Dirty Boys: Bad Boy Rock Star Romance Box Set

by Jade C. Jamison

  He was describing the menu to me when the deliciously hot man I’d met yesterday came out of the walk-in refrigerator with his arms full of iceberg lettuce and tomatoes. As he placed the contents of his arms on the chrome counter, Ed said, “Scott, this is Casey. She’s our new cook.” He barely nodded at me, making me a little irritated that I was so fascinated by him when the feeling was obviously not mutual. Ed looked back at me, apparently unfazed by the rudeness of his cook. “Scott will be training you today, Casey.” He turned around to leave but looked back and said to Scott, “Be nice to her.” To me, he said, “Scott can answer any questions you have.”

  It didn’t take long for the shine to wear off. We had a shitload of work for the day, from getting hamburger garnishes ready to prebaking potatoes. For the first two hours, we had the whole place to ourselves, but by ten, the place was hopping with dishwashers, waitresses, a salad bar person, a dessert chef, and another cook to work alongside Scott and me when we opened at eleven. And when we got closer to opening, even more staff flooded the place—more waitresses, a hostess, and bussers.

  And I wondered if I’d ever be able to remember everything he’d shown me that morning—but I was a quick learner. Scott was a quiet guy, it seemed like, but he knew his job and seemed good at it. With ten minutes before we opened, I, Scott, and another cook stood in the kitchen, ready to begin serving food. Jim said, “I’m gonna get a Coke. You guys want anything?”

  Scott said to me, “It’s free.”

  “Just water, if that’s okay.”

  When Jim left the kitchen, Scott said, “So today’s pretty typical. There are usually two cooks scheduled to open and then you’ll almost always have three for lunch, except on Saturdays and Sundays when we have four.”

  “Four?” That seemed excessive.

  “Yeah. So you’re gonna be the fry cook today, ‘cause it’s easiest. I’ll be on grill. Jim’ll be over there as the sous chef. He pretty much gets everything else on the menu that’s not on the grill or fried.”

  “So what does the fourth person on the weekends do?”

  “Expediting. They’ll call all the orders and assemble them right here.” He pointed to the counter in between the fryers and the grill. I’d be close to Scott all day, but I wasn’t as excited now as I’d been earlier, because the man obviously wasn’t interested in me, and I wasn’t foolish enough to pursue someone who didn’t give a shit. “But I’ll do that today. The fry person can do it, too, but you’ll have to get used to the menu first.”

  Except his attitude seemed like it was more than he just didn’t give a shit. I felt some kind of hostile vibe coming from the guy. But I was there to learn and earn a paycheck. Friendship and love interests were extraneous and unnecessary…even though Ed hadn’t said a word about not fraternizing.

  “So how do you decide who goes where?”

  “That’s easy. The cook scheduled for the longest shift gets to choose the duties he wants, and then he assigns everyone else to stations.”

  “He, huh?” He gave me a confused look. “Last I checked, I don’t have a dick.”

  Scott arched an eyebrow. “Sorry, babe, but you’re the first girl cook we’ve ever had here.” And, once he’d said it, it dawned on me that all the waitstaff that I’d seen thus far had been women. What was up with that?

  Well, I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t plan on going full-on feminist when I barely knew the guy, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to call him on his shit. “So that means you’re gonna call me a guy even if I’m not?”

  He actually almost smiled, but his twitching lips fought against it. “You haven’t been the lead yet, so it’s he until then.” Jim walked back in the kitchen then holding a couple of icy drinks. “If you stick it out.”

  Jim snorted. “Yeah, good luck. Last three cooks bailed.”

  That was no comfort. Jim seemed nice enough, but I couldn’t get a good read on him. I evaluated him while he set our drinks on a shelf underneath a table. He was about the same height and build as Scott, but his hair was darker. It was hard to tell under the baseball caps we had to wear. But there was something inside his dark eyes that I felt like I couldn’t quite trust.

  It was day one. What did I know?

  Maybe it was the skeezy tattoos on his arms of bullets, skulls, faces, and words with artwork that looked like maybe he’d taken a black BIC and done them himself. I noticed then that Jim wore a wedding ring, and that made me glance at Scott’s left hand just to make sure he was free.

  He was.

  Scott said, “Yeah, and she’ll probably be no different.”

  “Okay. Enough.” I made sure I had Scott’s attention. “What the hell’s your problem with me? Is it because I’ve broken into your all-boys club?”

  Maybe this was the first time a woman had called Scott on his attitude, because he smiled at first and then his brows furrowed as if he actually let my words sink in. “No, newbie. It’s because I fucking hate training people and Ed knows it. I waste all this time teaching people how to do the fucking job and then they turn around and quit.”

  Jesus, he was gorgeous. He wasn’t full-on angry—I could sense that—but he had a position to defend, one I’d challenged. Good-looking or not, I wasn’t going to let him walk all over me. “Did you ever stop to think that maybe people quit because you’re a bit of an asshole?”

  Jim busted out laughing, so much so that it seemed exaggerated. Scott’s eyes shifted from dark ire to shock and I noticed his jaw ripple. Then his eyes twinkled and he smiled. “Yeah, maybe so.” He joined Jim in laughter.

  God. Jekyll and Hyde.

  Jim’s laugh sounded derisive and fake, but Scott’s was rich and hearty, warm and inviting.

  Maybe I’d have a chance with him after all.

  Ed’s face appeared in the plating area where the waitstaff would pick up their diners’ food. “It’s go time, people. Doors open in less than five.”

  Jim slapped his hands together. “Let’s do this.”

  Soon, we were cooking like the entire town of Winchester had come here for lunch. Steaks, chicken, burgers, chili, fajitas—and when they didn’t want baked or mashed potatoes on the side, I was making fries and onion rings. But I also fried chicken and appetizers and, by the end of my shift, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t want to eat anything deep fried ever again.

  At four o’clock, we left the kitchen, leaving it in the hands of the night crew. I’d decided I wasn’t going to go out of my way to flirt with Scott, because I needed to prove myself. That I could see already. I was a woman playing in the men’s area, and I was under scrutiny. I had a thick skin, so bring it on.

  As I grabbed my purse and waited for Scott to finish at the timeclock so I could punch out, he looked straight at me. “I’m not an asshole.”

  Had I gotten under his skin? Fighting against a smile and cocking an eyebrow, I said, “Prove it.”

  He let out a short breath through his nose and shook his head before walking out of the room without a word.

  Yeah—he had a lot to prove with me, but he’d have plenty of time.

  * * *

  When I got to my parents’ house after four-thirty, I was exhausted, sweaty, and my feet hurt. I’d smoked two cigarettes by the time I got there, and I wanted another one, but I reeked of grease and really wanted to take a long hot shower.

  I walked across the room, hoping to avoid conversation, but my mother shut off the television. “How was your first day at work, Casey?”

  She meant well. She always had. It wasn’t her fault she loved Kara more—after all, my older sister had her shit together and had since birth. I paused at the foot of the stairs and forced a smile. “It’s not exactly my dream job, but I’m getting the hang of it.”

  “Where is it again?”

  The name and logo were printed on my baseball cap, but I didn’t figure it was a restaurant my mother frequented. “Bob’s. It’s that barbecue place over by—”

  “I know the place. Are the tips
any good?”

  Did she really know the place? How else would she know all the waitstaff were women and the cooks were men—except for yours truly, the one anomaly in the joint? “I wouldn’t know. I’m in the back.”

  “Oh.” Hoping I’d satisfied her curiosity, I placed a foot on the first stair tread. “Barry called, Casey.”

  I froze. I’d intentionally gotten a new cell phone when we’d split. I’d been under his plan, so I got my own anyway, but I didn’t keep the old number because I didn’t want him calling me. Of course, he knew my parents’ home number. My voice as calm as could be, I asked, “Did he happen to say what he wanted?”

  “No, just that he wanted to talk with you.”

  “Okay.” I started walking up the stairs again.

  “Well, aren’t you going to call him?”

  “Why should I?”

  Mom stood, crossing the room to the foot of the stairs. Dammit. I hadn’t moved fast enough. And where the hell was dad? I could really use an assist from him right now.

  “Because he sounded like he wanted to talk…to work things out.”

  “Mom, we’re divorced.”

  “So?”

  “So that means the time for reconciliation is over.”

  “It’s only over if you want it to be.”

  I stared at her for several long seconds. “I don’t love him anymore, mom. The effort would be futile.”

  With a sigh, she said, “Would you please just call him back?”

  I had no intention—but I was too damn tired to continue arguing with my mother. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  I started walking up the stairs again. “Don’t expect any miracles.”

  She raised her voice as I reached the top and began walking down the hallway. “Williamses mate for life, Casey!”

  Fuck that. Not me. In fact, I was beginning to doubt I’d ever marry again.

  One thing was clear, though—I needed to move the fuck out of my parents’ house before I did anything else, because my mother and I were going to kill each other if I didn’t.

  Chapter Four

  I didn’t have a lot of money—a little savings but nothing to get excited about. Still, for my sanity’s sake, I searched online for apartments to rent in the area. I needed to get an idea of how much to save before I could move into my own place. To my surprise, rents in Winchester were at least half the price of anything in downtown Denver. When I found that out, I knew I wouldn’t have to wait to move out of my parents’ house—so on my first day off from Bob’s, I called a few places and set up times to check them out.

  The first place I looked at? No, thank you. I didn’t want a small, dumpy apartment. That would probably be worse than living with my mother.

  Probably.

  Then I looked at an efficiency apartment where everything but the bathroom was the main room. It wasn’t bad, but it was the same price as the third place I needed to look at, one side of a duplex. And that one I struck off my list immediately. The people in the other half had three rowdy kids who were grilling me the second I met the agent on the front porch. She offered to show me some other places they had for rent, but when I let her know I had another appointment, she said she’d call me next week.

  I didn’t have high hopes about the next place and began reconsidering the first. You know, the small, dumpy apartment. The price was right—and maybe I could make it work with a lot of contact paper, throw rugs, and plants.

  But no. I wasn’t going to settle.

  I drove to the address I’d written down. It was on the south side of town and, as I drove nearer to it, I was surprised at all the older Victorian homes surrounding it.

  It was a small house.

  Outside beside the fence stood an elderly man with gray hair and a bit of a belly. As I approached him, he gave me a quick, easy smile. “Are you Casey Williams?”

  “I am,” I said, returning the grin. “You’re Lewis?”

  “Last I checked—but if you catch me on the right day, I might tell you otherwise.” I laughed. “Would you like to take a tour?”

  “I’d love to.” Truth be told, I wasn’t impressed with the outside thus far. The wooden fence seemed to be in decent shape but it desperately needed new paint. And while there were a few irises planted here and there, the rest of the yard had tiny weeds emerging, ready to make an appearance.

  We walked up two concrete steps onto the porch and Lewis unlocked the front door. “Come on in.”

  I couldn’t tell you why, but as I entered that living room, I had a feeling of home. There’s no other way to describe it. There were giant windows to the west and south, the front and side of the house, and the one to the south had sunlight spilling through onto the beige carpet. What struck me next was how high the ceilings were, creating a sensation of openness. It felt inviting. In the living room were a couch and two chairs. “Oh, is it furnished?”

  “That’s up to you. We can always move the furniture to the shed out back if you don’t want to use it.”

  “I just hadn’t planned on it—but I could use it.”

  “Perfect. Let me show you the rest of the house.” On the north side was a big bedroom with a queen-size bed and dresser, and I knew this gentleman might have an idea that I already loved this place. “Now if you look in the corner over there,” he said, pointing toward the front, “you’ll see that there was a leak, but they’ve fixed the roof. I haven’t had a chance to do any painting.” That was obvious from the state of the fence. “But the roof is fixed now and that shouldn’t be a problem.” Just like the living room, there was a huge window to the north, and peeking outside, all I could see was a tall wooden fence past the yard.

  We wandered through the living room then and made our way to the kitchen, also larger than I’d expected. Beside it were the bathroom and a smaller bedroom. The kitchen appeared to need a lot of work. “Were you planning to paint in here as well?”

  Even though I didn’t know the man, I’d swear his expression became sheepish. “I suppose I need to.”

  But I saw an opening here. “Would I be allowed to paint?”

  He paused, his hand on the knob of the door that led out of the kitchen. “Actually, if you’d be willing to do that for me—not just painting but upkeep—I’d be willing to knock a hundred dollars off your rent each month for a year.”

  “Deal.” I stuck out my hand to shake. Impulsive? Stupid? Of course. But that was how I rolled—and I made that deal without even seeing the backyard—where I discovered the “shed” was actually an old rundown garage also in need of serious repair and the landscaping back there was even worse than the front. But it would be my place.

  The back “porch”—a small room that I could use for storage—also had hookups for a washer and dryer, but I didn’t see that happening anytime too soon.

  While we walked through the “shed,” Lewis said, “In all fairness, Casey, I need to tell you that I intend to sell this place in the next few years. This was the first house my wife and I lived in, and she left this earth three years ago this month. My kids wanted me to keep it, but it’s just more work than I care for. I’ll let you know when I put it on the market, of course.” I nodded, trying not to show that I was a little bummed, because I’d already set my heart on this place—and we’d shaken on it. “I can give you first consideration if you’d like.”

  “Me?” I had a car loan that had a year left to pay off, but I couldn’t imagine qualifying for a home loan, especially working as a cook at a barbecue restaurant.

  “If you’re living here, I think that would only be fair.”

  I nodded again, trying not to think too much about the future. After all, two years ago, I wouldn’t have anticipated this scenario. Not by a long shot. So I asked him, “When can I move in?”

  And that was that.

  * * *

  One month later, I’d already painted the bedroom and the place felt like home. Mom hadn’t been happy about it but she
never was about anything she couldn’t control with precision. Dad understood.

  When I wasn’t tinkering on the house or slowly unpacking, I was working every single shift Ed would give me at Bob’s. Not only did it help me learn the work faster, but I improved. And I figured if I could open or close, I’d have a better chance at getting more shifts when I needed them. Soon I learned the sous chef position, too, and I got to work with all the other cooks at Bob’s, seven of us in all. We all had to work weekends and even Ed worked in the kitchen on occasion.

  They had a hard time accepting me at first, but near the end of that first month, I realized I was part of the gang when they didn’t hide their contempt for the waitresses from me anymore.

  I was now one of them.

  Were we close friends? Not really—although David, a tall guy with the beginnings of a beer belly and a jolly nature, took me under his wing, threatening to become a good buddy. It was just him and me on a slow Tuesday afternoon, and my shift would be over in twenty minutes. He was training me on the grill.

  “Girl, nobody’s gonna volunteer to show you this stuff.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because this is the position, the coveted position. You’re lead when you work the grill.”

  “So?”

  “So…that means you get to boss the other cooks around.” I shrugged, just not getting it. “Well, you’re not an alpha male.” I busted out laughing. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen that.”

  “Seen what?”

  “Oh, my God. You’d think we were out on the Serengeti, tribes hunting for food. It’s primal, girl.”

  I laughed again as his brown eyes grew wide. He flung the spatula around like it was a teacher’s pointer, and he had a life lesson he needed to get through to his dumb students.