"Okay, you mean the meatballs taste too much like meat?" I try to speak as politely as possible but my nerves are already starting to feel the strain.
She nods, seemingly relieved that I finally understand her complaint.
I bite hard on my tongue.
This woman has already sent two orders back to the kitchen. The Alfredo had too much sauce. The caprese salad was too cold. I'm trying to be diplomatic but there's only so much a girl can take.
"I'm sorry but our meatballs are standard meatiness and there's really nothing we can do about that."
"This is just unacceptable." She pulls her napkin from the collar of her blouse and slaps it down on the table. "This place obviously doesn't deserve its raving reviews!"
"Would you like me to bring you the bill?" At this point, my tone is all snark.
The customer is not always right. Sometimes the customer is a freaking nut job.
The little woman is fuming. She pushes against the table and rises to her feet. "Donny, let's go."
Her tall, wiry husband looks up from his ravioli which he seems to be enjoying judging by how much of it is sitting on his chin. "But I'm not done, Melinda," he protests meekly.
"I'll make you a tuna sandwich when we get home."
She doesn't look back. She just grabs her cane and wobble-stomps toward the door as her husband stuffs his face with pasta.
"Donny!" she yells from the exit.
The old man startles and nearly trips over his own feet as he shovels one last bite into his mouth. I give him a sympathetic smile. He nods ruefully then leans his tall frame toward me and cups a hand around his mouth. "Send help! The woman's crazy!"
I sniggle through my nose as he places a few crumpled up twenty-dollar bills on the table and ambles away.
This job will be the cause of death listed on my death certificate when I’m laid in my early grave.
“Nova!”
Ugh! Misery knows no bounds in this place.
I try not to roll my eyes at the irritating grate of my boss’s voice. “Hey, Mr. Gallo!”
His gut leads the way as he marches over to me, as charming and affable as always. “I’m going to visit Nonna Lucia," he tells me. "She has a craving for pepperoni today. When I get back, the clean silverware in the tray at the waiter’s station better be wrapped and I want all the glass partitions in the dining room to be shining.”
“Sure thing!” I give him the docile smile of a model employee.
He narrows mistrustful eyes at me. "I mean it."
"Of course.”
I stand there and watch the man as he plods out the back door. The minute he’s gone, I fly into action.
"Tiffany, would you watch my tables for me?" I say to my coworker. "The tips are yours.”
As usual, she gives me a nod along with a cutting look. She may not like me (especially since the incident in the changing room), but in exchange for my tips, she’ll cover my tables for as long as it takes.
Racing to my locker, I grab my guitar and hurry back into the dining room, my heart thumping with excitement.
I sidle up onto the narrow platform in the corner of the restaurant and switch on the microphone. “Hi everybody…” The eyes of the many patrons turn my way with interest. “I hope you’re enjoying your meal. My name is Nova and I’m one of your dedicated waitresses today. I’m going to be providing a little bit of entertainment while you eat.” A curt round of applause rings out. I dip my head and smile as my fingers slide along the strings of my guitar and the melancholy riff fills the room.
Mr. Gallo would never admit it out loud but he knows as well as I do that a lot of our regulars come by, not only for the kitchen’s delicious offerings, but for my impromptu performances as well. Still, I only perform when he’s not around because his angry demeanor is a real buzz-kill.
As I drift away with the music, my eyes slide shut. I float off to a place where I’m not a waitress at a small town restaurant. I’m a singer. By profession. Performing for big crowds at outdoor concerts. I’m an artist, showing off my work at grand exhibitions in big cities. I’m a photographer, watching my photos in acclaimed publications. I’m a cartoonist with a hungry base of loyal fans eager for my next work.
I feel myself smiling. Just for a moment, I allow myself to forget my reality. Just for a moment, I live in my dream.
As the song comes to an end, I let my voice fade. My fingers slow over the strings. My eyelids lift as the patrons’ contented applause rings out and the room slides back into focus.
My heart skips a beat and my smile widens even more when I see Charlie standing by the front door, cheering the loudest.
Chapter 11
Charlie
All eyes in the room are fixed on the beauty strumming her emotions out on the stage. I slip into a booth by the window and let the soulful lyrics wash over me. Nova’s voice pours out in a mournful, scratchy cadence as her fingers dance across the guitar.
The bliss on her face is orgasmic. I’ve never seen a woman more beautiful, more raw. I get lost in her song, drumming my fingers along with the melody.
As she approaches the song’s climax, her voice rolls out like thunder. Lost in her own world, with that wild hair and those mesmerizing eyes, her lips pressed against the microphone. I could listen to her forever, get lost right along with her.
Giselle, that waitress I slept with, she shows up over my shoulder, trying to get my attention, offering herself up. But Nova is all I see. All I hear. Nobody else matters. It’s like I’m right there in the song with her. I can’t tear my gaze from her. Not until the song is ending, the melody is fading, she’s floating back to earth.
Applause rings out as she climbs off the stage, her smiling emerald eyes on me. I lose my damn breath looking at her as she darts around tables and chairs, making her way over. My heart does something strange at the reminder that I’ll be going to that wedding soon. With her on my arm. Shit, I’m a lucky guy.
“Hey…” Nova is grinning from ear-to-ear as she hovers near my table, her guitar clutched under her arm. She looks euphoric, sailing on the high she got from performing for this little crowd. She’s such a woman. Not just her gorgeous smile and her tempting curves. I see her strength, her determination, her grit. It’s inspiring. I want to see her like this all the time.
“That was damn amazing, Butterfly,” I tell her. “Your voice is out of this world.”
She beams. “Thanks, Charlie.” Her tone is soft and genuine. Her eyes fall on the sketchpad on the table. “Oh, you brought it. Thank you.” She bends across the table to pick it up and her sweet scent fills my lungs.
“Of course I brought it,” I say as she straightens up. “It seemed urgent when you asked for it on the phone.”
Leaning a hip against the booth, she clutches the book to her chest. “Yeah, I don’t want to jinx things by going into detail but yeah, it’s important.”
I won’t push her to talk about something she obviously isn’t ready to talk about. She’ll tell me what she’s comfortable sharing when she’s comfortable sharing it.
“What are you doing later?" she asks. Then she cringes. ”Do I even want to know?” Her laugh tells me she thinks I'll be in some random woman's bed.
I chuckle even though it kind of hurts that she sees me as nothing more than a player. I wish she had a higher estimate of me but I can’t blame her for seeing the worst in me. I haven’t always been a great guy. Today, at least, I can prove her assumptions wrong.
“I do have plans actually,” I tell her. “I’m going to pick up my tux for your grandmother’s wedding.”
An eyebrow hikes up her forehead. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
She observes me, chewing her lip. “Wow, you’re actually taking this thing seriously.”
I huff. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?”
She continues to stare at me hard, looking straight into me. “Y’know—I don’t want you to feel obligated. You don’t have to do this…”
/>
“Do what?”
“Take me to the wedding.”
“Why would you think I don’t want to take you to the wedding?”
She shrugs. “It’s just that I know you, Charlie. You think it’s your duty to have my back all the time. But you don’t have to. I’ll be fine.”
I angle my chin and watch her. “Of course it’s my duty to have your back. Especially since you’re my best friend now.”
“Oh, I’m your best friend now?” She looks surprised.
“By default,” I say, lifting a shoulder. “I mean, your best friend just snatched mine away so, by default, you and I are best friends.”
She laughs. “I guess you’re sort of right. But in all seriousness, I’m not that vulnerable little girl I was back in high school. You don’t have to keep coming to my rescue.”
“Nova, has it ever occurred to you that I’m just going to that wedding for the cake? Or the party favors that come in those little white mesh bags?”
She laughs. “The little chocolate almonds covered in that white powdery crap?”
“Yes, exactly. I’m going for the chocolate almonds…So relax. It’ll be fun. Stop trying to uninvite me.”
She’s laughing more now. “Okay. I’ll stop trying to uninvite you.”
“Good. I’m going to show you the time of your life, Nova Chester. I guarantee it.” I wink at her and she rolls her eyes.
"I'll go with you to pick out the tux," she offers. “After my shift.”
Right then, a big voice booms into the dining room, yelling something obscene in Italian. Nova’s eyes widen. “Shit…he’s back already?” That face she’s making right now is pretty damn adorable.
Gianni Gallo is a tyrant. That’s no secret.
I snicker and she can’t help it—she does, too.
“He left me a list of stuff to get done while he was gone and I haven’t even started yet.” Her laughter fades. “I'd better get on it." She gestures at her sketchpad. "Anyway…Thanks again. And tux shopping later?”
I nod. “Tux shopping later.”
As she spins to walk away, I grab her by the wrist. I really don’t want her to go. “Nova?”
She looks at me over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“It’ll happen,” I say confidently. “Just give it time.”
And I’m not bullshitting her. She’s way too talented to stay stuck in this rut forever. There are big things for her on the horizon. I can feel it.
She flashes that smile that takes my breath away. “I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
My eyes devour the dizzying sway of her hips as she walks away.
Chapter 12
Nova
The changing room door swings open and I bust up laughing. Charlie steps out, with his arms spread out around him, proudly showcasing a purple, mirror-shine tuxedo with a yellow bowtie covered in little red ducks.
“So, how do I look?” He does a spin for me, generously providing the 360-degree experience. “I’ve been feeling kind of…nonconformist these days.”
“You look positively handsome,” I tell him.
A brash smile pushes across his lips. “I do look good, huh?” He brushes his fingers over the glimmering fabric.
Right then, the salesgirl shows up. A pretty girl with bright eyes and blonde hair. When she sees Charlie standing in front of me, her cheeks pink up and her eyes go shy. Because as ridiculous as that suit is, it can’t conceal how damn good-looking he is.
“What do you think?” he asks her.
“You’ll have the bridesmaids beating each other over the head with their bouquets to dance with you all night.” She sounds a little breathless as her eyes move over his physique.
“That’s exactly the effect I was going for.” He rubs his hands together, his gaze fixed on me again. “So, I guess my work here is done. Let’s pay and get out of here. What’d ya say, Nova?”
I fight back a grin. “How about you put that look on the ‘maybe’ pile and try something else? You can’t just buy the very first suit you try on.”
He sighs like my request is a burden. “You just want to objectify me. That’s what it is,” he says knowingly. “You just want me to parade around here in these tuxedos to satisfy your sick fantasies.”
“Sure,” I say with an eyeroll. “That’s what it is.”
Chuckling to herself, the salesgirl leaves, giving Charlie time to try out a few more options.
I sit patiently for two or three minutes, waiting for his next outfit. When he pops out wearing red plaid from head to toe, that’s when I know it’s time to take matters into my own hands.
“Okay, enough!” I laugh as I bounce out of my seat. I grab the classic black, slim fit tux hanging outside the changing room door and march toward him. With my hand planted high on his muscular back I push him into the changing room and shut the door behind me.
He spins around completely and looks down on me with a playful grin. “What are you doing?”
“I’m making sure that you stop wasting my damn time.” I push him into the wall and he lets me. I unknot the awful plaid tie and drag it off of his neck, letting it fall to the floor. Grabbing the jacket by the lapels, I push it over his shoulders and then it’s lying in a pile at his feet. Then I reach for the top button of his shirt. My fingers working fast to undo them one by one.
It isn’t until I pull the white fabric of his shirt away from his chest and am confronted by the broad expanse of his muscular, tattooed chest that I ask myself the very same question. What am I doing?
We’re locked in a narrow, overly-bright space and he’s standing half-naked in front of me.
His presence fills up the entire room, sucking up all the oxygen, barely leaving me enough air to breathe. My heart mallets against my ribs. My palms go sweaty. My gaze moves up his body to his face. All signs of his cocky smile are gone. His pupils are dilated. His breathing is rough.
Oh god. What’s happening?
I can almost see the thoughts streaming through his head. He wants to fuck me. He wants to take me right here in this changing room. Pin me to the wall, wrap my legs around his waist, seal his lips over mine to muffle my screams.
The warning lights flash in my head. This is wrong. This is Charlie.
The unrepentant womanizer. My best friend’s older brother. The guy who defended me in high school when I couldn’t defend myself.
This one misstep could cost me one of the most sacred friendships in my life. This one misstep will complicate everything.
His hand falls to my hip as he moves closer.
It could be because of the tight space that we’re locked in or the warm, spicy scent of Charlie’s skin or the ever-present glint of sex in his eyes, but right now, my brain has decided to close up shop and go on an impromptu vacation.
Swallowing hard, pulse amplified, I reach up and trail my fingers down the hard planes of his torso. His chest contracts on a sharp intake of breath. His eyes follow the path of my fingers as they inch down toward his waistband.
He hisses. Goosebumps rise along his skin. The hard ridge of his erection strains against the fabric of his pants.
As my fingers touch his belt buckle, a sudden knock at the door causes me to jump. “Are the sizes okay in here?” the salesgirl calls out from the other side of the wall.
Reality comes crashing back into me. We can’t do this…
Taking a quick step back, I clear my throat awkwardly. “Uh, can we maybe try a size 36? The waist is a little loose on these.”
Before Charlie has a chance to react, I throw the door open and get the hell out of that room.
Chapter 13
Charlie
The cabin of the car is painfully quiet. It's the kind of silence that presses against your skin, that suffocates everyone in the vicinity.
Vivian’s fingers squeeze the steering wheel so tight that her knuckles have turned white. Tears pool on the rims of her eyes. I throw a glance at Reese in the back
seat. Her jaw is tight, clenching as she stares at the scenery passing alongside the highway.
Seeing my sisters in this agony kills me. Memories are dancing across their minds. They're reliving the days when things were better.
The expression on dad's face as he sat next to our mother’s bed, the absolute helplessness, it flits through my mind. I can't imagine what it must be like to give all of your heart to a woman and then be forced to watch her fade away. Watching my parents’ struggle only bolsters my decision to steer clear of love.
Play Boy (Blue Collar Bachelors Book 2) Page 7
