Read Online The Second Chance (Inferno Falls Book Three) by Aubrey Parker - Free Book Online
Authors: Aubrey Parker
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her tonight proves that he’s oblivious or sloppy. Likely both.
“Can nobody else come in?”
“Nobody that Ed can get ahold of.”
“I wonder if I should call someone.” All the servers dodge Ed’s calls. The advent of caller ID and cell phones was death for someone whose calls are never wanted, like my boss. But I dismiss my offer as soon as I make it because I won’t be that person. I won’t be the girl who asks a friend to give up her Saturday night so she can spend it here, getting yelled at.
I’m already dismissing the idea, but Jen clearly didn’t take it seriously to begin with. She doesn’t even acknowledge what I said and instead perks an ear toward the front, where we can hear Ed remonstrating.
“I have to get back out there,” Jen says. “But I have a favor to ask.”
“How many tables do you want me to take?”
“Any two, if you could?” Jen is cute when timid. I might as well. I’m decent at my job no matter what Roxanne feels, and Roxanne’s ego will have made her take more than her share of tables anyway. I’d be left with an elevated but not insurmountable load, so I can handle two more if it’ll make Jen’s life less miserable. And besides, I thrive on activity. Anything to keep my mind off what it shouldn’t be considering.
Like escaping into bad habits.
Like the text I got back about Brownies, which reported that Mac can absolutely join, for sure, and they’d be delighted to have her — but I know deep down there’s no way I can make the schedules work.
Like Chadd, who I both hope and don’t hope will call again.
And like Mackenzie, when I left her. She asked about her father again — twice in one day, probably because of all the mother-daughter bonding we did, and a misperception that I’m open to talk about anything. She asked about Brownies, but I diverted to school, to her friends, to her clubs, to how she has plenty of companionship there, in preparation for my needing to drop the bomb later. She got this strange look on her face. One I’ve never seen, at least where school is concerned.
The busier I am, the less I have to think about any of it.
I head out. Roxanne gives me a snippy remark about how it took me long enough to arrive, but tonight I feel like slapping her perfect face or knocking her perky little tits out of alignment. She has pull with Ed, but he won’t be able to book Carla for weeks and is about to lose Abigail to her boyfriend’s band. His hands are plenty tied. If he threatens me, I’ll threaten back. If I walk, Ed is fucked … and not in the way he seems so pathetically determined to be when he says and does the inappropriate things that pass for normal around here.
I feel uncharacteristically bold.
Fuck Roxanne.
Fuck Ed.
Ed could have a whole pile of problems tomorrow. He’s already facing a workplace injury with Carla, but now, if Carla is litigious (she’s not), she could probably sue him for tonight’s stupidity. He’s grabbed my ass more times than I can count. Just let him try something.
I take my tables from Roxanne, then re-mark two of Jen’s, on the chart, for myself. I sneak over and tell Jen which two I’m co-opting then get to work. And for a while, I’m unstoppable.
Until I start talking to Clinton Deane — the tall, rugged drink of water who owns Stuffy’s Bar and is sitting in my section. Clinton is exactly my type, and I’m sure I’d flirt with him more if I didn’t know how intensely devoted he is to his wife. Insultingly, his loyalty turns me on more, and for a long time I couldn’t talk to Clinton when he came in. But most times, he eats with said wife, and I see how happy they seem, and that helps. Because I think of how they could be me and someone I love, in another life, in another place, in another time when things were different.
“Maaaya,” he says, dragging my name out into something close to a drawl as I approach. I don’t know
“Can nobody else come in?”
“Nobody that Ed can get ahold of.”
“I wonder if I should call someone.” All the servers dodge Ed’s calls. The advent of caller ID and cell phones was death for someone whose calls are never wanted, like my boss. But I dismiss my offer as soon as I make it because I won’t be that person. I won’t be the girl who asks a friend to give up her Saturday night so she can spend it here, getting yelled at.
I’m already dismissing the idea, but Jen clearly didn’t take it seriously to begin with. She doesn’t even acknowledge what I said and instead perks an ear toward the front, where we can hear Ed remonstrating.
“I have to get back out there,” Jen says. “But I have a favor to ask.”
“How many tables do you want me to take?”
“Any two, if you could?” Jen is cute when timid. I might as well. I’m decent at my job no matter what Roxanne feels, and Roxanne’s ego will have made her take more than her share of tables anyway. I’d be left with an elevated but not insurmountable load, so I can handle two more if it’ll make Jen’s life less miserable. And besides, I thrive on activity. Anything to keep my mind off what it shouldn’t be considering.
Like escaping into bad habits.
Like the text I got back about Brownies, which reported that Mac can absolutely join, for sure, and they’d be delighted to have her — but I know deep down there’s no way I can make the schedules work.
Like Chadd, who I both hope and don’t hope will call again.
And like Mackenzie, when I left her. She asked about her father again — twice in one day, probably because of all the mother-daughter bonding we did, and a misperception that I’m open to talk about anything. She asked about Brownies, but I diverted to school, to her friends, to her clubs, to how she has plenty of companionship there, in preparation for my needing to drop the bomb later. She got this strange look on her face. One I’ve never seen, at least where school is concerned.
The busier I am, the less I have to think about any of it.
I head out. Roxanne gives me a snippy remark about how it took me long enough to arrive, but tonight I feel like slapping her perfect face or knocking her perky little tits out of alignment. She has pull with Ed, but he won’t be able to book Carla for weeks and is about to lose Abigail to her boyfriend’s band. His hands are plenty tied. If he threatens me, I’ll threaten back. If I walk, Ed is fucked … and not in the way he seems so pathetically determined to be when he says and does the inappropriate things that pass for normal around here.
I feel uncharacteristically bold.
Fuck Roxanne.
Fuck Ed.
Ed could have a whole pile of problems tomorrow. He’s already facing a workplace injury with Carla, but now, if Carla is litigious (she’s not), she could probably sue him for tonight’s stupidity. He’s grabbed my ass more times than I can count. Just let him try something.
I take my tables from Roxanne, then re-mark two of Jen’s, on the chart, for myself. I sneak over and tell Jen which two I’m co-opting then get to work. And for a while, I’m unstoppable.
Until I start talking to Clinton Deane — the tall, rugged drink of water who owns Stuffy’s Bar and is sitting in my section. Clinton is exactly my type, and I’m sure I’d flirt with him more if I didn’t know how intensely devoted he is to his wife. Insultingly, his loyalty turns me on more, and for a long time I couldn’t talk to Clinton when he came in. But most times, he eats with said wife, and I see how happy they seem, and that helps. Because I think of how they could be me and someone I love, in another life, in another place, in another time when things were different.
“Maaaya,” he says, dragging my name out into something close to a drawl as I approach. I don’t know
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