By the time he walked from the front of the restaurant to the dance floor, several other couples had joined them. It was like a scene out of Dirty Dancing. Even Braden could feel the sexual energy in the room. He looked up at Lola who made eye contact with him, shook her head, and shrugged.
Maybe he was overreacting. No one was getting hurt and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. He started to turn to go into the kitchen when a shirt hit him in the chest. A woman’s black blouse with silver buttons, to be more exact. Swirling around, he spotted one of his regular customers, Maura, shirtless and riding her husband’s thigh. His hands were on their way down her back toward the clasp on her bra.
He ran to them and tore Maura away from her spouse, slipping the shirt over the woman’s shoulders. Almost half of the customers in the place were now either kissing on the dance floor or making out at their tables. The other patrons laughed and a few wandered out the front door without paying. He didn’t blame them.
His lead waitress, Jenny, and his head bartender, Clyde, were circling the dining room, pleading with the amorous crowd to keep their clothes on. Suddenly, a shrill whistle followed by feedback from the sound system stopped everyone in their tracks. Lola stood at the edge of the stage with an expression of outrage on her face. “Ladies and gentlemen, while I’m honored you find my music so . . . moving, we must honor the health code which requires everyone to keep their clothes on their bodies. Also, public sex is illegal in the State of Michigan.” She dropped her microphone. “Right?” she mouthed to him.
He nodded and climbed the stairs to the stage then took the microphone from her. “Thank you. I didn’t think anything would get them to stop.”
“What the heck is wrong with them? I know you said walnuts were aphrodisiacs, but I’ve never seen anything like this.”
His gaze swept the room. Sure enough, plates with remnants of nuts and syrup sat on the tables of all the amorous couples.
It had to be a coincidence.
“Good evening, everyone,” he said into the microphone. “I’m Braden Angelopoulos. Most of you know I’m the owner of Acropolis.” A few of the customers whistled. While they remained clothed, hands were certainly wandering in places he didn’t need to see. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, folks, but we’re going to have to close early tonight. We had a slight emergency in the kitchen. For those of you who have finished your meals, your wait staff will bring you the checks and we’ll be offering you a twenty percent discount. For those of you not finished, we’ll wrap up your meals and it’s on the house. We hope you’ll come back soon.”
The room fluttered with activity as the waiters handed out the checks and collected payment in a hurried manner. Lola and her band hung out on the stage talking amongst themselves. Braden was busy ringing up the customers, but he heard Lola assuring them they’d get paid for all their set. At least one good thing would come from this. He’d have more time alone with her tonight.
Twenty minutes later, he collapsed in a chair at the bar. “I’ll take my usual. But double it,” he told Clyde, who pulled out a tumbler rather than a shot glass, filled it with vodka, and placed it in front of him.
“Never seen the over-sixty crowd get so frisky. Think it was in the water?” Clyde asked.
He shook his head. “In the baklava.”
Clyde laughed, having no idea Braden was as serious as the final game of the World Series. The band members walked by him on their way out the door, holding their guitar cases and mumbling under their breath. A gold and turquoise skirt caught his eye as it passed, and he grabbed Lola before she could make her great escape.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He yanked her backward and she stumbled, ending up with her face in his lap.
“I thought I was done for the night,” she said, digging her fingers into his thighs and using his legs to lift herself off him. Pity.
“We may have closed early, but you and I still have work to do. Or are you trying to back out so that you can go on your date?”
“What date?” She tilted her head and looked baffled then she smiled. “Oh, Jon.”
He hated the way she said that name. All breathy-like. He had to drive that man from her mind and keep her busy for the month. By that time, the only name she’d pant would be his.
“Yes, Jon. I thought I told you I’d teach you the ordering tonight. Plus, since we have extra time, we can work on some of the bookkeeping.”
She sighed and took off her winter coat. “Fine. Let’s do it.”