying to read the sudden change in her demeanor. “Right.”
She stands there, watching as I slip from the booth, meeting my gaze when I step in front of her.
“You busy later?”
She gives a little shake of her head.
“Do you think you can stop by the bar around four? It doesn’t open until six, but we should talk.”
“I feel like you didn’t understand what I was trying to say earlier. I am not good with guessing games or half answers or seriously confusing Crew-isms.”
At that, my lips switch. “I think you’ll survive a couple more hours.”
Her nose scrunches and I get the feeling she’s holding back a little stomp.
I hold her gaze for a few moments, then intentionally flick it above her head to the dude in the black hat, who happens to be staring this way, but I don’t leave my eyes there long enough to know if he jerks away when caught. I give my attention back to her.
“It’s about our little deal.” I shift in closer. “How is that for making it clear?”
I wait for the flush I know is coming, and it does, slipping up and above the high collar of her T-shirt and meeting the hollow of her cheeks.
“I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?”
“Yeah.” She nods, clearing her throat. “See you.”
With that, I turn and walk away, slipping out the door without another glance back, but I don’t have to look to know the guy is staring at her, noticing the red on her cheeks, and fully aware something I said put it there.
As ridiculous as it is, there’s something about a woman’s possible unavailability that attracts a man more.
It’s shitty, but it’s true.
So now, the guy will do one of two things. He’ll either find a way to ask what he wants to know and make his move after he gets his answer…Or he’ll do what I told her most men do when it comes to Davis Franco.
Take the L.
But I wouldn’t be walking out of this place if I thought he had the balls to do the first.
Even if he did, she wouldn’t bite.
Not when her teeth are set on sinking into me…
Davis
Rachel kept me to the very last second, but I still managed to make it home before two thirty, leaving me with an hour and a half of a gap to spare.
I’ve been known to make treats in less time, so I whip up a new, fresh batch of peanut butter cookies. My plan was to sneak them up to his office before he got there, but even arriving twenty minutes early, I was too late.
Crew’s leaning against the large stone door with his phone to his ear as I climb out of my car.
He holds a finger up to his lips, so I make a zipping motion with mine.
I’m not sure if his eye roll is for me or the person pissing him off on the phone when he says, “I don’t care about the why, Jose, are you making it in for your shift tonight or not?”
The squishy sound of the Ziplock in my grasp draws his attention, and olive eyes bounce from it to meet mine.
“That’s what you said last time.” Crew speaks into his phone but stares at me as he kicks off the wall. He opens his mouth.
I freeze for a second, and a single brow lifts before me, so with slow is this or isn’t this what he’s trying to tell me movements, I peel open the plastic, reaching inside.
Checking now would be gross, but I’m pretty sure my palms begin to sweat as I lift the fluffy, still-warm cookie to his moistened, thick lips.
Crew leans forward and takes nearly the entire thing into his mouth, the corner of his tongue sneaking out to help it along. He chews quickly, but his mouth is still half full when he adds, “Guess we’ll see,” before stuffing the phone in his pocket, his gaze never once leaving mine.
“Those mine?”
“You mean you haven’t heard?” I hold the clear plastic to my waistline, giving a little sideways pose. “Ziplocs are the new fanny packs.”
Crew nods in playful mockery, snagging the bag before I realize he’s reached out. “Maybe the comeback of the fanny pack isn’t the worst relaunch after all.” He digs in for another.
Nudging his shoulder with mine, I follow him to the door, slipping under his arm when he holds it open for me. The heavy metal slams with a loud smack behind us, making me jump. Short and shadowed in darkness, the area allows no outside light, and suddenly, I’m aware of the hard, wide chest pressing closer to my back.
“Thank you, Sweets. I like that you remember.”
His words, they’re so soft, almost as if he chose to wait until we were hidden in this small space to speak them.
“Of course, I do.” I don’t know why I whisper, but that’s what comes out, so I follow in a rush. “I mean, you only begged for these every day for an entire summer.”
“I didn’t have to beg, and you know it. You like making things for me.”
My lips pull to one side, but I try and hide the smile in my voice. “Maybe… maybe I only did it to prime you, so you’d help buy me beer until I turned twenty-one.”
“How’d that work out for you?”
I chuckle and the lights flick on up ahead, so I start walking forward. “Meh, you said yes once, so not a total loss.”
Crew scoffs as he slips past me. “Yeah, once out of too many is what you call a success.”
“Hey, I was the wonder woman that night, came to the rescue of several girls in my class, considering none of it was for me.”
He shakes his head and curves around the bar, quickly pouring two glasses of water. He sets one down in front of the stool I climb up on and downs half of the other before I’ve wrapped my fingers around my own.
“Seriously, thank you.” He taps on the cookie bag, going in for another. “I’ve missed your sweets.”
“You’re welcome.” I smile, willing my stomach to stop swirling at his omission.
Crew stares for several moments, quietly chewing before finishing off his glass and setting it somewhere behind the bar. And then he stares some more, all calm, cool, and collected, giving me nothing to go on.
“Are you going to make me guess or what are we doing here?”
His lips form a tight line, and he presses his forearms against the counter. “Impatient. Some things never change.”
“Oh please.” I give a dramatic eye roll. “Don’t act like you don’t know me or I don’t know you.”
“We’re not around each other every day anymore, Davis. There are a lot of things about you I don’t know, and plenty about me you don’t know.”
He leans forward in challenge, and I meet him with one of my own, fully prepared to prove him oh so wrong, but then I remember the other day, and the girl behind the front door I knew to be his. Clearly, it isn’t anymore, and while I didn’t go through his mail, I did peek at the envelope at the very bottom of the shoebox. The date on it was from November. It’s almost June.
Crew’s right. I don’t know everything about him anymore, and maybe I haven’t for longer than I realized. Sure, it’s been three years since I’ve seen him—not that him helping my dad move me into my apartment counts—but it’s been a lot longer than that since we shared a home, shared lives.
He and Memphis left for college my sophomore year of high school, and while they visited it wasn’t enough, and then after the summer before my senior year, it wasn’t at all.
Sadly, it was the same when I got here. My presence didn’t magically bring him back to me, if anything, the distance felt greater. We went from neighbors across a pond to oceans away from one another, or at least that’s how it felt.
But while I may not know him like I wish I did, like I used to and want to, and feel this deep, irrational need to, there’s not a whole lot about me left unsaid, the one and only thing I can think being my sad sex life and its lack of existence. I cleared that up quick, didn’t I?
“You said you wanted to chat about our deal,” I press.
“What happened with that guy today?”
My brows snap together. “What guy?”
A huffed laugh escapes him, and he licks his lips. “Anyone else and I would’ve sworn they were playing dumb, but not you.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what he means, but he continues before I can. “The guy from the diner this morning. The one with the hat. The one who forgot what he was saying.”
“Ohhh. Right.” That guy. “What about him?”
Crew stares some more, and I’m about ready to throw my water in his face to force him to form some sort of readable expression, but then he sighs. “Nothing. Forget about the guy. I thought about this deal we made, and if there are things you want or need—”
“Lessons for, help with, assistance in?” I jump in, eager to hear what he’s been thinking.
Creases form along his forehead, but he nods. “Yeah.”
“There are things. There are a lot of things, lessons, for me to learn.”
He blinks hard. “Right. That’s what I’m getting at. You’re going to have to tell me what those are. Some will be obvious or might become obvious, but others not so much.”
“So we’ll need to collaborate more?”
I’m not sure Crew could look any more irritated than he does right now, what with the instant sharpness of his gaze and pissy twist of his lips.
“What?”
A harsh breath pushes past his nostrils and he shakes his head. “Nothing. This is your show, but I will have questions.”
“I like questions.”
A shadow of a grin crosses his lips, but he licks it away. “I know and I expect you to answer all of mine, no matter what. Can you do that?”
I nod so hard my ponytail comes loose.
He pushes on. “Without hiding things you’re too embarrassed or afraid or whatever else to share?”
“I’m not embarrassed.”
“When was the last time you made yourself come?”
“Oh my god!”
Crew smiles wide, a low laugh leaving him as he leans forward once more. “What’s wrong… embarrassed?”
“Remember when I was eight, and you asked if I wanted to see the giant worm you found in my backyard, but when I nodded, you dangled a two-foot snake in front of my face? That’s what happened here. Expected one thing, got another, nothing else, so if that was a real question and one intended to get a rise out of me, ask it again, and I’ll tell you.”
He watches me closely, his knee bouncing a bit, but when he says nothing, I continue.
“Yes, I will answer your questions without shame, and you will be working on finding me a guy, correct?”
The glare comes quick. “That’s final stage, Baby Franco. Far the fuck away from right now.”
“So, we’re doing this thing all the way through?”
In true Crew fashion, his agreement is a heavy rumble deep in his chest.
A quick squeal leaves me, and I clap my hands together, wiggling my fingers at the edge of my lips. His eyes jerk back to mine when my palms slap against the wooden bar top with a loud smack.
“Okay. Now let’s talk about the deadline.”
“Deadline,” he deadpans, slowly crossing his arms over his chest. “What deadline?”
“All projects have a due date, Mr. Taylor.”
“You’re not a project, Baby Franco.”
“Call this little partner pact whatever you wish.” Leaning my elbows on the wooden surface, I loosely entwine my fingers, resting my chin where my knuckles meet. “But I expect to be properly probed thirty days from today.”
