Mira glances up as I walk in, and smiles. “What’s up, girl?” She shoves on the heels she tucked under her desk and gives me a hug.
I razz her for not showing up last night after she guilt-tripped me into going to taco dinner, and she gestures to her desk. It’s piled high with folders.
“Is that what you were working on?”
“Yes.” She sighs. “Blue has been suffering from a staffing shortage these last few months. We’ve got a new guy in hospitality, but the rest of the work falls on me or Hayden. How’s the floor? I take it you’re working tonight, since you’re here.”
“Yeah, I’ll be in the club.” No need to tell Mira I’m working the Bitchin’ Eighties party. She’s more up on Blue events than anyone I know.
“I actually came in a few minutes early to ask you something.” I tuck a lock of long hair behind my ear, suddenly nervous. “Can you let me know if a position opens at Blue that you think I’d be qualified for?” I rattle off the internships I completed in college.
It’s promising that Blue needs more support, but I have little to no real job experience. Still, I’m hoping something pops up that could get me in with the executives.
I can’t believe I’ve been working as a waitress for more than a year. My parents hounded me when I first moved to Lake Tahoe about getting a “real job” after they spent so much money on college. A year and half later, I’m realizing that time got away from me. It’s been so long, even my parents have gone silent. But I’m ready to branch out.
“I’ll check out the other casinos as well. I just wanted to touch base with you first, since I’m already working at Blue. It can’t hurt to have floor experience, right?”
“Absolutely not. And you’re being ridiculous. Of course I’ll help. Actually…” She taps her chin. “I have something in mind. Could be really good.” More tapping.
She’s making me nervous. “Whatever it is, I’m up for it. I’m totally flexible.”
“Good, because there’s just one hitch. It’s not a paid position.”
*
Tonight I’m in a killer eighties getup, complete with leg warmers and an off-the-shoulder sequined top. A short, stretchy black miniskirt completes the outfit. Thankfully, because it’s a themed night, I’m getting away with wearing my platform tennis shoes. One of my errands this morning was a trip to the doctor. Turns out I didn’t break my toe this morning—it only felt like it.
That’ll teach me to have a pseudo one-night stand and sneak out in the wee hours of the morning.
My toe feels like crap, and if it weren’t for this eighties night, I’d have to call in sick. No way could I work in heels. Platform sneakers, though, I can handle.
I attack the last of the hooks on my bustier—because even in eighties garb, Blue still has us boobed up to our chins. I suck in and spin it around so it’s holding up what little God gave me. I’m not the most well-endowed girl, but even I have a rack in Blue uniforms.
The cocktail waitress outfits are pretty and fun to wear, but I’d have no problem hanging them up for stylish business attire. I’m not going to lie, when I stopped by Mira’s office before my shift, I was thinking of a paid position. But the internship she told me about sounds perfect. So perfect, I could temporarily look past the unpaid aspect. I’d be working in the marketing department, assisting the manager.
Interning for a few hours before my waitressing shift begins would make me busy, but if all went well, it could lead to a solid paid position. And unlike most companies offering entry-level marketing jobs, the casino actually pays well, which is why they recruit through internships.
It’s time I put myself out there again, or I might end up a forty-year-old waitress at Blue Casino with dyed black hair and corns on my feet. Waitressing is easy, the people are nice, and the money is good. And it’s nothing like the exciting marketing career I envisioned when I graduated from college.
So many Lake Tahoe waitresses have made careers out of it. They’re living in paradise with good pay, and it’s not so bad. But it’s not me. I’m not sure how it happened. How I got stuck this last year. And after making what could be the biggest mistake of all by sleeping with one of my best friends—who happens to be the guy I’m stupidly in love with—I need a change. I need to move on. My love life might be in turmoil, but I can take a stand with my career.
I walk through the casino on my way to the Blue club, and several patrons turn their heads and gawk. Hopefully that’s a sign of solid tips in my future. This eighties outfit is going to pay the bills. And being busy at work is a good thing, because I’m freaking out about seeing Zach.
I walk past the bouncer in front of the velvet rope to the club. There’s no one in line, but it’s still early. People won’t begin pouring in for another hour.
The lights are dim inside, and it’s difficult to see. I grab a Juicy Fruit from my cash caddy and jam it into my mouth, chewing feverishly. As soon as it’s more crowded, I’ll have to spit out the gum and act professional. Until then, I’m working out my anxiety through my jaw.
My eyes adjust to the dark, and I see him. Zach is staring at me. He must have seen me walk in.
I close my eyes and take in a deep breath, then make my way over.
“Hey, beautiful.” He grins, and my entire body begins to shake. His smile, those full lips. A little less magnetism would help me right about now. As it is, I want to launch myself at him. Gah!
This is worse than before we slept together. I can’t do it.
Oh God, I have to do it. We’re working in the same room all night. Keep it together, Nessa.
Zach walks around the blackjack table they’ve set up especially for the party, and stands next to me. He’s in a white blazer with a blue crew underneath, his hair spiked for maximum Miami Vice effect. But here’s what I see: strong forearms where he rolled the sleeves up, shoulder muscles straining beneath the fabric, and dark eyes sparkling back at me.
His smile makes my insides gooey. He could be wearing nothing and still cause my heart to race. Actually, that’s a bad example, because Zach in nothing is more stimulating. The point is, it’s just him. There’s always been something I can’t define that draws me to him. And now that I know what that mouth and those hands can do, and how his body feels above mine—I’m a wreck.
Chew, chew, chew.
Zach frowns. He raises his palm. “Spit it out.”
My jaw freezes, and I stare at him like he’s crazy. “My gum? Into your hand?”
“Do it, Nessa. I’m not kidding around.”
I lean over and spit out the gum like he says, my mouth twisting in annoyance. We had better not be back to him treating me like a child.
He balls up the gum in a napkin from my tray, and hook-dunks it into the trash bin behind the bar a few feet away. “Now, what the hell is going on?”
When I don’t answer—because how am I supposed to answer that when I don’t know?—he grabs my arm lightly and pulls me to the side. “Why’d you leave this morning?” His voice is low, slightly husky, and it does funny things to my belly.
“I didn’t want things to be awkward.”
“Why would they be awkward?”
“How about because we slept together?” I whisper loudly.
He grins at first, then frowns. “Exactly. It was awesome, so why would things be weird?”
He really needs me to spell this out? “Because we’re friends. And you don’t have girlfriends, just girls you sleep with. Those one-nighters you’re so fond of.”
He looks at me pointedly. “With other girls. Not with you.”
I stare at him, trying to read his expression. My heart wants to believe he’s saying something deeper, but logic says no. “So you’re saying you want a repeat?”
His jaw shifts tensely. “I’m saying there’s no repeat about it, there’s just us. I thought you understood last night that we’d be in this thing once we took the next step. I was trying to spare you by keeping my distance all these months, but you mad
e it impossible.”
I look away, incredulous. Why would he be sparing me anything? I’ve wanted him. He knows that. And anyway… “So it’s my fault last night happened?”
I might have thrown myself at him, but damned if I’m taking all the blame.
His brow furrows, as if he’s confused. “Well, not your fault, but you know—I told you I was weak where you’re concerned.” At the look on my face, he adds, “I want more with you. I tried to see you today to talk about it.” He glances over his shoulder as a busboy slams a plastic tub of glasses on the counter, then lowers his voice. “I missed you when you weren’t there this morning. I went to see you, but you weren’t home either, and you didn’t return my calls. Why didn’t you return my calls?” A desperate edge tinges his tone.
He can’t be saying what I think he’s saying. That he’s serious about having a relationship. I mean, that’s what I want, but I need to be smart here. No jumping to conclusions where Zach is concerned, because if I’m wrong, it would break my heart. “Things are different with us.”
“Exactly.”
“I didn’t want you to feel trapped. I worried that you—uh, kissed me, and other stuff—because you felt bad.”
Zach blinks several times, staring at my face as if I’m some kind of puzzle he can’t figure out. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No!” I lower my voice. “No—you’ve been pretty obvious about not wanting to get involved with me. I got naked. I thought you might have done—well, what we did—out of pity.”
His mouth twitches as if he’s holding back a smile.
“This isn’t funny, Zach.”
“No, it’s not.” He leans in and pecks me on the lips. “It’s cute.”
I growl. “You know I don’t like those nicknames. I’m not cute just because I’m short. And I’m not your little sister.”
He cringes and shakes his head. “Dude, no.” He leans closer, touching the small of my back with his fingertips. “You are sexy, and beautiful, and I wish we weren’t working so we could return to my bed. Or your bed. Either works.”
A shiver runs down my spine, my heart rate increasing with his words. I might also be breathing heavily. “Are you sure that’s what you want? You’re not just saying that because you feel sorry for me?”
His eyes widen. “Nessa, you really want me to show you how I feel? Here?”
“No.” I shake my head jerkily. Considering the look he’s sending me, which is the exact same look he had last night in the hot tub before he carried me away, we need to steer this conversation in another direction.
But I smile. I can’t help it. I’m so happy I was wrong—or that my instincts were right. Whatever. I’m glad what we have isn’t like his past hookups. It’s not a hookup at all.
Zach grins and kisses my cheek, his lips lingering for a moment. “Later. After work?”
“Yes.”
And that’s how the rest of the night goes. Hot, sexy looks from Zach, my heart racing, my mind distracted as I hand off cosmos to the guys with the Flock of Seagulls hair, and Sierra Nevada pints to the girls with headbands and Madonna moles. I’ve sent the wrong drinks out twice now, my tips shot to hell, and I couldn’t care less.
At the end of our shift, Zach walks over as I’m cashing out with the bartender. “Can I come over in a little bit?” he asks. “I’d like to go home and shower first, but after? Would that be okay? Not too late?”
It’s midnight, but who’s keeping track? “Nope, not too late.”
“I’ll be quick, then. We can grab a bite at the Last Stop.”
I watch him stride away. The club is still hopping, because this place doesn’t close for a couple more hours. It’s dark and seedy, as usual, but my grin is bright. Several people stare at me like I’m crazy as I make my way to the exit a few minutes later.
And I am. So crazy in love.
Chapter Six
Inspired by the Bitchin’ Eighties party, I grab a sparkly off-the-shoulder top and pair it with cuffed boyfriend jeans and my platform tennis shoes. Heels would look better, but my baby toe still hurts like crazy.
My heart is racing, and I’m a shaky mess. I’m so nervous about my date with Zach, which is just nuts, because I know this guy. We’ve been good friends for over a year, but this evening—him coming to pick me up, which he’s done a thousand times before—is different. It means something—to me, anyway—and I’m praying it means something to Zach too.
I swipe on lipstick and a knock sounds at the front door. One last glance in the mirror, in which I fluff up my hair, frown, pluck a loose thread from my top, then close my eyes and spin around. There’s no use trying to be perfect. He either likes me enough or he doesn’t, and no amount of primping is going to change that.
I fumble with the lock and open the door.
“Hey,” Zach says, his eyes skimming my body. “You look beautiful.”
I let out the breath I’ve been holding, until I notice how stiff his shoulders are. He seems nervous too, and I can’t help but feel wrecked all over again. How can we have a normal relationship? Are we crazy for thinking this could work?
“You ready?” he asks.
“Yeah, let me grab my purse.”
Zach walks behind me as we exit. I reach around him to lock the door, and sense him watching my every move. And that has me fumbling the keys when I’m not normally uncoordinated.
Zach drives to the Last Stop, a local bar/restaurant everyone goes to for after-hours food. Our conversation on the way there is almost nonexistent because of all the tension in the air.
We order our meals and Zach’s gaze lands on my hands. He reaches across, touching the thin gold bangles on my wrist, then scoops up my fingers in his.
It’s an easy gesture. A normal date thing to do. But Zach and I aren’t simply two people going out on our first date. Somehow his holding my hand feels natural—this boy who’s never touched me unless he was razzing me. The press of his hand isn’t playful, it’s loverlike, sending warmth to my chest and face.
“Tell me about your family. Your parents,” he says, still studying my fingers, which appear childlike inside his.
Um, okay. He’s never asked about my family before. “You already know my dad was born and raised in the Philippines. My mom is originally from Cornwall.”
“How did they meet? What are they like? I don’t even know if you have siblings.”
He doesn’t say it in an accusatory manner, but there’s a part of me that takes offense. “You’ve never asked.”
His eyes catch mine. “I know.”
Was it intentional? I stare at his blunt fingernails, the wide surface of his masculine hand. Intentional or not, he’s asking now.
“My dad came to the US on a scholarship to study engineering at Cal Poly. He was taking courses over the summer when my mom and a friend walked into a coffee shop where he was studying. My mom was in the States on holiday, and she and her friend were on their way to Santa Barbara.” I smile. “Could be a load of crap, but he said he knew the moment he saw her that he was going to marry her.”
Zach is silent for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. “So that’s it? He saw her and they got married?”
I laugh. “Hell no. My mom thought he was crazy. He tried to buy her coffee and she turned him down. In a desperate attempt to see her again, he invited her and her friend to a party that night. Technically, he called his friends afterward and told them to throw a party because he needed to impress a beautiful girl. My mom ended up going, though.”
“And your dad wore her down?”
“Nope.”
“Damn. I’m beginning to feel sorry for your dad.”
“Not all guys have it so easy.”
He frowns. “It’s never been easy, Nessa.”
I ignore the implication in his tone, because I don’t understand it. Zach has dated so many women that I couldn’t begin to count the number. I don’t get why he held back for so long when it came to me. Or why, all of a sudden,
he’s open to more. But I’m not going to question it, because being with him is what I want above all else. I don’t want to jinx it.
“Nothing exciting happened at the party, but my mom agreed to give my dad her mailing address at her job in London. He wrote to her, called her, pretty much worked his way into her life. Eventually he went and visited her. Supposedly, on that visit she let him kiss her.” I shiver. So not cool to think of one’s parents hooking up.
“And?”
I roll my eyes. “Apparently she liked it. By the time my mom returned to the States for another visit, my dad had bought a ring and asked her to marry him.”
Our waitress sets food in front of us, and Zach takes a bite of the fries that came with his steak sandwich. “That’s kind of romantic and shit.”
I hide my eyes and focus on my own plate. “I know.”
The story of how my parents met is difficult to live up to. Neither my sisters nor I have had much luck in the relationship department. At the moment, we’re all single, even my older sister, who’s approaching the quarter-century mark. She is, in fact, the most single out of the lot of us. I can’t imagine her loosening up enough to let a guy in. I don’t even remember the last time she went on a date.
“How’d your parents end up in the Bay Area?”
“My mom hated her job in London, so she moved to California after they married and while my dad finished up his degree. When he graduated, an aerospace firm on the peninsula recruited him. The rest is history.”
Zach’s brow furrows. “So your dad’s pretty smart, then—the scholarship, working in aerospace?”
“Yeah, but he’s also down to earth. That’s how he wooed my mom and her family. He’s a good-looking guy too—I’m the only one who’s vertically challenged in my family.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
I forget the extent to which our past conversations have veered away from anything personal. It seems strange that Zach wouldn’t know about my sisters, considering how much time I’ve spent with him, but that could be as much my fault as it is his. He’s never asked, and I’ve never brought it up. We talk about our mutual friends, the things we’re up to, work, but never our families. And never the people we’re dating—or not dating, in my case.
Blue Streak: A Blue Series Novella Page 6
