“It’s not all that bad. I’ve just officially hired you as the new head waitress of The Sloppy Pelican.”
Her pretty pink lips part with surprise. “Head waitress? Is that a thing?”
“It is now.”
She smacks me over the arm. “So, tell me Boobear. What sparked this lawyer seated before me to turn into a restaurateur?”
“Would you believe me if I told you time and money?”
“Time and money rule the world. Why wouldn’t I believe you? Unless, of course, you don’t mean it in the traditional sense.” She pushes her salad forward, signifying she’s through with it, and yet it hardly looks as if she put a dent into it. Food waste is something I’m always looking to correct. Most all of the patrons end up taking more than half their plate home, which I’m hoping is a good thing. Bang for the buck. That has been my battle cry with this place while it was still in conception.
“You are a smart cookie because, no, I don’t mean in the traditional sense. I wanted something that would eat up all my time and something that wouldn’t necessarily make me all that much money—at least not in the beginning. But I’m ready for that to change now.”
“Do tell.” She pulls my plate over and points to it as if asking for permission and I’m quick to nod.
“Go for it.” I think on it for a minute. “After the mess my marriage turned into, I couldn’t think straight, let alone work on cases twenty-four seven. I needed a change. I was busting my ass at Collins and Associates. It’s Axel’s father’s firm. Axel is the one who called the cops on you that night, so technically, it’s him you need to seek your apology from.” I give a quick wink. There. I outted Axel after all. I couldn’t help it, though. There’s something about this girl that could wrangle every username and password out of me if she wanted. “I wasn’t chasing dollars. I didn’t have a prenup with Meredith, and I didn’t know what she’d want out of the divorce—but it’s been amicable so far and should crash to a conclusion in a few weeks. So after that, I’m up for earning copious amounts of tender green government-issued funds.” I give a shit-eating grin at the thought.
“So this whole Sloppy Pelican thing is more or less your way of reinventing yourself. Me likes.” She gives a silent applause. “Are you open to suggestions? Because I happen to be a world-class foodie on top of being a world-class know-it-all. But I’m wise enough to keep my opinions to myself unless otherwise solicited.”
“I’m all ears.” I fold my hands and bounce them over the table. A smug smile takes over because I happen to know the menu at The Pelican is ironclad. Axel, Brody, and I went over it, studied it—hell, we all but married it. It’s perfect. I’d be curious to know what area she thinks could use improvement.
“First?” She holds up her lemonade and shakes her head. “You’ve got a great base here, not too sweet, not too sour—but really? Just lemonade? A place like this isn’t exactly reinventing the wheel. There is one other bar-slash-eatery in town, and it’s called the Black Bear Saloon. Judging by the average-at-best menu options at play, I’d venture to say they’re eating your lunch. Literally.” My brows peak because that was the last thing I expected to hear, and come to think of it, she’s probably right. Average. I’ve always hated that word. “The thing you’ve got going for you is the fact you’re not across the street from a major university. The last time I went to the Black Bear I was accosted ten times by frat boys while on the way back to my seat from the restroom.” She gives a quick visual sweep of the clientele. “And judging by your demographics, my odds are better of being offered a solid insurance premium or in the least being handed a pamphlet by some over enthusiastic AARP member.”
My stomach takes a nosedive. “Why the hell did you have to drag the AARP into this?” I slump in my seat because I’m suddenly eating shit pie twice in one day.
“Don’t despair, Boobear. Your vibe is good. I like the whole rustic old mine feel. Love the fact all the drinks are delivered in Mason jars, and the reclaimed wood you lined the walls with must have set you back a couple dozen rolls of nickels.”
My chest pumps with a silent laugh because it set me back fifty grand.
“But outside of the location there’s not much to differentiate yourself from the Black Bear. I think you should capitalize off the fact you’re catering to graduates—adults with sophisticated palates. All the fun of the Black Bear sans the annoying frat boys and sorority sluts—excuse my language.” Her lips purse and for a second it looks as if she’s blowing me a kiss, and every last part of me wishes she were.
“I like where you’re going with this.” But I can’t help but frown because I really thought we nailed it when it came to this place. I don’t like being wrong. Although this doesn’t surprise me. I’ve been wrong regarding just about everything this past year alone. “Anything else?” I’m not sure why I asked. But Low looks as if she’s about to burst like a piñata.
“God, yes.” She leans as if she’s been dying to spew this news for years. “The Black Bear has a live band, and you’re still spinning records. No offense, but you’re streaming a public radio station that I can pick up in my car. The last thing I want is to leave my beat-up Honda and head inside to a premier dining establishment for what I’m hoping will be an out-of-the-ordinary experience—and it will be when I’m through with this place—just to hear the same crappy station I had blasting through my crappy speakers.” Something about the way she says it makes me crave her ten times more than I was when I saw her in that dress this morning. “Not to mention the fact that commercials touting the best qualities of the mattress factories’ latest and greatest offering do not a delicious mood make. You need to woo your guests. Sure, you got them through the door, but will they come back? Face it, you can get average food and average service just about anywhere these days. What you need is superior food and superior service.” She claps her hands just once, and my heart thumps because I can feel it coming. “That’s where I come in, my friend.” And I was right. “That brings us back to this.” She holds up her lemonade. “You need to add at least three more flavors before you open tomorrow, or I fear for the longevity of your establishment. Strawberry lemonade is a no-brainer. We can start there.” She strums her hot pink nails over the table. “And…lavender lemonade!” She points a finger at me and pretends to shoot. “We’ll stick a sprig of fresh lavender in one of these puppies, and the flavors will combust with beauty. Oh! And wild honey lemonade. There you go. Just like that, you have three brand new unique flavors. We’re taking it all to the next level, from the lemonade to the music. I want house band auditions starting this weekend. The Black Bear had the patrons participate in the final decision, and I think you should do the same. Nothing as wild and riotous as the 12 Deadly Sins like they have at the Black Bear. They’re great and all, but they scream university pub material. You’ll need someone versatile who can throw in a few cover tunes once in a while. People love to sing along.”
A shadow covers me from behind, and I turn to find Axel smiling down at the two of us.
“Anything else you’d like today?” He comes shy of winking as if this entire meal was a farce.
Low takes a moment to scowl at him. “I recognize you.”
I don’t waste any time with the introductions. “Low, this is Axel. Axel, get your apology ready.”
Ax ticks his head back a notch. He’s casual today, not the requisite monkey suit he lives in during the week. And yes, he’s working a shift because one of the girls called in.
He openly scowls at her. “You were impersonating a food critic—one I happen to know personally.”
Her mouth opens wide. “You’re not the reason she dove out of this place, are you? She’s psychotic by the way. In my opinion, it should have been you running. And seeing that the circumstances are as such, don’t bother with the apology. You should be thanking me that I took her place.”
He frowns at the thought. Ax doesn’t run from women. He runs to women. He’s been sort of a player ever since
law school, and years later nothing much has changed.
“I’m sorry I had you arrested, considering the fact Raven sent you, from what I understand. But I could never thank you for taking Lex’s place.” He waves his notepad at us. “Coffee or cake for dessert?”
“Coffee or cake?” Low practically chokes on the meager variety of confections. Shit. She’s right. “Are you kidding me? I mean, you do have a dessert menu, right?”
Axel and I exchange a brief glance.
“No.” There. I may not be proud, but at least I can admit it.
“God.” Her head tips back as she closes those beautiful kaleidoscope eyes. “You need far more help than I ever thought.” She snatches the notepad and pen from Axel’s hand. “I’ll need something bigger, but this will do for now.” She whips open a menu and shakes her head while perusing the offerings. “What is this? A lunch menu at a middle school cafeteria? This is carnival food for cripes’ sake. Give me two days and I’ll give you the culinary world.”
“We have a budget,” Axel protests.
“No, we don’t.” I’m quick to justify her passion, and Low looks up for a moment with an unspoken level of gratitude.
“In that case, let’s hope the numbers dance in the right direction.” Axel takes off, but I keep my gaze trained on this vision in red before me.
“How about I let you live with me rent-free in exchange for your consulting skills?”
Her brows arch. “And?” She flicks a finger at me as if she could hear the next proposal crawling up my throat and she can.
“And for your services as Evie Slater, my new girlfriend?”
“That’s a little better.” She leans in with her cleavage bustling out of her dress. “First, we’re going to make sure the patrons of The Sloppy Pelican are eating only the finest fare. And then we’re going to make sure Meredith and Chip are eating their hearts out. You, my friend, are about to have an entire overhaul of your existence.”
“An overhaul of my existence,” I repeat absentmindedly, still lost in the spell of those perky pink lips. “That sounds exactly like something I’m in need of.”
My gut pinches because a primal part of me very much wants Low as well.
Drop Everything
Low
Springtime in Hollow Brook is in full bloom. There is nothing more beautiful than a blue-sky spring morning in this mountain town. The hollyhocks climb in hues of red and purple, and the lavender verbena glows against the verdant green hills. When my mother was still alive, she adored her magnificent yet humble flower garden. Lisa took it over once I killed our mother, and after that, well, she effectively killed the flower garden.
My phone buzzes in my purse, and I pluck it out—speaking of my brown thumb-wielding sister. Three weeks you haven’t shown your face in this town! Three weeks! Do you even exist anymore?
Suffice it to say, Lisa is a tad bit irate. I’ve been avoiding her like the overprotective plague, because for one, I could never lie to my sister. And secondly, every detail of my life as of late requires that I lie to my sister. Have I mentioned that lying to my sister can lead to Oscar-worthy level theatrics? In layman’s terms, all hell breaks loose quicker than a firecracker goes off on the Fourth of July.
Maybe this weekend! I shoot off the text, knowing full well I’ll come up with yet another golden goose of an excuse. God knows I’d love to see my sisters and my nieces. But, at the moment, I’m staring up at a short, boxy building with the words Hallowed Grounds stamped on the outside in huge silver letters. Back at Whitney Briggs I spent all of my glory days nestled in the armpit of this caffeine asylum. I love the fact that Hollow Brook has an off-campus option for those of us living on the other side of university life. And I think that The Sloppy Pelican can be exactly the answer to the Black Bear for those of us over twenty-one as well. Ironic since the Black Bear is a bar first and foremost. Nevertheless, I stride in and the thick scent of gloriously slow-roasted beans bowls over my senses.
“Good God, I’ve died and gone to java heaven.” It’s the same layout inside as the one at Whitney Briggs, same dark wood floors, sturdy steel furniture. Only this version has oversized nature prints strewn around the walls with inspirational quotes attached to each one in lieu of pennants in the university colors of orange and blue. And I can’t help but note that this version, much like the last, has a bevy of bodies all slumped over their very own laptop. I guess some things never change. You can take the kid out of the university, but you can’t take the porn sites out of the university kid. I jest. Hollow Brook is a notorious college town with over three major universities circling the area that I know of, so of course the town is bound to be brimming with intellects who nary stray from their modular pixilated worlds.
No sooner do I step up and put in my order than my phone bleats again. Only this time it’s not the sister I’ve been avoiding. It’s the best friend I’ve been evading.
Earth to Low? You still alive? What’s new with my brother? Please tell me you have not fallen in love with him! He’s in a world of hurt, and the last thing he needs is you in his bed with a whip and blindfold.
I smirk down at the note from my bestie. The whip and the blindfold were too vanilla for him. We’ve moved on to far more sadistic pastures. BTW, have I expounded lately the pleasures of a Prince Albert piercing? Your brother truly is a bad boy! Levi suggested I get the female equivalent, so we’re at the tat shop now. Which brings me to my next question: Should I be worried if the place reeks of three-day old meatball sandwiches? I give a brief chuckle as I hit Send.
She texts right back. Back away from my brother! Do not pass go! Do not collect another 200 orgasms! And for God’s sake, do not indulge yourself in female mutilation. A moment of silence thumps by before she shoots another text my way. Levi’s at the gym. You’re not funny by the way.
Really? ’Cuz I think I’m hilarious. My insides squeeze tight at the thought of collecting something as delicious as orgasms from Levi Masterson. And he’s at the gym? A brief visual of him sweating and grunting while his biceps pop turns my panties into raging rivers. I blink back to life before sending off another text. And would you please stop? I haven’t touched your brother—who by the way became an uncle due to very salacious circumstances! I’ve already congratulated Raven on her niece, but decided to spring my knowledge of all things family secret for a more opportune moment like this one.
So you know.
Just as I’m about to text her back, they call my name and I collect my large mocha frap and scan the place for an empty table. My eyes snag on a wily looking redhead, and for a brief second we ogle one another with the same puzzled look on our faces while trying to figure out where the hell we know each other from.
Then it hits me, and I try to make a break for the door but, evidently, it’s hit her too because she bulldozes her way past all the geekery and loners this place has to offer just in time to block my exit.
“It’s you!” we both shout at the same time. Our chests each pumping with the same determined speed.
“You owe me five hundred dollars!” I grit through my teeth at Lex, Lexy, Alexia, Alexa-who-the-hell-cares food critic landed me in prison extraordinaire. “And I hope you got fired!”
A cool chortle escapes her lips as she steers me to the table against the window laden with her oversized Louis Vuitton bag and Chanel sunglass case preening from the top of it.
“On second thought, give me the purse and we’ll call it even,” I say, falling in the seat across from her. She’s gorgeous in a psychotic kind of way. Her lips are painted a bright shade of fuchsia. It’s an unforgivable offense and every sorority girl knows it, although something tells me I’m not dealing with your average sorority girl here. “You’re a Barnes’ girl, aren’t you?” It comes out accusatory, but I can’t help it.
Her eyes widen, accentuating her perfect wing-tipped lashes. “How did you know?”
“It doesn’t take a genius.” Barnes is the private all-girls’ college up the road f
rom Briggs. Those Barnes’ girls were always making the trek to the Black Bear to steal a Briggs’ girl’s lunch—or should I say midnight snack. Why anyone in their right mind would want to go to an all-girls’ university is beyond me, unless, of course, girls were their flavor of choice.
She leans in quickly and gone is that happy-to-see-me smile, those wild eyes traded in for a beady, nasty glare. “No, I did not get fired. But nice touch getting yourself a set of silver bracelets. My boss saw that on the news and bought the fact I told him I was mugged by some lunatic.”
On the freaking news? Dear God. Can’t breathe. “Should I dump my coffee over your head or just slosh it all into your purse? Honestly I want to know which way it would hurt more.”
“Stop.” She cuts a crazed look around the establishment before leaning in farther. “My ex was in there.” Her lips pull down a moment like she might cry. “I didn’t want to see him. Not then, not ever.”
Low Down & Dirty Page 7
