The Running Series Complete Collection: 3-Book Set plus Bonus Novella (129 page)

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.

His two friends go running out the door, and the prick scrambles to his feet and hurries out behind them. 

Everyone in the restaurant has been watching the entire incident.  You could hear a pin drop, and I swear I can hear Evan’s pulse beating furiously.  Finally Derek releases me and I go running to Evan, throwing myself into his arms.

He grabs me briefly, but quickly pushes me away, scanning me from head to toe.  “Please tell me he didn’t lay a hand on you, Juliette.  Did he hurt you?”

I take a deep breath, relieved to see that Evan is okay.  “No, I’m fine.  He just got a little grabby, that’s all.”  I smile up at him and turn to Derek and Marcus.  “Thanks, guys.”

The customers eventually go back to their business, resuming their conversations and enjoying their meals.  Marcus looks carefully at Evan, trying to gauge his mood, and asks, “Mac, are you okay?” 

I startle and look him over more carefully now, noticing a drop of blood on his shirt.  Evan sees me staring at his shirt and looks down, too.  He places a hand up to his nose, and when he pulls it away, it’s tinged with blood.  “Shit!” he curses.

I drag him into my office as his nose begins to bleed more freely.  In a matter of seconds, his shirt is covered in blood.  “Evan, we have to call the police,” I tell him anxiously, “and get somebody in here to look at your nose.”

He grabs a wad of tissues and holds it up against his nose.  “Please.  I’ll be fine.  I’ve been hurt worse on the football field.”

Gathering my strength, I push my tears to the side and shove Evan toward the couch and demand he sit down and lean his head back. 

“Who’s the bossy one, now?” he teases, grinning wickedly but following my directions nonetheless. 

Marcus appears at my door with an ice pack and a clean bar towel.  Evan holds it against the bridge of his nose with one hand and wipes up the blood with the other.  We sit quietly together until the bleeding stops. 

I help him strip off the bloody shirt and toss it to the side and watch as he cleans the blood from his handsome face. 

That’s when I get mad.

“What were you thinking getting into a fight right now?  There are crazy people out there.  Do you know what could have happened?  Someone could have been seriously injured – or worse!”

“You don’t have to tell me that, Juliette.  That scumbag had his hands all over you.  Do you have any idea what would have happened if he’d hurt you?  I would have killed him.  I could have, you know.  If anyone ever hurt you, I’d end his life without hesitation.”  His voice trails off.  I look up into his piercing blue eyes.  He gets me all twisted up inside.

Evan senses my melancholy and wraps his arms around me.  I climb onto his lap and wrap my arms around his neck.  He’s freshly showered.  I close my eyes and inhale deeply.  His clean, fresh smell is hypnotic, putting me in a trance.

Evan’s hand makes contact with the skin on my leg.  Slowly, he works his way up my thigh.  Everywhere his hand touches is left burning.  When his hand ventures under my skirt, he has no way of knowing that his hand is resting in the exact place where the scumbag’s hand was.  I tolerate his touch for as long as I can before I recoil from him, pulling his hand away and curling up tighter in his lap.  A shiver travels down my spine.

“Hey, what just happened?” Evan asks.

I don’t want him to know.  He’ll worry.  I don’t know why I’m reacting like this.  It’s not like anything actually happened.

“I think it’s the air conditioning,” I tell him.  “I just got a chill.”

“I call bullshit.  He touched you, didn’t he?”  I nod.  “I fucking knew it.  If I hadn’t stayed for that meeting, you’d be home with me right now.  I’m so sorry.  This never should have happened.”

I see the anguish in his face. 

“Yeah, well, if I’d listened to my gut, I would have told Marcus to stick close to me.  I knew those guys were walking the line, but I thought I could handle it.  I’m the one who should be sorry.”

Evan pulls me tight against his bare chest.  I whisper in his ear, “You should probably get that nose looked at.  Want me to drive you?”

With hardly any effort whatsoever he turns the tables, and before I can react he has me flat on my back, lying on the couch as he hovers over me, his hot breath tickling the small hairs on my neck.  “Well, if you’re offering, I do have something I’d really like looked at.”  He rubs up against me, and all reason is lost.

Blood, Sweat, & Tears

W
e are all on the edge of our seats as the clock ticks down.  The score is tied at seventeen, and there’s less than a minute left in the fourth quarter. It’s been an exciting back-and-forth duel between the underdog Sentinels and the heavily favored 49ers that’s coming right down to the wire.

With seventeen seconds left on the clock, the 49ers are in the red zone, the perfect scoring position.  I can see Evan on the sideline, helplessly pacing.

After the snap, Kaepernick pulls back and spots an unprotected receiver deep in the end zone.  He sends it downfield like a rocket, just above the head of the receiver, who makes a jump for the ball.  Everyone holds their breath as we watch, hoping and praying that the pass is incomplete, forcing the game into overtime. 

Out of nowhere appears Sentinels Cornerback Anthony Romeo Santos.  The ball slips through the fingertips of the 49ers receiver and lands squarely in the capable hands of Santos, who picks it off in the end zone.  Santos weaves his way through the field and along the sideline, with blockers running alongside with him.  The clock has only moved a few seconds, but that’s all the time Santos needs to run one hundred yards for a Sentinels touchdown. 

Everyone in the suite is wildly excited, jumping up and down, hooting and hollering.  Everyone except Shea, that is.  She made good on her deal with Evan, sporting her official Evan McGuire Sentinels game jersey.  But it’s nearly impossible for a die-hard 49ers fan to celebrate a hundred-yard touchdown run that ends in a Niners loss.

I can only imagine how much celebrating Anthony’s new wife Brianna must be doing right now.  As far as I know, this is his first big play of the season.  Amidst all the celebratory cheering going on in the suite right now, I pull out my phone to send her a quick text.

The screaming throughout the stadium only gets louder as they send in Troy Duffy for the extra point, which he handily scores.  When the 49ers take possession, there are only three seconds left on the clock.  One play in and the horn blows, signaling another Sentinels victory. 

We watch and listen as reporters follow Kaepernick off the field.  His four turnovers, three interceptions, and one fumble leave him a lot to answer for.  He brushes off their questions and walks somberly off the field and into the locker room.

We wait for Evan to meet us in the suite, hopefully bringing a special visitor with him.  “Do you think he’ll come?” Emmy asks excitedly.

“I have no idea,” I tell her.  “But I think our chances went down dramatically when he lost.  He’s really not known for being a good loser.”

The other guests in the suite have emptied out, leaving our small group here to wait for our victorious quarterback.  “That’s the first Pick Six I’ve ever seen,” Derek tells Shea.

“Maybe if you went to more games, Slick, you’d see them more often.  Peyton Manning has the most in one season – six I believe.”

“What’s a Pick Six?  I thought it was a lottery or something.”  I hate to sound ignorant, but I’ll never learn more about the game if I don’t ask questions.  This way, when I’m home alone with Evan later, I can talk about the game and actually sound like I know what I’m talking about.