Loving Lies(17)
I’m picking up all the clothes lying on the floor and wonder if I should fold them and pretend their clean. For the entire day I’ve avoided coming face-to-face with Blake but that doesn’t mean I haven’t stopped thinking of him or what we did.
I can’t believe I did that. I’m such a fool. What the hell was I thinking? It’s one thing to screw around with a guy but another to feel so damn good about it. Why can’t he be a dick or a moron? Those guys I don’t usually give a shit about the next day. Last night felt too damn magical and that can’t happen again.
Thank god I snuck out before he woke. God, I don’t think I can face him today. Maybe I should tell Roger I’m sick. Shit, I can’t do that. I need the money and Roger said he’d pick up my photography supplies from the store today. Hell, he’s actually loaning me a hundred dollars so I can get all the supplies at once. I hate owing people but god knows when I’ll be back in town. I get out of the shower just as perky Amy walks in.
Thank god she doesn’t say more than hi because I’m not in the mood to talk. My body feels wonderful. Who knew having two orgasms would loosen up the back muscles that have been bitching at me constantly for the past two weeks.
An image of Blake nestled between my thighs makes me gasp. I walk quickly back to my room and pick up the same clothes I had on last night. I give them a good shake and then carefully add my perfume. It’s Monday which means the morning crowd will be mostly families and it will be slow tonight. With any luck I’ll be finished by six.
A note slides under my door and my heart speeds up. I debate ignoring it but then yank it inside without opening the door. Opening it I smile.
It’s a note from the new pastry chef informing me morning samples are in the kitchen, if I’d like to try them. That girl is a freaking genius. The stuff she can whip up is amazing. I arrange my hair in a ponytail and dart to the kitchen. I swipe up her offerings and mumble thanks. She gives me one of her smiles and then turns her attention back to the kitchen. I don’t think I’ve seen her outside of the kitchen, come to think of it. I down a cup of coffee and then dash to work. Roger wouldn’t appreciate me being late, especially when he’s doing me a favor.
As expected he’s standing outside the bar next to his red pick-up truck.
“You sure you don’t mind doing this?” I ask.
“Ain’t no trouble at all. Like I said, I have to go into town for a supply run and the store’s right across the street. You’ve got your list, right?’
I reach into my black pant pocket and pull out my list along with the cash I’ve saved up. “I’ll give you the other hundred once I get it.”
He smiles. “That be in about a day. No worries. I’ve seen what you make in tips here.”
Roger might be gruff sometimes, but he’s got a big heart. “Thanks again.”
“You best be gettin’ inside. That morning crew needs guidance and you’re just the boss to get them in ship shape. Plus I heard from Amy that there’s a family with twelve kids who just landed here last night.”
I swipe my hair into a tight ponytail. Only in the tavern do I get to wear my hair styled the way I like. “Twelve kids?”
“That’s what she said. Can’t even imagine that. Must be awfully loud in that house. Anything else you want in town, Alyssa?”
“No. I’m good. And thanks again, Roger.” I say, as I wave and dart inside and not a minute too soon. Within seconds the new family of fourteen, two adults with twelve kids all under the age of sixteen, plow through the doors. I seat them and scurry to the back. Sure enough the staff are sipping coffee.
With my hands on my hips, I say, “In case you didn’t notice we have customers.”
They all dash out with sheepish looks on their faces. I hustle to get the coffee started and fill the orders and ensure I’m not the one dealing with the supersize family.
Every time the door opens I’m thinking Blake will walk through. I’m not sure how I’m going to handle that situation.
I’m so busy thinking of him that I don’t realize who I’m serving until she looks up. Carol Winestead. I’m so startled I almost drop the coffee pot. Carol Winestead is the last person on earth I thought I’d ever see again. She’s been my father’s real estate agent for two decades. What the hell is she doing here?
“Do I know you?” she asks, her light brown eyes flicking over me like she’s trying to wrack her brain as to why I might look familiar.
“Nope. Can I get you some coffee?”
She nods so I pour, hoping that’s it.