It never said so in the help-wanted ads, but to work here, you had to have a certain look. My co-workers were all exceptionally good-looking. I'd never been short of male attention, but I'd never thought of myself in that way. To be honest, there were days I felt more than a little outclassed by the beautiful girls I worked with.
The uniforms were a total nightmare – bobby socks, short pink skirts, and tight white blouses that showed way too much cleavage whenever I bent down to lay a dish on the table.
But the tips were amazing. They should be amazing, given the price we charged for a burger. Those tips had paid for most of my college education, along with countless other obligations along the way.
Still, I'd expected to be long gone by now. I'd graduated from college months ago, but here I still was. In spite of respectable grades, my accounting degree was getting me nowhere.
I'd been interviewing for months and had been offered a couple of jobs. But the salaries had been laughable, less than minimum wage when you calculated it by the hour. I made triple the money waitressing. Sure, the hours stunk, and it was getting me nowhere in my so-called career. But I couldn't afford the pay cut. Not now, anyway.
Still, as I hustled through the place, taking orders, and delivering burgers, pancakes, and a whole bunch of drinks and side items, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd made a mistake by staying. Maybe I should've taken that payroll processing job. A girl had to start somewhere, right?
It was just after midnight, and I still had five hours left on my shift. I was putting together a tray of drinks when Josie rushed over and nudged me in the side.
"Oh my God," she whispered, motioning out to the dining area. "Is that who I think it is?"
I was too focused on my drinks to look up. "Who?"
"Lawton Rastor. In booth seven." She sounded breathless as she said, "I'd heard he was living around here, but I didn't expect to actually see him."
My whole body went still. "Lawton Rastor?"
"Oh c'mon," she said. "Don't tell me you don't know who he is."
"Uh –" I couldn’t think. I'd just seen the guy a few hours ago. I'd been sopping wet with no makeup. And yet, for some reason, the thought of him seeing me this way, with big hair and blue eye-shadow, was infinitely worse.
Josie rolled her eyes. "God, you're so pathetic." She said this with a smile. She'd been teasing me for months about my lack of pop culture savvy. "He's that guy from Hard World. You know, that reality show from a few years back?"
"I never saw it," I mumbled
Sure, I'd read about it, and that was more than enough. He'd slept with practically every girl in the household. But it wasn't the off-screen sex that had people watching. It was the fights. Not fights with him. Fights over him. The show was abruptly cancelled after one girl threw another one through a plate glass window. She'd survived, but the show hadn't.
"Well, you missed your chance," Josie said. "He's gone total mainstream. He's got a string of fitness centers or something."
From what I'd read, the fitness centers were just the tip of the iceberg. He also had a line of workout equipment and sports apparel, with nonstop publicity fueled by mixed-martial-arts events.
"I used to have a poster of him in my room," Josie said. "It drove my parents nuts."
My heart thumping, I peered over the half-wall that separated the waitress station from the dining area. Crap, it was him. Worse, the blondes were still with him. How long had it been since he'd dropped me off at the Parkers'? Four hours?
What had the three of them been doing this whole time? Looking at Lawton's tousled hair, it wasn't hard to guess.
I lowered my head and studied them through my lashes as while I added straws in the drinks. The blondes looked noticeably happier than when I'd seen them last. Even in the crowded restaurant, their laughter rose above the din.
Lawton, in contrast, looked pensive and almost bored. He leaned back in the booth, rewarding the girls with a half-hearted smile as they jostled for his attention. Something in his demeanor suggested a sort of weary resignation, like he was determined to finish whatever he started, if only to get it over with.
"You lucky dog," Josie said. "That's your table."
Chapter 9
I felt myself pale. Was it? Crap. We didn't go by sections, but rather by a weird rotation thing dreamed up by Keith, the new night manager. It was a nightmare for keeping track of things, and it meant I had to cover twice the real estate, but Keith said it made it more interesting for the customers, because they got to see all the girls in action.
The way I saw it, Keith was a dumb-ass. But I was mentally calling him something else as I considered that his stupid idea would have me waiting on Lawton and his two guests, if you could call them that.
For some reason, I just couldn't do it. I turned to Josie. "You want it? You can have it."
Her face broke into a wide smile. "Seriously?"
"Oh yeah," I said.
She grabbed her order pad. "I'm getting him now, before you change your mind." A second later, she was heading toward the table, calling over her shoulder, "The next table's yours!"
The next table turned out to be a couple of overgrown frat-boy types, obviously fresh from some nightclub or other.
"Hey good-lookin'," one of them said as I plopped down into the booth to take their order.
"Hey lookin'," I said, flashing him a grin.
He laughed. "What?! I'm not good-looking?"
From the look on his face, it was pretty obvious he knew the answer to that question. Yeah, he was good-looking in that all-American way, from the top of his sandy-colored hair to the tips of his expensive shoes. I'd recognized the brand before I sat down. They weren't tennis shoes, and they weren't cheap. He was dressed to kill, and he knew it.
In truth, the guys looked a few years past college age, but I'd have bet my boots, if I were wearing any, that they'd both been in a fraternity not too long ago.
I chomped my gum while I studied him, cocking my head to the side as if I were giving his question some serious thought. Finally, I winked at his equally good-looking friend, and said, "Well, someone at this table's a real looker."
Grinning, the guy sat up straighter, until I gave an exaggerated toss of my hair and chirped, "Me."
I didn't believe it for one minute, but I didn't care. It was all part of the act, and if my tips were any indicator, I played it well.
The first guy burst out laughing and turned to his friend. "Oh buuuuurn," he said. A half second later, the friend joined in the laughter while I blinked stupidly at them, as if I didn't understand what was so funny. A couple minutes later, I was giving their food order to the kitchen.
From the corner of my eye, I kept watch on Lawton's table. While he was sitting at that booth, I was determined to avoid them. In my stupid get-up, they might not even recognize me, but I wasn't taking any chances.
By the time they left an hour later, I'd gotten pretty good at ducking, hiding, and turning the other way just in time to avoid catching their attention.
A few minutes after they'd gone, Josie sidled up to me. "I almost feel guilty," she said. "Look how much he left me."
I looked down. The tip was generous to a fault. Shit. Maybe I should've waited on him.
But for some strange reason, the whole idea made me ill. Even if I weren't too embarrassed to play the sassy waitress with Lawton, the thought of serving the two blondes was more than I could stomach. I knew exactly how they would've treated me.
They would've run me ragged, and nothing would've been good enough. I'd been treated that way before, plenty of times, but the thought of being treated that way by them, and in front of Lawton – well, I just couldn't. Why, I didn't know.
"Here," Josie said, holding out a few bills. "Lemme give you a cut."
I wanted to say yes. I needed the money. But it wouldn't have been right. Besides, the frat guys hadn't exactly been stingy. Along with a fairly generous tip, one of them had given me his phone number, and asked
for mine in return.
I'd declined, of course. Not that he didn't seem nice and all, but there was a strict policy against picking up guys on the job. Policy or not, it wouldn’t be a good idea anyway. Those kinds of things never worked out, and then I'd just have one more thing to dread when those same guys came into the restaurant later on.
Giving Josie a smile, I waved away the tip money. "Nah, you earned it, not me." I reminded myself that she did me a favor, not the other way around. Honestly, I'd have paid her to take that table.
"If you insist," Josie said, tucking the money into her apron. Still, she couldn’t stop talking about it. "You know, he's even more gorgeous up close. I think I drooled on his cheeseburger."
"A cheeseburger?" I said. "He didn't order a steak?"
"No." She squinted at me. "Why do you ask?"
I shrugged. "No reason."
A few minutes later, I was lugging a fresh tub of coleslaw out of the walk-in refrigerator when I became aware that something strange was going on in the dining area.
It started slow, with the murmur of voices punctuated by random shouts. The voices didn't sound angry so much as excited, like sports fans watching a big play.
I poked my head around the corner, and I swear, I saw half the restaurant with their faces pressed against the long wall of windows that overlooked the front parking lot.
Before I had any idea what was going on, a large table of college-aged diners bolted from their seats and hurried out the front double doors, leaving behind jackets and plates of half-eaten burgers. Instantly, they were joined by about half the window-gawkers and a wave of other diners, mostly guys.
At tables throughout the restaurant, I saw random, lone women, looking either miffed or amused as their dates, husbands, or whatever abandoned them for who-knows-what.
The crowd near the door was swelling, with diners chatting excitedly as they jostled each other out the entryway.
Keith, the night manager, jumped into the mix, elbowing his way toward the wide double doors. He turned to face the crowd, which quickly parted around him and kept on moving.
"Hey!" Keith said in a loud, high-pitched voice. "You can't leave if you haven't paid."
Other than a couple of amused glances, the crowd mostly ignored him and kept on going.
"Alright, people!" Keith yelled, like a principal facing unruly students at a high school assembly. "You'd better turn around, or you're in big trouble!"
"Dude," said a beefy blond guy with a crew cut, as he jostled Keith out of the way. "We're comin' back. Chill, will ya?"
Keith turned to holler at the guy's receding back. "When?"
"After the fight," the guy yelled over his shoulder as he exited the wide double doors. "Duh!"
"Fight?" Keith spluttered. He grabbed the arm of the next guy who jostled past him. "What fight?"
This guy didn't bother with an answer, but just shook off Keith and kept on going. A second later, Keith turned around and joined the crowd, elbowing his way out the front doors with the rest of them.
"Don't just stand there, call the police!" Keith shouted to no one in particular.
I glanced at the nearest phone, located next to the main cash register. Julia, the petite, brown-haired hostess, was already dialing.
My gaze scanned the restaurant. Most of my tables were empty, well, of people at least. I saw abandoned jackets, pushed-back chairs, and even a couple of purses. It looked like crew cut guy was right. The owners were coming back – probably – but that didn't mean they weren't incredibly stupid for leaving their belongings unattended.
I was still holding the tub of coleslaw. Unable to resist, I hoisted the tub onto a nearby counter and rushed toward the front entrance to join the others.
Outside, a crowd of at least fifty people had converged in a surprisingly tight circle, between two long rows of cars. Cheers and shouts filled the air as I wedged myself between a girl in a leather jacket and the big blond guy with a crew cut.
I stood on my tiptoes, but couldn’t see a thing, except for the backs of people in front of me.
The noise was deafening. I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled out to the crew cut guy, "What's going on?"
"Fight," he said, sparing me half a glance, followed by a much longer look when he saw my uniform in all its skimpy glory.
"You wanna see?" he asked, his eyes bright with excitement that likely had little to do with my uniform.
I nodded. A moment later, he hoisted me up into the bed of a nearby pickup truck. Grinning, he climbed up to join me. He was quickly followed by two other guys and the girl in the leather jacket.
He grinned down at me. "My truck!" he yelled over the cheers and shouts of the crowd.
I nodded. "Nice!" Then I turned my attention to what was going on inside the circle.
In the center of the circle was Lawton Rastor. Of course.
Chapter 10
A few feet away, on the pavement, I saw a massive guy with a shaved head. He was on his hands and knees, as if trying to push himself up, but not having a lot of luck. His face was covered in blood. It looked like his own.
"Oh my God," I said, gripping Crew Cut Guy's arm. "What happened to him?"
He grinned. "That other guy –" he pointed toward Lawton. "– kicked the shit out of him." He said it like it was a good thing.
"He's hurt," I said. "We've gotta help him."
"Nah, he'll be alright," he said. "Besides, he swung first. Serves him right, you ask me."
I looked at the guy who'd supposedly swung first. Blood dripped from the center of his face. Broken nose? I had no idea.
I looked at Lawton. He wore the same thing he'd been wearing in the restaurant – jeans and a T-shirt, no jacket. His face was a mask of calm intensity, like he knew what was coming and was fully prepared for it. As I watched, the corded muscles on his forearms flexed, making his tattoos dance in the orange glow of the tall parking lot lights as he squared off against the guy facing him.
The second guy was as big as the first one, well over six feet. He looked like he beat people up for a living, or maybe just for fun. Unlike Lawton, his face was a mask of frustration and fury, like things weren't going exactly the way he'd expected.
Around the circle, random people held cell phones out in front of them like cameras, while others ditched their phones to watch with their own eyes. I spotted Brittany and friend at the inner rim of the circle, their eyes bright with excitement as they cheered Lawton on.
If Lawton heard anything outside his own thoughts, he gave no sign. He stood, waiting and watching, like the calm within a storm.
The other guy was anything but calm. With a guttural roar, he barreled toward Lawton, only to whirl off to the side and crash into a couple of onlookers after Lawton's right fist struck the side of his jaw.
"Wow, he's fast," I said, more to myself than to the guy next to me.
The blow had seemed to come from nowhere. One instant, the guy was coming at him, and then the next, he was staggering away.
Crew Cut Guy leaned down to holler in my ear. "That's like his tenth run at him," he said. "Always ends the same way. It's fuckin' amazing, isn't it?"
I nodded.
Lawton seemed unimpressed with the whole scene – the roaring crowd, the frigid night air, and the next attack, which ended with another swift blow from Lawton, this one to the gut.
This time the guy doubled over, then fumbled a couple steps back. Lawton eyed him with a look of near boredom, like he'd be happy when the whole sordid thing was over so he could get back to what he really wanted to be doing.
For the briefest instant, I wondered what that was, exactly. I glanced at Brittney and her friend. They'd stopped yelling, probably because no encouragement was needed. Their lips parted as they devoured the scene in front of them with hungry eyes, as if the fight was the main course, and Lawton would be the dessert.
I couldn't help but wonder if you could even call this a fight. It was nothing like I'd seen on the Internet
. Even to my untrained eyes, it was beyond obvious that Lawton could've destroyed the guy already, turning him into a bloody pulp without a whole lot of effort. Why didn't he? Was it because of the audience?
Nearby, the bloody guy on the ground made another half-hearted effort to rise. Lawton's gaze snapped briefly in his direction before returning to the opponent who was still standing. Sort of. He was wobbling more than anything, weaving from side-to-side like he'd be toppling over any moment.
Watching, the crowd grew almost silent, breathless, waiting for the guy to fall over, or for Lawton to finish him off. On the sidelines, I saw more than one wad of money change hands.
In the center of it all stood Lawton, his feet shoulder-width apart and arms loose at his sides. He'd barely broken a sweat. Somehow, I didn't think the cold weather was the reason for his cool demeanor.
Crew Cut Guy leaned in close to me. "You know who that is, don't you?"
I nodded, too breathless to speak.
And then I heard it, the sound of sirens somewhere off in the distance. The crowd shifted, and then as if by unspoken agreement, held its ground. It remained eerily quiet for a few seconds, then began to buzz with the low hum of excitement.
I glanced toward Lawton. He had an arm around the guy's neck and was speaking into his s ear, saying something too low for me to hear. Actually, it was too low for anyone to hear, judging from the frustration on the faces of those closest to the action.
The guy choked out something that sounded vaguely like a laugh – a forced, high-pitch sound that rang false in spite of its volume. "Oh yeah?" he said. "Well try it, and you're dead."
Lawton made a scoffing sound. "Like that scares me."
The sirens were near deafening now. The second guy glanced at his friend, then at the crowd, and then back at Lawton. Finally, with muttered curses, he wobbled off, stopping briefly to help his friend off the pavement.
Together they shuffled toward a dark sport utility vehicle with tinted windows. The bloody guy climbed into the passenger's seat, and the other guy got into the driver's side. Seconds after the door swung shut, the vehicle squealed out of the parking lot and disappeared from sight.
Unbelonging Page 4
