“They requested Camila’s table.” Sophie says and gets their menus. “Sorry, Remy.” She whispers as she leads them to the other side of the restaurant. The twins don’t look back at me.
I know I wasn’t imagining things yesterday. Not the way Jake looked at me or the way Emmet touched my knee. Camila takes their order with a red face, no doubt stumbling over her words as Emmet charms her with his smile and Jakes offers nothing but a disinterested glare. I’m always on the other end of a flirt, brushing off men’s admirations and catcalls, but I’ve never been one to chase after a boy.
I step into the restroom and unbutton the top button of my blouse, pushing my bra up and fixing the makeup beneath my eyes. If they think they can take over my thoughts and toss me on the side of the road then they have no idea who I am.
As usual, eyes are on me as I make my way around the floor. I’m louder than normal as I giggle at the men who compliment me. I glance over at the twins, but they sit with their backs facing me. Jake’s head is lowered to the side though, and I notice his hands are tightly coiled fists.
“You’re in a good mood, sweetheart.” Scott says and finishes the rest of his beer. “Does this mean you’ll finally consider our date?”
“You’re gonna have to catch me in a much nicer mood for that, sweetheart.” I say sweetly.
“Finally got someone in your sights?” Charlie asks as I fill up a pitcher. “Or did you accept your fate as the future crazy cat lady.”
“I’ve told you a million times, I’m allergic.” I fit three pitches on a tray. “And maybe, I don’t know. I’m not the best at this.” I admit.
“Remy, any guy would be crazy not to fall in love with you at first sight.” Charlie points at a gold ring on his finger. “Luckily for me this casts plus ten defense.”
“Such a nerd.” I grab the tray and deliver the pitchers to a large table of men enjoying a football game on the television. They holler and hoot, and one even goes as far as to wrap an arm around my waist as their team scores a touchdown.
I put my arm on his, planning on tossing it back onto the table and giving him a stern lecture, but in the corner of my eyes I catch Jake watching us closely. The feeling of rejection hits me once again, and I lean into the man’s arms and playfully smack his shoulder.
“Something tells me you’re used to touchdowns.” I say close to his ear and wink. Jake watches as I pick the tray back up and disappear into the kitchen.
The next hour goes the same, flirting heavily with the big table and teasing Scott. I earn Emmet’s attention after a while, and I decide to walk past their table without so much as a glance towards them.
Jake’s hand shoots out and brushes my wrist, and a shot of electricity climbs my arm and leaves it tingling. I want more of his touch, but I’m a stubborn woman and so I walk away.
The table of jocks leave a decent tip, but not what I was expecting. Scott orders another beer and I hop behind the busy bar to get his refill.
“Scott hasn’t stopped staring you down once tonight.” Charlie lets me know. “It’s actually entertaining.”
“He’s a glutton for punishment.” I say. “But Lord does he fill up a tab.”
On my next ten minute break I realize the twins are gone. I follow Camila out the back, standing with my arms crossed as she pulls out a cigarette from her purse.
“They left me a three hundred dollar tip!” She gushes. I’m happy for her of course; she has her own bills and rent to pay. But I can’t help but feel wronged somehow. Despite the raise that I still haven’t mentioned to anyone.
“They’re decent guys, I guess.” The night air is cold and cools me down after running around for hours. I can feel short curls plastered to the sweat of my forehead and I try wiping them with my arm.
“Time to start closing.” Camila says as we head back to our tables. The next hour goes by quickly, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
Camila leaves before I do, and I decline Charlie’s invitation for a ride home.
“I have to go grocery shopping on the way home anyways.” We say goodbye and I mingle in the restaurant, vacuuming the front for the third time.
It’s pitch black by the time I lock the doors. A car honks at me and I nearly jump, looking for the pepper spray buried somewhere at the bottom of my purse.
A black car pulls up near the front of the restaurant and the drivers window rolls down.
“Do you usually close by yourself?” The man from my football table earlier pops his head out. “That’s not safe you know.”