Running Away With You (Running #3) (20 page)

“Well, if they need you to have some big fancy house just to date their daughter, then they’re not worth knowing,” Emmy tells him.

“Emmy’s right about that, Derek.  But what’s going on with this house-shopping thing?  What do you have in mind?” I ask.

“I’m actually thinking about looking at some of the properties in your neighborhood, Jette.  How would you feel about having a new neighbor?”

“Are you shitting me?” I ask, completely thrilled by the idea.  “Derek, there are houses on both sides of our property for sale.  We could be next-door neighbors.  How frigging cool would that be?”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” he agrees.

“Someone’s got to talk about the pink elephant in the room,” Marcus breaks in.  “Dude, you don’t need this job anymore.  Millionaires don’t usually sling beer, you know.  Are you getting ready to quit?”

“Man, I’m not going to lie, I thought about it.  But I have no idea what I want to do.  I have to work, and I love bartending.  I think I’m going to stick around for a while, at least until I figure out what I’m going to do next.”

“If you’re going to do somebody, it’d better be me!” Shea announces as she joins our little group.

Derek puts his arm around her and kisses her passionately as we all sit there watching.  When they break apart, he looks deep into her eyes. “I missed you, beautiful.”

“I missed you too, Slick.  So did you tell them?”  She rubs her hand intimately up and down his leg.

“Yup.  Did you clear your calendar for tomorrow?” he asks.

Shea takes out her phone and checks her calendar.  She assures him she’s cleared the whole day for him.  “What’s the agent’s name, again?” she asks Derek.

“Auggie.  He’s got seven places for me to look at, but I won’t go unless you can come too.”  He takes her hand in his and weaves their fingers together.  “This is kinda big.  I need my girl with me to help me decide.”

All at once, Emmy and I let out a joint sigh.  “Aww!” we moan in unison.

Shea nods, then turns to me.  “I brought something for you, Juliette.  I have a few places I’d like to talk to you about for your reception.  What do you say?  Can we chat?”

We talk for over an hour.  She’s got some great ideas about venues.  We narrow it down to several locations near Atlantic City.  I’m starting to get excited.  Shea will use the next week or two to visit them in person and find out more about their security and guest services.

When we’re done, we move our little party over to the bar.  Derek’s shift is just beginning, but mine and Emmy’s is ending, so we all join Shea and sit as guests at the bar.  I rarely get to do this. 

In no time at all, the dinner crowd has arrived and the restaurant is filling up.  It’s Friday night and hopefully we’ll be able to fill every table.

Blaine is behind the bar today.  He’s a music student studying at the New School in Manhattan, and the girls love him.  I think it’s his accent.  He’s from Australia.  He comes from a military family that moved to the states a few years ago.  It’s like having a younger version of Keith Urban right here in my very own bar.

Evan sends a text that says he’s staying late at work and I should eat without him.  He and Adam won’t be home for another hour or two, so Emmy, Shea, and I order sandwiches at the bar for dinner and prepare to hunker down while we wait for our men.

Emmy volunteers to be our DD for the night, so Shea and I take full advantage and order a shot each of Patron Silver. 

Derek stops to talk to us whenever he has a free moment.  Shea touches him when he’s near, squeezing his arm muscles and laughing at his jokes, no matter how distasteful they may be. 

When Derek turns to greet a new customer, I take advantage of the opportunity to ask Shea a direct question.  “So what’s going on with you and Derek?  Is it serious?”

Emmy warns, “Yeah, he’s like my big brother and I have to make sure you’re not going to dick him over.”

Shea laughs.  “It’s not me you have to worry about, Emmy.  My last relationship lasted two and a half years.  Before that, I had the same boyfriend for over three years.  I don’t do casual and I don’t waste my time.”  She scans the bar looking for someone or something.  “Can I ask you two a question?”

“Shoot!” Emmy tells her.

“I’ve been getting these weird vibes from Reese.  Why does she keep looking at me like I just ate the last piece of cake?”

I try to explain.  “She and Derek had a complicated relationship.  To continue your food analogy, he was her box of cookies she kept hidden away in her drawer.  She only took one out when there was nothing else in the house to eat.”

Shea nods her head.  “Aha.  I think I get it.” 

I clarify.  “You have to understand how much Reese likes cookies.  She doesn’t share her cookies with anyone else.  But she doesn’t just like cookies.  She likes to eat brownies and ice cream too.  Sometimes she forgot that she had a perfectly good supply of cookies just waiting.”

“Are you saying that Derek was her sugar cookie?” Emmy giggles.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Well, I happen to be very fond of sugar cookies too,” Shea tells us.  “Is this going to become a problem?”

I try to assuage her worries.  “I had a long talk with Reese a couple of weeks ago, way before you showed up.  She’s given up on sugar cookies.  Permanently.”

Derek refills our drinks.  “Do you three want to order dessert?  I heard someone say something about cookies,” Derek says.  We’re laughing so hard we can’t answer him.  Eventually he gives up and walks away.

I get up and excuse myself to take a bathroom break.  I turn around and there’s an adorable college-age frat boy standing at my side, eyeing me mischievously.  “Pardon me, miss, but I seem to have lost my number.  Could I borrow yours?” he asks with a straight face.

Emmy and Shea burst out laughing.

“You want my number?” I ask.

He nods. 

“Hold on.  Don’t move.”  I turn back to the bar and wave Blaine over, asking him to hand me a sharpie marker. 

Frat boy’s friends are doubled over laughing.  They must think his line is working.

“Give me your hand.”  He holds out his hand and I turn it over, writing carefully on his palm.

I release him, and when he turns his hand over, he raises an eyebrow and looks at me with a vacant expression.  “16?  I think you forgot a few numbers, beautiful.”

“Nope.  16 is my fiancé’s jersey number.  He plays for the Sentinels.  But if you want more numbers, I could give you his salary, his stats, or even his cell phone number.”

One of frat boy’s friends burst out laughing, “Holy shit, dude, that’s Big Mac’s fiancée.” 

Not to be deterred, frat boy turns to Emmy.  “How about you?  Are you religious by any chance?  Because I’m the answer to all your prayers.”

“Tonight is your lucky night,” Emmy tells him.

“Oh, yeah!” he tells his buddies, high fiving him.

“You get two for one,” she rubs her belly, “if you know what I mean.”

He shakes off Emmy’s offer, walks past us, and takes Shea’s hand in his, checking for an engagement ring.  Pleased with her bare finger, he says, “I have to ask, is there a mirror in your pocket? Because I keep seeing myself in your pants.”

Holding his hand firmly, she pulls him in close and whispers in his ear, “Try that shit with me, and I’ll cut your fucking balls off.”

Being shot down by all three of us seems to have put a bit of a damper on his mood.  “Lesbians!” he calls to us as he walks away.

I’m laughing so hard it actually hurts. 

This time, Blaine comes over and congratulates us on our well-played game.  “I reckon you girls earned one of these.”  He pours Shea and me another shot of tequila.  “Sorry, mama, nothing for you.”

Reese comes out of the kitchen looking exhausted with her beautiful red hair in a messy bun on the top of her head.  She plops down on the empty seat beside me. 

“Hey, Reese, can I get you anything?  A plate of cookies, maybe?” Emmy asks her.

“Cookies, Emmy?  Um, no.  I think I’ll take a pass, but thanks anyway,” Reese answers, a little confused.

Emmy laughs, “See, Shea?  Jette was right.  Reese doesn’t eat cookies anymore.”

Reese looks at us and announces, “I don’t get it.”

“Not anymore,” Shea quietly mumbles to Emmy.

“Don’t worry about it, Reese.  We were just having a little fun,” I tell her.

“Whatever.  Hey, Blaine, can I have a shot of SoCo?  Straight up.  I’m outta here.”  Reese drinks her shot and heads straight for the door without another word. 

Marcus weaves his way through the crowd and tells me that one of the waitresses just got an emergency call from her babysitter and had to leave.  We’re slammed.  The restaurant is packed and now we’re short staffed.

Marcus asks, “Do you think you could pitch in and help wait on a few tables?  I called Lindsay, and she’ll be here in half an hour.  Can you take over just until she gets here?”

“I don’t know, Marcus.  I’ve been doing shots for the past hour and a half.  I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I tell him.

“Jette, I realize that.  I know everything that goes on here.  I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency.  You’ll be fine.” 

I look at Emmy and Shea.  “Sorry, ladies.  Duty calls.”

Marcus grabs me by the hand and takes me into the back and gets me an order pad and an apron.  I can do this.  No one knows the menu better than me.  Besides, it’s only for thirty minutes.  What’s the worst that could happen?

The other waitresses take pity on me and shift their zones so I only have four small tables.  There’s a family with two young children, two couples on a double-date, a small group of college-age girls, and a table of three businessmen.  I’m certain I can handle them.

I refill drinks, take orders, and deliver appetizers without mishap.  I’m actually quite proud of my performance.  Tables are full and there’s not much room to move without bumping into someone.  I take orders from double-date table, and out of the blue I feel something or someone brushing up against me.  A hand slides under my denim skirt and grabs hold of my thigh.  I can feel fingers squeezing my flesh.

I jump back, knocking into one of my customers.  When I turn to see to whom the offending hand belongs, I see one of the businessmen grinning malevolently through his veneered teeth.  His slicked-back hair and cheap suit remind me of a pushy car salesman.  “Nice ass,” he sneers as he winks at me through bloodshot eyes. 

His little group of friends pulls him back, laughing.  “Sorry about my friend here.  He’s harmless, really.  He just gets a little ... excited when he sees a nice piece ... I mean, a pretty young woman.”

These men are not regulars.  I haven’t seen them before.  I warn them that this is a family establishment and they are going to have to keep their hands where they belong.

Unfortunately for me, their table is situated in such a way that I have to walk past them every time I check on my other tables.  I can feel eyes following me and hear lewd comments passing among them. 

As I deliver their entrées, the oversexed salesman rubs his long, skinny fingers up my arm, getting dangerously close to my breast.  Angrily, I smack his hand away, but that just makes him laugh.  “Aw, honey.  Someone as hot as you must be used to all kinds of attention.  Loosen up a little, will ya?” 

“Touch me one more time and I’ll call the manager,” I warn him, and walk away. 

Emmy and Shea are having a great time.  They haven’t even noticed my crisis.  Derek is too focused on Shea to see anything but her and his customers.  I can handle this.  This isn’t my first rodeo.  I’ve dealt with drunks before.  Usually there’s a protective bar providing me with an impenetrable barrier.  One more touch, one more lewd remark, and I’ll get Marcus to throw their asses out the door.

The food order is up for my double-date four-top.  When I pass out the last of their plates, I feel a pair of long arms grab me around the waist.  The salesman has now brought me crashing down onto his lap and his hands are already moving down my legs, again making contact with my skin. 

It was offensive and infuriating to feel a pair of strange hands on my hips, but there was a certain level of protection offered by several layers of clothing.  But to feel the hands of a stranger on my flesh ... the feeling is multiplied immeasurably.  It makes my skin crawl.

I try to get up, but his hands hold tight, not letting me budge.  I look around for Marcus, but he’s nowhere to be seen.  I should have warned him.  He could have shadowed me.  I should have known better.

Desperately, I push and pull at his arms, but I’m no match for him.  He smells of whiskey and cigarettes and I don’t know what to do.

Suddenly I’m yanked from his lap and shielded protectively by a pair of familiar arms.  Derek pushes me to the side, preventing the jerk from getting anywhere near me. 

Unable to see what’s happening, I hear Evan’s voice growl, “Not a good idea.” His voice is low and seething with anger. 

All three men are now standing, staring down Derek and Evan.  Despite the height and weight Derek and Evan have over these men, they don’t back down.  The ass actually takes a step closer to Evan.

Derek tries to intervene.  “Why don't you go play hide-and-go-fuck-yourself?"

“Suck my fucking balls, bitch,” he tells Derek. 

Evan grabs him by his shirt and warns him, “I don’t think so.”  The entire restaurant is eerily quiet.  All eyes are on Evan and this little triad.  The two stare each other down for what feels like an eternity until Evan finally releases him, his arms shaking with anger.  “I suggest you take your little pricks with you and get the hell out of here.  Now,” he demands, his low, flat voice intimidating and as scary as hell.

The older man in the group grabs his friend and pleads, “Come on, Jeff.  Let’s go.  She’s not worth it, man.”

Evan and Derek follow the threesome as they make their way toward the exit.  Suddenly, just as they are about to walk out the door, I see the ass reach back and take a swing.  He lunges for Evan with a look of rage in his eyes.  I scream Evan’s name just as I see the man’s fist connect with Evan’s nose.

Derek grabs me as I leap toward Evan to help, but Evan is stronger and faster.  He lands a powerful punch on the man’s jaw, sending him flat on his ass.