Badd Kitty

by Jasinda Wilder

  I brought their food, made sure they enjoyed it and that their beers were never empty, and pretended to stop noticing Smokejumper.

  Except…I couldn’t help but notice him. Outside of his sheer imposing size, his presence somehow dominated the bar. Everywhere I went, I felt him. And every time I found myself helplessly drawn to glance at him, he had that grin for me, with those white straight teeth and the suggestive gleam in his cerulean eyes. The other two brothers seemed more interested in the two barely legal girls, who had also very definitely noticed the triplets. Heck, it was impossible not to notice them. But this one?

  He had eyes only for me.

  Was I flattered, or creeped out? A little of both.

  I mean, I was in my Badd’s Bar and Grill women’s V-neck, which was flattering for a work shirt but definitely not sexy, and I was wearing what I thought of as my “work jeans,” which were my most comfortable and most worn pair, but not my most-flattering, fit-wise. The girls, his brothers were staring at, for example, were ten years younger than me, wearing roughly 80 percent less clothing which they filled out way better with their nubile little bodies. Plus, they seem interested, and I’m not.

  I’m not interested.

  Not at all.

  Sure, he resembles John Cena, except bigger and better looking.

  Yet it’s me he’s looking at. Weirdo.

  Okay, don’t get me wrong—I’m not self-conscious, I don’t have body image issues…at least not any more than any other modern American woman. But why ogle the slightly above average-looking at best waitress when there are at least ten single women in here with bigger assets and nothing to do but angle for his attention?

  I shook the thoughts away, resolved to be better at ignoring his attention, and went back to doing my job. Thankfully, there was a bit of a drink rush at eleven, just after our kitchen closed, so I was slammed enough that I had no time for anything except to make sure the triplets were good on drinks.

  Maybe I was stereotyping them, but I expected them to pound their food down and then get to work putting away as much booze as possible, as fast as possible. Instead, once they finished their food they kicked back in their chairs and sipped, slowly nursing their beers. They still managed to down half a dozen beers each in the next hour, but they seemed as steady and sober as when they’d walked in.

  There were a few odd things about them, though: they were barely conversing with each other, just sitting there, watching the crowd, me, Sebastian, and Lucian behind the bar, occasionally glancing at Xavier, who was oblivious to the entire world outside of his textbooks and laptop. They weren’t on their phones, either; in fact, I’m not sure I saw a single cell phone between the three of them. They seemed content, literally, to just sit, drink, and watch the bar. Which was odd for men so obviously fit and active.

  Finally, the rush slowed around midnight and I had a chance to catch my breath. Big D was still hanging around in the kitchen, prepping for dinner the next day and making the occasional basket of fried food: after the kitchen officially closed at eleven, the fryers remained on and someone was always around to drop a basket as needed—having fries, cheese sticks, chicken tenders, sweet potato tots, and other greasy fried food available all the way to closing time was a huge draw for us, as we were one of the few places that served alcohol and had food besides pretzels and nuts available past eleven. The food was served in paper baskets, too, so there was minimal cleanup.

  I sagged a hip against the salad line in the kitchen, grabbed a handful of carrots Big D had just chopped, and snacked on them while watching him dice chicken for the next day’s special: chicken pot pie.

  “Are you still walking me home tonight, Big D?” I asked.

  He didn’t look up from dicing, his knife working at lightning speed. “Sure am, baby girl.”

  I nodded, not quite sighing in relief. “Cool. Thank you.”

  He looked up then, hearing the not-quite-sigh. “Whassup, Kitty-cat? Somebody creepin’ on you out there?”

  I wobbled my head side to side. “I’m not quite ready to say he’s creeping on me, but he’s been watching me all night. I’m not, like, scared of him—I don’t get that feeling from him, I just…” I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  D just kept dicing, sliding piles of chicken aside as he finished one breast and started on the next. “I got you, boo.”

  “Thanks, D.”

  He raised his knife in response, and went back to dicing while I left the kitchen to check on my tables and hit more side work while waiting for Bast to announce last call.

  As I swung past table eleven and the three imposing figures hunched over it, a particular pair of ultramarine eyes found mine, and then slid down to watch my hips as I approached.

  I had to consciously stop myself from popping them as I walked. Which was utterly stupid of me, because I’m not that girl. I’m a professional server, and I do not flirt with customers. Ever.

  And I’m not about to start now, and not with this guy.

  “How are you guys doing?” I asked. “Another round?”

  The triplet with the beard and the longer hair flicked the late-night mini-menu stapled to the side of the cardboard Corona Light six-pack holder that held the salt, pepper, ketchup, mustard, silverware rolls, and extra napkins. “You really serve food till close?”

  I nodded. “We’re certainly not in the business of trolling our customers with fake menus,” I said, smiling a little to take the sting out of my snark—something about these three brought out the sass in me, which was quite rare for me.

  The bearded triplet just stared at me balefully, seriously, his gaze intense and lacking any trace of humor. “Funny.” He drained his beer. “An order of tenders, fries, and cheese sticks. Another beer, too. And a shot of Jameson.”

  The other two brothers eyed him.

  “You on the rag or something today, Ram? You’re eating nonstop and you’re acting like a cranky little bitch.” This was from the Fish and Game brother.

  “Fuck you. I’m hungry.” This was the response from the brother who was, it seemed, named Ram.

  “Fuck you back,” came the reply. “Stop being a bitch-ass punk bitch about it, at least.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Rem. I’ll drag your dumb ass outside and knock your block off, you nosy-ass cock-nugget,” Ram snapped, not seeming in the least as if he was kidding.

  “Yeah? I’d like to see you try,” the brother named Rem said. “Which one of us failed his black belt test and had to retake it? Oh yeah, that’d be you. And which one of us passed his black belt test with highest marks? Oh yeah, that’d be me.”

  I was waiting for the others to order drinks or food, but instead I seemed to be held captive to a triplet squabble. And a very offensive and foul-mouthed one at that.

  The obsessed-with-me brother glanced at me with an amused grin and apologetic head shake. “Don’t mind these dicks, Kitty. They fight like bitches literally nonstop.”

  “I wonder if any of you could go a whole sentence without cursing?” I mused out loud, without meaning to.

  “Well, we fucking could, but we choose to fucking not, because cursing is a lot of fucking fun,” Smokejumper said. “Besides, don’t you know a propensity for swearing is a sign of intelligence?”

  I rolled my eyes. “At least your brothers were somewhat creative about being offensive.”

  “You’re offended by us foul-mouthed roughnecks, princess?” he purred.

  I ignored this. “Can I get anyone else more food or drinks?”

  “Double the food order, another round of beers all around, and three shots of Jameson,” he said. His eyes slid to mine, and he grinned wolfishly. “And your phone number.”

  I stared at him in surprise. “Wow. Um…How about no?” I shook my head. “I’ll be back with the round in a minute.”

  As I walked away, I heard the bearded brother murmur, “Way to be subtle, Rome.”

  Rome, Rem, and Ram? Were those their given names, or short for something? />
  Why did I care?

  I didn’t care. Not even a little.

  I sent in the ticket for their orders and fumed while waiting.

  Princess?

  “And your phone number.” Jeez. Who does that? Who asks for a waitress’s number by phrasing it as an order? How rude can he get?

  The cursing, and the staring? Ugh. What a caveman.

  He was getting under my skin, and I disliked it more every time I interacted with him. It’d be so much easier to just ignore him if he wasn’t so darned good-looking. It was kind of ridiculous and unfair, really. No one person should be blessed with that amount of sexiness—and there were three of them.

  I dropped their drinks off and managed to get away without interaction, but only because they were locked in some kind of childish and complicated three-way arm wrestling/thumb wrestling competition.

  When their food was ready, I brought it to them and set the various baskets on the table, hoping to get away again without any more nonsense.

  Instead, as I walked away, I felt a hand latch onto my wrist, halting me. “Hold on, beautiful.”

  I glared at him. “Excuse me. Take your hand off me, please.”

  He let go immediately, holding his hands up palms out. “Sorry, I was just hoping you’d stick around to chat for a second.”

  “Well, calling me a demeaning and inappropriately familiar term of endearment and grabbing me aren’t the way to get that,” I said.

  “Sorry.” His grin said he wasn’t sorry at all, though. “How about this: Hey, Kitty—you got a minute to chat?”

  I sighed. “Chat about what?”

  He reached out a long leg, hooked a nearby chair with his toe, and dragged it over next to his. “Sit, and I’ll tell you.”

  I glanced around at the bar, but it was for show—I knew without having to look that my other tables were all fine. So, I perched on the edge of the chair, my tray balanced on the edge on my knees as a shield between us. Sitting bolt upright, a wary and impatient expression on my face I said, “Okay. How can I help you?”

  He snorted. “You’re just all business, ain’tcha?”

  “I am at work…”

  He just waved a hand. “Relax a second. You’ve been busting your ass all night. Just chill for a minute.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I have other customers and I’m on the clock, so I can’t just chill. Thanks for your concern, however.”

  He plucked a tender from the basket, his gaze speculative. “You worked here long?”

  “A year and a half. Why?”

  “Just curious.” One bite, and the tender was half-gone. “You like it here?”

  I nodded. “I do. Very much.”

  “What are your bosses like?”

  I frowned. “The Badd brothers? I mean, they’re basically minor celebrities, now. They were all raised here, so they’re local legends, too. But they’re all super cool. Why?”

  He shrugged. “Like I said, just curious. I’ve heard about them, wondered what they were like.”

  “Well, they’re great to work for.” I shot him a meaningful glance. “But they do expect their employees to work, and not dillydally while still on the clock.”

  He nodded. “I would, too.” His eyes slid to mine. “Got a boyfriend? A lovely girl like you has to be spoken for.”

  I gaped at him. “That is absolutely none of your business.”

  Lovely girl like me? Deep down, I wanted to appreciate the statement. But such was his delivery that I just couldn’t.

  “I—you—”

  He just smirked. “You don’t, then.” He waved a hand. “I’m being nosy, sorry. I’m just curious.”

  That got words out of me. “You’re asking an awful lot of very personal and probing questions for being just curious.”

  He chuckled. “Personal and probing? I asked if you were dating anyone. That’s hardly personal or probing. It’s more…the kind of question a guy asks a girl if he thinks she’s hot.”

  I struggled for a reply, appropriate or rude or anything. “I—you think I’m—?” I stood up. “I have to check my tables.”

  I bolted, but I felt his eyes on me. Speculative. Interested. Intelligent. And…appreciative? I didn’t know.

  Fortunately, one of my tables needed refills, and a young couple came in and sat in my section, so I was busy for a while.

  Not long enough, though.

  My brain was racing, jumping, darting. What did he want? He was more than just curious—but about me, or the bar, or the brothers who owned this bar? I couldn’t tell.

  He thought I was lovely? Hot?

  What did he want?

  I swung back by their table like a fly drawn to a zapper light. Once again, those eyes were following me, unreadable and deep.

  “We’re getting close to last call,” I said. “You want anything else?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.” He shot me a grin that was a million percent too charming for his or anyone’s good. “You.”

  I choked on a reply. “You are so—ugh!” I didn’t have to fake the surprise or the ire. “What is with you?”

  He just laughed. “You didn’t let me finish.” He pulled a thrice-folded stack of papers from his back pocket, set them on the table, and tapped them with a thick forefinger. “This is the deed to a place a few blocks away. My brothers and I are opening a bar.”

  I glared even harder. “Good for you.”

  He leaned toward me, powerful forearms crossed on the table. “I want you to be our manager.”

  The brother named Rem frowned. “We do? I don’t remember discussing this.”

  “Executive decision,” he murmured to his brother. “Trust me on this one.”

  I shook my head, baffled at his hubris. “I told you I like working here. What part of that makes you think I would leave a job I like, working for bosses I like, to come work for you, whom I’ve just met?”

  “Because you like me,” he said, grinning. “And because you’d be managing, not waitressing, which would mean a nice steady salary. Benefits, too.”

  “We don’t have a benefits package, Roman,” Rem hissed. “We don’t even have a fucking name for the place.”

  “Shut up, tool,” Roman, my admirer, snapped back. Turning back to me, he deepened the intense charm of his grin, making it megawatt bright, dizzying, breathtakingly perfect. “Just think about it. Okay, beautiful?”

  I was dumbfounded. “You are something else, you know that?” I was still trying to formulate a response, but everything that was coming to mind was a jumbled, confusing mixture of anger and attraction, neither of which was helpful.

  He just shrugged a heavy shoulder. “So they say.” He popped a whole mozzarella stick in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, washed it down, and then glanced at me. “So you’ll think about it?”

  I groaned in aggravation. “No, I’m not thinking about it!”

  “You really should. You’d love working for us.”

  I was so flabbergasted I couldn’t formulate a reply. He had a way of leaving me speechless. “I—you—you’re just—”

  He just laughed. “Take your time, sweetheart. I’ve got all night. Although, I can think of a few things for you to do with that pretty little mouth besides talk.”

  Dumbfounded, flabbergasted, shocked speechless—I was running out of ways to describe it. I made an inarticulate sound of disbelieving rage, whirled on my heel, and stormed away.

  I had to leave the dining room entirely and hide in the kitchen to regain something like equilibrium. Sebastian, unfortunately, was leaning back against the line, eating a giant salad out of a takeout container.

  His eyes latched onto me, assessing, and he lowered his fork without taking another bite. “Problem, Kitty?”

  I shook my head. “Nah. Just a difficult table.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Eleven?”

  I sighed. “I can handle it, Bast.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Who?” I asked, aiming for innocent and mi
ssing by a wide margin.

  “Don’t play dumb,” he growled. “It don’t fit on you.”

  “Bast,” I said, “I can handle it. I’m a grown-up, and I can handle annoying, pushy, overly masculine customers.” I quirked an eyebrow at him. “I do work for you…and Zane…and Brock…and Bax…and all the others, for that matter, but you four are the worst.”

  Sebastian merely leveled a steady gaze at me. “The big blond douchebag. What’s he doing to piss you off? You’re usually the most laid-back person I’ve ever met.”

  “He just gets under my skin,” I said. “I don’t know. A couple of words from him and I’m steaming.”

  “Well, he’s got you unbalanced, and as my best server, and the girl I’ve got my eye on to take over as manager, I need you balanced.”

  At that moment, Lucian popped into the kitchen, a napkin in his hand, which he handed to me. “The big guy at eleven asked me to give you this.”

  I took it gingerly, warily, as if it were a snake or an unexploded bomb. “Did they leave? They haven’t paid their tab yet.”

  Lucian shook his head. “No, they’re still there. They’re counting cash, though, so I think they’re getting ready to leave.”

  I unfolded the napkin. His handwriting was a messy angular, all-caps scrawl—Kitty: when you decide to work for me instead, call me. You’ll be…pleased. And he included his phone number. No signature, because clearly none was needed.

  Bast stared at the note over my shoulder. “The fuck? You’re quitting?”

  I whirled, horrified. “No!” I had to gasp for air for a moment. “Apparently he and his brothers are opening a bar in town, and he…propositioned me, I guess is the best term. I told him no, unequivocally, and in no uncertain terms. He’s just a relentless jerk.”

  “I do not fuckin’ think so,” Bast snarled, and prowled out of the kitchen.

  Ohhhhh boy. Two enormous, territorial, masculine men facing off? This could get messy, fast.

  I trotted after Sebastian, with Lucian on my heels sending a flurry of texts—presumably for backup. I arrived just as Sebastian was crowding up to table eleven, massive arms crossed, glowering impressively.