Game On (Westland University)

by Lynn Stevens

  This entire situation sucked. Of course Devon Miller would walk into JenCar and get someone who would treat him decent while I got the grumpiest man on the planet. As much as I wanted to stomp my feet and scream “this isn’t fair,” I wasn’t going to let someone like Philip Lawler ruin this experience for me. I’d make the most of it. Like I had all my life, proving that just because I was a woman didn’t mean I couldn’t do anything a guy could do.

  Only I was going to do it better.

  Chapter Twelve

  I left an hour later. The only thing I’d accomplished during my first day was four coffee runs. Other than that, I sat in a chair I cleaned off and stared at Philip Lawler while he worked on whatever it was he worked on.

  If he wanted a battle of wills, he was going to lose. I’d worked too hard to get this far. There was no way his negative attitude would keep me back. All I had to do was make the best of it. The only issue was figuring out how to do that exactly. Since I was assigned to Philip Lawler, did that mean I couldn’t work with other engineers?

  My cell rang, but I let it go to voicemail. The truck didn’t have Bluetooth and I was too cheap to buy one. Besides I was only ten minutes from my apartment. Whoever called could wait at least that long.

  But it rang again two minutes later.

  I glanced at the caller ID as soon as I pulled into a gas station. Two missed calls from Steak Stockade. That was as unusual as the fifty-degree weather in January. Logan answered on the first ring.

  “Steak Stockade, how may I help you?” His sweet voice shrilled with panic. Unless somebody knew Logan, they never would’ve heard it. In the nine months I’d worked there, I’d learned how to distinguish it.

  “Hey, Logan, it’s Liv. Wha—”

  “Oh, hi,” he screeched. A door closed in the background. “Thank God you called back. I’m in a real bind here. Amber and Rose called off sick tonight leaving me with two servers. I know you can’t work Mondays normally, but is there any way you can find it in your heart to come in? I wouldn’t ask, but Janee’s out of town, Robin said no, and well…nobody else is available.” Finally, he took a breath. “Please?”

  “That bad, huh?” I asked. The last thing I wanted was to wait tables tonight, but Logan hired me despite my availability and my total lack of experience. He’d always been good when I needed time off to head back to Kerns.

  “There’s a party of forty in the back room tonight.” His breathing sped up to stalkerish levels. “Please, if it wasn’t for the party, I’d never even ask.”

  “I can take the party, Logan. What time do you need me there?”

  “An hour?”

  “I’ll see you in about an hour.”

  “Liv, if I batted for your team, I’d kiss you right now.” He hung up, no doubt to stop something terrible from happening in the kitchen. Or at least something terrible in his mind.

  I pulled back onto the road and ignored the next time my phone rang. A ding quickly followed. As soon as I parked outside my building, I checked it.

  Jayce hooked up with someone.

  Poor Paige. I texted her back.

  Come to Stockade tonight around 9. It should slow down by then. We can talk. And you can eat.

  Paige: You’re working tonight?

  Me: Filling in on short notice.

  Paige: Can’t. Paper due. Tomorrow?

  Me: K. You deserve better than Jayce.

  Paige: You know it. Later.

  I changed into my too-tight Steak Stockade tee and pulled my hair back into a sloppy bun. I left my makeup alone because there wasn’t enough time to strip my face and start all over. Usually I wore the standard short-but-not-too-short skirt, but it was dirty and laundry day wasn’t until Friday afternoon. Instead I pulled on my favorite black jeans. I hated that the skirt garnered more tips. But the jeans were more family friendly anyway. If there was a party of forty, then family friendly was more than likely required. Especially on a week night. Besides, Logan could get over my less than stellar appearance. I was doing him a favor, after all.

  The wind had shifted and a northern breeze chilled the air. I left my white parka in the truck when I parked in Stockade’s lot. The last thing I wanted was to smell like bacon and grease in the morning. I slipped in the back door, which was propped open by a banged-up stock pot. Grilled steak and fry oil rode the hot air outside.

  The thick orange tiles along the floor led me past dry storage on my left and the dishwashing area on my right. A young kid I didn’t know scrubbed a burned pot in the sink. A tray full of plates and glasses waited to be shoved along the stainless counter into the industrial dishwasher. The kid stopped long enough to wipe his forehead with his hand before dropping his arm back into the pot.

  A swinging door led to the wait station, but I bypassed that and stopped where the magic happened. Two sirloins, four burgers, and a filet mignon sizzled on the grill. My mouth watered. I probably should’ve eaten something before I left, even a protein bar.

  “Hey, Kit. Logan’s gonna kill you when he sees the back door open again.” I patted the grill cook’s shoulder.

  “He can fire me.” Kit smiled. His tobacco-stained teeth and chapped lips were a total turn off. Judging by the number of girls he’d went out with since he’d hit on me, he wasn’t hurting for affection. Kit had the biker vibe going. Even while he worked, he wouldn’t give up his leather or hide his tattoos. “Again.”

  “Sixth time’s a charm?”

  “Something like that.” He flipped a burger, pressing it down with the spatula. The grease sizzled, sending a puff of smoke into the air between us. “What’re you doing here anyway?”

  I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms. My stomach growled when the fry cook slid a plate of French fries onto the counter. Kit opened a bun and put it on the grill. “Logan panicked. Said there was a big party tonight and he was down a staff.”

  “Yep, they’ll be here in about ten.” He pointed over his shoulder at the walk-in fridge. “Got the meals prepped and ready to go.”

  “They ordered early? Sweet.” I inhaled the delicious scent of the burger.

  Kit put the bun on the plate and the burger on the bun, adding the still-hot fries last. He placed the meal on the window ledge above the grill. “Order up,” he shouted while dinging the bell. Old school, but effective.

  “I better clock in. Logan was looking for me fifteen minutes ago.” I pushed off the wall with my shoulder.

  Kit nodded, focusing solely on the newest order while turning the sirloins over. “Once the rush is over, I’ll grill you a burger with all the fixings.”

  “You’re the best.” I wanted to kiss his cheek, but Kit would’ve taken that the wrong way. When I first started, he’d helped me learn the ropes more than the waitress training me. It was all fun and games until he’d kissed me after walking me to my car one night. I’d let him down as gently as I could. It wasn’t that Kit was a bad guy, but he didn’t set my heart on fire or even give me a tiny twinge of desire. He took it in stride and never brought that moment up again. I turned the corner toward the office and smacked into Logan’s broad chest.

  “Slow down, Liv,” he said, holding me up so I wouldn’t fall. “Safety first.”

  “Just trying to clock in.” I kept my eye-roll to myself. Logan’s “safety first” lines were notorious, especially when the health inspector snooped around.

  Logan let go and stepped back. “Jeans? The skirt would’ve put more coin in your pocket tonight.”

  “For a party room?” Somehow I doubted that. The party room usually had family reunions or class meetings or a large group of high schoolers hanging out so two of them could go on a date. Those never usually tipped well.

  “Yep.” He took my purse. “Put your apron on, they’re showing up now. And I’m sure they’ll be thirsty.”

  “You’re making me nervous, Logan.” I wrapped the apron around my waist, tying it in the front.

  “You’ll be fine.” He held up my simple black purse. “C
ute, but you need more pizazz. I’ll lock this in the office. Get going.”

  I nodded and turned away from Logan and toward the wait station that led to the party room in the back. A diagram of the restaurant hung near the window to the dish room. It showed all the tables and was divided into three sections by a dry erase marker. Simple but effective. Beks and Kasey had most of the main dining room split between them. I had the party room, which I knew, and four tables near the restrooms. Those were always the last to get seated, so no worries. I headed toward the party room to get drink orders for the early birds.

  The room was large with enough seating for up to sixty people. During the week, Logan kept it closed off unless someone reserved it. On the weekends, it served to overflow the rush. There wasn’t anything special about the decor. Ordinary prints of cows and farms hung along the walls with the mandatory steer horns. The dark maroon and brown carpet hid stains from dropped food. The key to Stockade’s decorating was the butcher-block tables stained a dark brown. Tin buckets filled with condiments sat in holes in the center. With big parties, the condiments went out and ice filled the buckets to chill the longneck bottles of beer. Unless it was a kid’s birthday party, then we had the ice buckets filled with cans of soda or juice boxes.

  The room filled fast, but nobody had sat down yet. I stood near the door and waited. Oddly enough, it was a group of guys about my age. And a few looked familiar, but most had their backs to me or their faces were obscured. They had to be students at Westland. I’d waited on plenty of people from campus before but never a party of them.

  Then Devon Miller walked in.

  His eyes zeroed in on me faster than an Iowa weather change. I didn’t expect him to close the distance in two long strides.

  “Liv, what’re you doing here?” He smiled warmly and shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

  “Working. You?” It was hard to keep the edge from my voice. What was it with this guy?

  “Team dinner. We do it every year. Although this year’s won’t be as much fun. Not a lot to look forward to.” He glanced at the guys behind him. “You’re working two jobs?”

  “Some of us need the money.” I wanted to close my eyes and sink into the floor. That was my party, the baseball team. Just fab. But I held his gaze and grinned like a good little server. They didn’t have to tip me since it was already part of the bill, but usually a party would have a few people toss out added bucks anyway. I just prayed Devon wasn’t one of them. That would add to my growing humiliation. “And I’m your server for this evening. May I get you something to drink?”

  Devon’s smile widened. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

  “Hey, Miller, get over here,” one of the guys shouted across the room.

  “I guess I should get going,” he said. His eyebrows arched into his forehead.

  “I guess you should.” I forced the smile to stay on my face.

  He turned toward his team then back to me. “You know, Liv, I can’t figure you out.”

  “So you’ve said. That bothers you?”

  “Yeah, it does. One minute you’re cold and calculating, and the next you’re…totally different.” His voice softened. “I can usually get a handle on people, but you…you’re a mystery.”

  A laugh barked from deep in my throat. “I’m not a mystery, Seamus. I’m an open book.” I leaned in to make sure he heard me. “You just don’t know how to read yet.”

  His sharp intake of breath made me genuinely smile, but I brushed past him toward the table to take drink orders. Where did that come from? I was never that bold, that flirtatious, that…that crazy. And I liked it. I liked how it affected Devon. And I loved calling him by his given first name and the glint in his eye when I did. Devon was more than just a jock. He was more than just another engineering student. He was definitely more than just my competition.

  Besides, it was time to move past competing for highest GPA in our department. I had my dream internship, which could lead to my dream job. And as much as I hated to admit it, the tension between us was mostly my fault. He’d been kind, and as far as I could tell, honest with me about what happened after the party. Even that Candy girl said he’d been more of a gentleman than I gave him credit for. All I’d been was a complete bitch. Maybe it was time to change my attitude toward him. Hell, maybe it was time to change my attitude in general.

  I moved around the tables, getting drink orders and smiling so much my cheeks hurt. Some of the guys flirted, but that wasn’t unusual. It was just part of the job. When I waited tables, I put on a persona. Explaining the difference between conduction and convection wouldn’t get much in the way of tips, but a sexy smile helped. Unfortunately, sometimes that netted unwanted attention. One guy actually smacked my ass. It wasn’t hard, just enough so I knew he was there. Like I’d miss a six-foot tall beanpole with acne. Liv the engineer would’ve snapped at him. Liv the waitress ignored it and kept on going. For the moment.

  “Liv,” Kit said when I made it back to the pass-through window. “The orders are coming up.” He sat a plate with a name tent on the stainless-steel counter. “Zack’s going to come out and help cart these bad boys to those bad boys.”

  Zack emerged from the dishroom, wrapping an apron around his waist. “Heya, Liv.”

  I nodded and began loading a round tray with four of the plates. With Zack’s help, it would take five trips with four plates on each tray. But that was all based on Kit getting the orders up that fast.

  We moved back into the party room where one of the older guys stood with a somber expression. I quietly worked my way through the tables, setting glasses of soda and water in front of the guys. When I got to the beanpole, I put a Styrofoam kid’s cup complete with a lid in front of him. He wanted to act like a child, I’d respond in kind.

  “This year we won’t defend our championship, boys.” He smiled sadly at Chuck Mathis, who sat by Devon. “Our reputation is in the gutter, and so is our chance to defend our title. We’re going to work our asses off to make everyone know this team is clean.”

  They started clapping.

  I stared at the four names on my tray. None of them rang a bell. Neither did the ones on Zack’s. He’d already moved back toward Kit for another round.

  “Looks like the food’s coming. I’d better make this quick so we can eat,” the man said to a splattering of laughter. “My point is this: we’re strong, but we’re not playing past the regular season. We’re lucky last year’s title wasn’t stripped away. Betts is gone. So is Fisher. With them, so are the steroids. We’re not playing for anybody else. We’re playing for ourselves. We’re playing for our school. So let’s win to prove to everyone we can. Here’s to a great season, boys.”

  A few of the guys shouted “yeah, coach,” or hooted loudly, and all of them clapped. It was half-hearted. The tone in the room was one of utter defeat. The steroid scandal had led to a ban on tournament play. Only an asshole would risk his career, and his life, for the sake of some stupid game.

  When they settled down by their coach’s prompting, he added, “Most importantly, let’s eat. Little lady, I believe you have the floor.”

  I smiled even though I wanted to kick him in the shin for the little lady comment. The first plate on my tray had “Couch Hummel” on the placard. “And I believe this is yours.”

  He rubbed his hands together and sat down, not even waiting for anyone else to get their plates before he sliced into the rare sirloin. I turned away before he shoved a piece of bloody meat into his mouth. One by one I handed out the plates, not bothering to say Devon’s name when I found his, a well-done New York strip with a plain baked potato and broccoli, and placed it in front of him.

  “Olivia, wait a sec,” he said as I drew away to move on to the final plates. Devon pointed at the acne-covered beanpole. “Rookie, you owe this woman an apology.”

  The rookie’s red face turned downright purple as his gaze dropped to the table. “Sorry.”

  “For what?” Chuck pressed.
<
br />   “Sorry for smacking your ass,” he mumbled.

  “It’s okay—” I began, but Devon wasn’t about to let it go.

  “No, it’s not. Rosenthal’s got a lot to learn about being a gentleman and a team player.” Devon looked at me over his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

  The look in his eyes pleaded for forgiveness beyond Rosenthal’s offense. I nodded and backed away.

  “Damn, Rosie, first you hurt Betts and now you’re determined to piss off, Miller,” someone said as I turned my back toward them. “You must have a death wish.”

  “I didn’t make him juice,” he mumbled.

  I finished handing out the dishes and took a few minutes to check on my other tables. One couple left me a nice tip while another table stiffed me. Nice. I only made four thirty-five an hour. Servers relied on tips to get us over the minimum wage hump. I kept reminding myself that Logan owed me for filling in on short notice. I’d have to hit him up for a Saturday night off just because I finally could. I filled an empty pitcher with ice and cola and grabbed another for tea then made the rounds through the party room.

  A few times I caught Devon glancing my way. I’d be a liar if I said his attention wasn’t flattering. He’d made it clear he was interested in actually going out, and it wasn’t like he was a complete ass, either. The only time he’d been a true jerk to me was at JenCar. I didn’t get it. If he’d act like he was human all the time, we might’ve been friends long before now.

  Who was I kidding? There was no way we could’ve been friends before. Not after our sexcapades during freshman year. Not that I would’ve let him. But that was then, and this was now.

  I stopped in the wait station to catch my breath when Logan stormed in. His normally pristine blond hair had lost some of its luster. He’d always kept it slicked back like he belonged in 1955, with a part straighter than a ruler. His brown eyes were bloodshot, and his lips pressed firmly together.