Hitting to Win (Over the Fence #2) (11 page)

I
adjusted
the button on my collar for a fifth time, licking my fingers and slicking down the curls that had sprung loose on the side of my head. So much for trying to gel them down.

It was my first day on the job, ever, and I was a nervous little shit.

I checked my appearance one last time in the rear view mirror, peering at Lucca's backdoor from where I was parked in the back lot. Maybe my stomach felt like I'd been on a dozen roller coasters in five minutes because Chloe was probably already in there. She probably looked like a sexy Victoria's Secret model in her white button up and black slacks. I just looked like a penguin.

Sighing, I rolled my body out of the cabin of my truck, which, even though was the largest model you could buy, still squished my long limbs when I placed myself in there.

Letting myself in through the backdoor, a hurricane of activity hit me full force in the chest, and ears. People were running frantically around the large kitchen, screaming orders at each other in both Italian and English. The sound of knives, blenders, boiling sauces and spoons scraping pans created a buzzing melody in the air. The only thing louder than the sound was the smell. It smelled like fucking heaven in this kitchen.

"Get out of the way,
turista
!" A younger boy, who looked a lot like Chloe, yells at my back, a huge sack of flour hung over his shoulder. I push my body to the right, wedging up against a row of stoves. An older man appears at the door of the kitchen, which swings inward like the ones you always see in movies.

"How's it going in here? Twenty minutes to service, move your behinds!" He was a slight man with a thin frame, but his height and the air with which he carried himself made him seem much scarier.

His eyes scanned the room, stopping on me. "You there, new waiter. Miles is it? Come with me."

I didn't ask questions, just followed him as he strolled out of the kitchen, not checking to look if I was behind him.

He led me out into a quiet, romantically lit dining room I'd eaten in myself dozens of times. Being out in the front of Lucca's, you'd never know about the zoo conducting itself in the back. It was quiet, relaxed out here. The walls were old Italian brick, the tables covered in pristine white cloths and set with cream-colored napkins. The silverware was the finest silver, something I only knew because my father made it a point to let clients know that when we dined here. The decor was simple but beautiful, old black and white framed and matted photos of the scenes of Italy. Red drapes lined parts of the walls and ceilings, enclosing certain areas of the restaurant and making them private.

He walked me to the middle of the restaurant, where a bunch of people dressed like myself were folding silverware into napkins, filling the antique wood salt and pepper mills.

"Everyone, this is Miles. He is our newest waiter, please help him learn the ropes." Turning to me, he said, "You need to learn the menu, memorize it back to front, and always know the nightly specials. You will be shadowing Chloe tonight. She'll teach you everything you need to know."

"Papa!" I was shocked at the sound of her voice, turning to look two tables over at where she was writing in a big notepad. God she looked beautiful. Exactly as I pictured, her long black hair flowing over that white button-up. All I wanted to do was rip it open, expose her firm peaks and take them in my mouth.

I had to check myself before I got a boner in front of this guy who was apparently her father. Great, he was definitely going to punch me in the nuts by the end of all this.

"You will help him, Chloe." He father gives her one of the most menacing gazes I've ever seen, and she relents. After that he walks away, without even introducing himself, leaving me standing there like a buffoon.

I walk to where Chloe sits, unable to stay away from her. "What're you working on?"

I smile, taking the seat next to her. Her small, smooth hand is so close to mine, I just want to grab it up and hold on. Its been almost three weeks since I've actually seen her. My dick aches at the sight of her, knowing just how well we fit together, just how good she feels. My hand has done nothing to soothe the ache in me that yearns for her. I didn't get nearly enough of her before, and that's solely my fault.

"The reservations book, making sure everything matches up and that we have the table numbers and party sizes right." She doesn't look up, her long black mane sweeping in front of her face so that I can't make out her angular features.

"How have you been?"

The question catches her off guard, and she tilts her head up from where she's crouched in the writing position, as if her niceness has won over the rudeness. "I've been really good. Busy with dance of course. How have you been?"

"I've been making a lot of changes. I'd love to tell you about them sometime."

She nods, not giving a committal answer. Her eyes are a soft purple, I can make out the vanilla scent she's wearing and it tickles my nose. I want to lose myself in her.

"I've missed you." It comes out almost as a whisper, but by the way her eyes widen, I know she's heard me.

"Okay! Time to open doors, everyone up and ready." Chloe's dad comes out, and I realize he must be the Anthony my father is always personally making reservations with.

The staff rise and scurry about, everyone to their positions. Chloe motions for me to follow her, and I follow, mesmerized by the swing of her narrow hips when she walks.

"So, I guess just for today, soak up as much as you can and listen to what I do. You'll get the hang of it." We're standing close together in an alcove, waiting for her first table to arrive. I can feel the heat pouring off her body in this tiny space, and I have to physically fight the urge to close the gap by biting down on the inside of my cheek until I feel the vein in my jaw ticking.

Finally, Chloe is called to attend to her first customers, and I follow like the pony-boy I am.

"Good evening, and welcome to Lucca's. My name is Chloe, how are you doing tonight?"

Her formal introduction lands on deaf ears, the two guys in yuppy, too-tight expensive suits huddled close discussing what I can only imagine is some illegal business deal. I know guys like this. She waits a beat before setting her hands on the table, at which time Bozo 1 and Bozo 2 look up, noticing the hot girl in front of them, and put on their best leering smiles.

"Hi, sugar. How are you tonight?" The innuendo laced within the question makes me want to kick this guy in the chest so his chair falls backwards.

If I'm going to have to put up with sleeze-bags like this hitting on my girl all night, I don't think I'll make it.

But Chloe brushes off the come-on with her polite tone. "I'm great. Can I get you something to drink tonight? May I suggest our excellent wine list?"

"Bring us the most expensive bottle of wine you've got." Bozo 2 is trying to impress her, wave around that he's got a lot of cash. Is this what I used to act like? What a fucking moron.

"Excellent." She just smiles, turning away to, I assume, fetch the bottle. When we're out of earshot, she mutters to me. "Asshole didn't realize this baby is going to set him back $2,500."

I'd never heard Chloe curse, and I bark out a laugh at her annoyance. I want to pick her up and spin her around, kiss her until her lips are swollen and red.

Instead I follow her around for the rest of the night, picking up on her mannerisms and tactics. We deal with the expensive wine idiots, a sweet older couple who are regulars, and various other couples and families out for a Saturday night dinner.

By the end of the night, I’m just as exhausted as playing nine innings of baseball. In fact, it feels like one of those games where you go into extra-innings; everyone is dog-tired but can’t go home for the night. And that’s what its like at the restaurant.

There are still napkins to roll, cash registers and tips to count, liquor bottles to restock. I’m surprised at how lively and chatty all of the servers are, sharing war stories from their night on the floor. It was like one big family. And I was eager to fit in.

A
week
and a half into my Lucca’s gig and I was a pro. I had tables eating out of the palm of my hand. Or out of Tony Sr.’s fucking brilliant menu.

When I had a table of women or older folks, I turned up the charm wattage, schmoozing and heeding to their every need. The tips I was making were outrageous, sometimes the older set of Mitchum left me a hundred-dollar bill right there on the red wine-stained tablecloth. Already I had a good nest egg going for next semester’s expenses.

I’d also been swallowed up by the Lucca’s family; Manny and Theresa, the two most senior waiters, had taken a liking to me. Manny especially, who was amazed at my ability to spit out random baseball facts. Even the head chef, Joseph, gave me some simple cooking lessons when I came in early, showing me how to roll out the dough for handmade pasta or prepare a basic marinara sauce.

And that was one of the best perks of Lucca’s, the free meals. Not only were they free, meaning I didn’t have to mooch off of Owen’s parents, but they were like tasting pure bliss. Joseph was a fucking food genius.

I’m sitting the kitchen on a bucket before shift, shoving pasta carbonara in my face, when Chloe walks in. Did I mention that’s the biggest perk?

I’ve known since that first night that she’s still into me, and I’ve made it my secret mission to get her back, win her trust. I don’t care what she says about deserving more or just being friends, I’m going to show her that I
am
better now, that I
do
deserve her.

I’ve taken to cornering her in any way I can. Whether it’s in the small alcove where we prepare drinks, giving her my goofy smile and squeezing her hand before turning and walking out, or sitting next to her after closing, folding napkins beside her and telling her stupid jokes.

Working at the restaurant has made me feel better than I have in years. Maybe it’s that I am forging my own way, determining how my future will play out. Maybe it’s that I’m finally part of a family unit, I have people who genuinely care for me. But it’s probably that I’ve finally gotten out from under my father’s imposing shadow, free to think and feel and act any way I want.

“Hi, gorgeous.” I smile with a mouthful of Alfredo sauce, causing Chloe to shake her beautiful head of silk and smile shyly.

“Hi, Miles.” I love it when she says my name. I wish I was free to take her in my arms, nuzzle into her neck before we had tables to attend to. But I wasn’t.

“You better move your ass, shift starts in five minutes.” Tony, Chloe’s brother, gave me a stern look to match his demanding tone. He didn’t like me, that much I could tell. Probably because I was sniffing around his older sister, and probably because I’d managed to become so well-liked in a short amount of time in the place that would someday be his business.

I roll my eyes at Chloe once his back is turned, and she gives a small chuckle.

Half an hour into my shift, I’m working four tables and juggling a bottle of wine when Tony catches me in the kitchen, telling me that Danielle, the hostess has sat another table in my section. Okay, here goes.

I walk up to the table, steeling myself and planting my professional smile on my face. Great, businessmen. I see two guys in suits on the side of the table facing me, and two guys in more expensive suits sitting across from them.

I fidget with the black tie, hanging like a noose around my neck, and finally stop in front of them.

"Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Miles, and welcome to Lucca's. Can I start you off with a round of drinks, perhaps a bottle of wine. May I suggest our Pinot Noir, its aging well this year." Chloe has slipped that line into her intro speech, and I've copied her. It makes me sound like a fucking prick, but it also makes me sound like I know what I'm talking about.

Surveying the table, my eyes land on one person, and pop open so wide that my eyeballs just about fall out of my head. Sitting in the booth, flanked by three business assholes, is my father.

Charles Farriston has a smug, shit-eating grin on his face, the dark blue of his tie clashing with the ruddy red skin on his face. He found me. And by the looks of it, he's known where I've been this whole time. His fucking minions probably ratted on me. That, or his evil intellect has even further bounds than I imagined.

"No, no, boy. We'll take four Blue Labels, neat. A real man's drink, but then, you probably don't have the money to afford that right, waiter?"

Instead of being appalled at the way he'd spoken to me, like normal people would have been, his accomplices break into a fit of roaring laughter as I can feel the tips of my ears burn. I want to slug him in the face, make him eat his words and grind a few of his expensive veneers while I'm at it.

But as much as I can feel the rage form out a hollow, black pit in my stomach, I can't do it. It would only let him win. This meal would be a test, a test to see if I could really make it on my own. Or if I'd break just like the stupid, puny wuss he thought I was.

I would win. "Sure thing, sir. I'll bring those right out while I give you time to browse the menu."

I turn on my heel, all but running for the kitchen. Once I burst through the swinging door, I keep going, even though I hear Chloe calling my name.

Hitting the safety handle on the backdoor exit of the kitchen, I stumble outside, reaching for the first thing I see. I haul the empty tin garbage can over my head and throw it as hard as I can against the cement building. The commotion and cathartic throw seem to take the edge off my raw anger, which is beating like its own frayed nerve.

I place my hands on the wall above my head, dragging in deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. Slowly the backdoor opens, revealing Chloe.

I turn my head to where she's pulling on her fingers, chewing her lip full, cherry-colored bottom lip as if she doesn't know what to say to me. Her breaths come out in puffs of white smoke in the cold December air, and I realize she's shivering a little. I don't know if it’s from the temperature, or in fear of me.