Alicia
I walked around the bar with two waters and set them in front of a couple with a toddler. There was always a lot of traffic at Afternoon Delight, whether it was locals coming in for their favorite dishes, or tourists taking advantage of the beauty of the Great Lakes. This family was definitely tourists, which could go one of two ways. Sometimes the tourists were on a special trip and throwing money around because they were having a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Other times they were tired, dehydrated, crabby, and ready to kill each other. Those customers generally ate quickly and tipped low.
This particular family seemed to be a combination of both; they were obviously tired and sunburned, but they were smiling and the guy pulled the chair out for his wife, so I figured they were pretty happy. My mood picked up. They asked for some crackers—the majority of which would end up on the floor and not in their child’s mouth—and two mimosas.
About fifteen minutes later the lunch rush came in. Most of the forty-five tables in the restaurant were soon filled and the hostess added names to the growing waiting list. I got into a nice rhythm of watering, taking orders, and serving my tables. It was sunny and a perfect day to be at the lakes, so people were moving in and out pretty quickly.
For more than eighty years, Afternoon Delight had been an upscale, beachside bistro. Originally, it was only open for business from noon to five p.m., hence the name. Even though the current owners served food from seven a.m. until ten p.m., the name endured. It was a neighborhood landmark that served natural, locally sourced, mostly organic foods. The menu featured a ton of salads and vegetarian options, and after securing a liquor license two years earlier, business had really picked up. When I started hostessing and bussing tables in college, I’d thought that AD would be a temporary stop on my journey to becoming a famous author; three years after graduation, I was still here. At least now I waited tables, and the tips were much better.
Of course, I hadn’t expected to be doing this for so long. Nobody expected me to do this for so long, least of all my mom, who wanted me to get a teaching job like she’d done. But the tips at AD were enough to scrape by on, the job was fast-paced, and unlike teaching, which is the usual post-graduation job favored by English majors, I didn’t have any grading or lesson planning to do after I came home. That would be my special time for writing my debut novel. Theoretically.
Early on in my shift, around one o’clock, I was retrieving a bottle of wine when the hostess, Melissa, came to let me know she’d seated a new table for me.
“And you’re welcome,” she said. “I expect a big tip-out at the end of your shift.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I seated Ryan Jensen in your section.”
“Who is Ryan Jensen?” I imitated her tone, which sounded dreamy.
Amber, another waitress, said, “Aw, man…”
“Ryan Jensen,” the hostess explained, “is the most handsome, well-built, tan, Adonis-like specimen of a man you will ever encounter in your life.”
I walked back up front and stopped short when I laid eyes on the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. He sat in Booth 2 facing me, but looking down at his menu. He looked to be in his early thirties, wore a short-sleeve shirt and board shorts, and had brown hair with just the right amount of curl in it to make him super-sexy. He was buff and tan. In short, and I didn’t know how I was going to drop water off at his table, never mind actually speak to him.
I shot the hostess a panicked look, but she was too busy pretending to go over her non-existent waiting list while keeping one eye on the Hottest Man Alive. I took a deep breath, walked over, and set a glass of water down on his table.
“Hi, I’m Alicia, and I’ll be your server today. Can I start you out with something to drink?” In my mind, I did a celebratory dance that I’d opened my mouth and said my lines, all without drooling.
Ryan looked up and it took everything in me to not gasp. His eyes were breathtaking: long, thick eyelashes framing crystal blue irises that seemed to get even bluer and clearer as he gazed at me.
“Hi there, Alicia,” he said easily. “You haven’t waited on me before. I’m actually ready to order if that’s okay.”
“Of course,” I said, nerves turning my voice into a high-pitched squeak. I reached into my apron for my server book, but in my nervous haste I dropped it on the floor. It fell with a loud smack. “Oh, fuck me!” I said. Oh, fuck, did I just say that out loud?
“Are you all right?” He was smiling broadly and his eyes, those beautiful eyes, were laughing at me.
“Sorry, I guess both my pad and my mouth have a mind of their own today.”
Of course, the book had landed by his feet. I bent down and reached under the table, trying to not lose my balance or stick my ass too far over my head. I grabbed it and stood up quickly, red-faced and beyond embarrassed.
“It’s okay; I like a server who can swear like a sailor. In fact, I pay extra for it.” He winked and held out his hand to shake mine. “I’m Ryan Jensen.”
“Hi, I’m Alicia Brennan…which you know, because I already said that. At least the Alicia part. Not the Brennan,” I babbled, having apparently developed sudden onset aphasia. I took a breath and finally managed to ask, “So, what would you like for lunch?”
“My usual isn’t on the menu, but Deano knows to make it for me. Tell him I want my usual seafood special.”
Of course you do. “Okay. So if I say ‘Ryan wants the seafood special,’ he’ll know what I mean.”
“Exactly, Alicia,” he said with that shit-eating grin. Better he be amused by me than try to get me fired.
“Okay, cool.” I couldn’t wait to go back to the kitchen and ask Deano, our talented but surly chef, what the special was so I knew what to write down on the ticket. “And what would you like to drink?”
“I’ll take a Fulton. Sweet Child. You have that on tap, yes?”
“We do. Sixteen ounce or twenty-two?”
“Twenty-two,” he said easily.
“I’ll be right back with that.” I picked up his menu and practically ran back to the dessert area behind the dish room, where the servers hung out when we weren’t busy but weren’t on an official break.
“Holy shit,” Amber said when I walked in, holding my head to keep it from exploding. “He is fiiine.”
“Shit, did you see me fumble around out there like a rookie? Sweet Lord, it’s like I’ve never taken an order before.”
She peeked around the corner to take another look at him. “I’m guessing he’s used to women falling all over themselves around him. I wonder if he’s rich as well as beyond hot.”
“I don’t even want to think about that,” I moaned.
“You better get back out there. Maybe he’s single. Go stand at the bar and look cute.”
“Are you serious? I didn’t even take a shower this morning.” But she was right. It couldn’t hurt to go out there and be available; I could stand to look at him for the rest of my life. I took a moment to glance at my reflection in the beer cooler’s glass door to make sure I looked okay—my uniform of black pants and burgundy polo shirt was clean, I’d washed my apron the night before because I’d spilled soup on it during my last shift, and my newly highlighted hair looked good—then headed back to the bar.
Ryan had his phone out and was either texting furiously or playing a game. Whatever he was doing, he was concentrating hard on it. A lock of his hair had fallen down over his forehead and I was mesmerized by it. He looked up in that moment and caught me blatantly staring at him. I looked away as fast as I could, but not before I saw his intense expression relax back into the same smile he’d given me before. Blushing again, I grabbed both the regular and decaf pots and walked around to give refills.
My pager buzzed against my hip, signaling Ryan’s order was up. I went to the kitchen and gaped when I saw his plate. Make that plates. The Ryan Special was two butter-poached lobster tails with freshly prepared aioli and a half dozen scallops served on top of a bed of greens. It looked absolutely delicious, and I couldn’t understand why Deano hadn’t put it on the regular menu; it would be a bestseller. Just seeing it made me realize I was starving.
I set Ryan’s food in front of him, and he put his phone face down on the table. He looked at me, then at his food. He smiled and I couldn’t help but smile back. Ryan had an energy and charisma that went beyond his looks. He was hot, for sure, but I sensed that even if I hadn’t seen his face, I still would have known that there was something special in that booth.
“Looks delicious,” Ryan said, his eyes traveling up and down my body.
Did that just happen? I blushed furiously. This is getting ridiculous.
“Can I get you anything else right now?” I asked.
“Right now I’m good, but can you check back in a few minutes? I’m going out on the water today so I’ll be ordering some burgers to go.”
“Sure, no problem. Enjoy your meal.”
I busied myself with my other tables, while keeping one eye on Ryan. Whatever was happening on his phone was really stressing him out. He was clearly not happy. He was eating quickly and jabbing his thumb at the screen. I heard him sigh loudly—in frustration—at least once. When it looked like I wouldn’t be interrupting, I went back to his table with a menu and the water pitcher to refill his glass. I resisted the urge to ask what had him so stressed out, reminding myself my only business was whether or not his meal was satisfactory.
“How’s your lunch?”
“My lunch is just fine, Alicia. Thank you for asking.” The smile was back. “I have a question for you, though.”
“Did you need to look at the menu for your to-go order?” I asked, tipping the water pitcher to refill his glass.
“No, thank you. My question is personal.”
Caught off guard, I glanced up to look at him, which meant I took my eyes off what I was doing. The pitcher bumped his beer glass and tipped it over, spilling the remains of his beer—which thank God wasn’t much—onto the table and dripping into his lap.
“Oh, shit,” I swore. Again. “Oh my God, I am so sorry!”
Ryan picked up the glass and dabbed at his shorts with the napkin. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”
There went my tip. It had probably been a good one, too. “Let me get a towel.”
“No, don’t bother, it’s not that much.” He used his napkin to soak up the beer pooled on the table. Then, as if nothing had happened, he continued, “Like I said, I have a personal question.”
I took a steadying breath. “Sure, anything.”
“Can you sit, or is that not allowed?”
I looked around. All but one of my tables had paid and left. I slid onto the seat across from him, placing my server book on the seat next to me.
Ryan leaned forward. “Well, here’s what I’m wondering: what time are you done with your shift?”
“I’m not sure,” I said slowly. “I’m supposed to be done at nine, but I have to wait for my tables and cash out.”
“So, nine-thirty-ish?”
“Yeah, that’s probably about right.” My brain—and the rest of me—was reeling. What was happening? “Why?”
“I have a boat and offered to take some friends out on the lake today. It’s a couples’ thing, right? But the girl I was supposed to bring—not a girlfriend—just bailed on me.”
“That sucks,” I said. I thought, He has big bucks. The slips in the harbor were beyond expensive to lease; the boats to put in them even pricier. Pretty impressive for a guy who couldn’t be much, if any, older than me.
“Yeah, it does suck. It’s my boat and if I’m the only one without a date, I’m gonna look pathetic. So I was wondering if you wanted to come as my date.”
Somewhere in me, a red light was blinking, beeping, and whirling around like a siren on an ambulance. I was a nice looking girl, but sexy, probably rich, strangers did not come into my restaurant and ask me to go out with them after I’d dropped things, sworn, and spilled beer on them. That might happen on the Internet, but it didn’t happen in real life. He had to know countless women who’d drop what they were doing to be his date.
Ryan pushed his plate toward me. “Want a scallop?”
I shook my head, too busy having an out-of-body experience to eat.
He continued, “The party is going to start at four o’clock and go into the night.”
“But…I have work.” My mind calculated all the tips I’d lose. The hourly wage wasn’t anything to frown at, either, but like most restaurants, the biggest chunk of income came from the tips.
“Maybe you could find someone to cover for you?”
I nodded. Blake owed me a favor for bailing him out when he was hung over last week. I could get him to take my shift. “I’d lose out on all my tips, though.”
Ryan continued, “How much do you typically make in an evening here?”
I leaned back against the seat. “That’s kind of personal,” I said. But he didn’t seem to be asking in a judgmental way; he genuinely wanted to know. “Three hundred, on a good night. Sometimes as much as five.”
He tilted his head, considering. “You’d be doing me a far greater favor than you could possibly imagine, so I’ll pay you generously for your time.”
“I’m not sure…”
“I don’t mean I’d pay you like a hooker,” Ryan said quickly, misinterpreting my hesitation. “I have a lot of money at my disposal. And I like to have a good time with it and with my friends. And that’s all this is meant to be—a good time. You seem cool and nice and I think you’d fit in great with the group that’s going. I don’t expect anything other than for you to be with me as my date. You don’t even need to give me your number afterward—wait. That sounded bad. You can give me your number, or you don’t have to, whatever you like.”
I smiled, glad I wasn’t the only one who tended to babble when nervous. It made him even cuter. There were worse ways to spend an evening, like trying, and failing, to start another book. And the truth was, I could use some extra money.
“As long as you don’t expect me to put out,” I smiled.
“God, no, I would never—” he stopped, realizing he could get into just as much trouble for acting like he wasn’t at all interested in sleeping with me as he would be for offering to buy sex from me.
“I was kidding,” I said. “So, how much are you thinking?” Hey, if we were doing business here, we were doing business. It had to at least cover the money I’d get from tips.
“I’ll pay you a thousand dollars,” he said evenly.
Fucking Christ. That was a lot of money. More than two or three nights of tips. Five car payments. Two months of rent. I mentally spent that thousand dollars in ten different ways before I even took my next breath.
“That’s a lot of money to bring me out onto the water. Are your friends lepers or something?”
Ryan burst out laughing. “No, they’re not lepers.”
“Drug dealers? Is there gonna be a raid?”
“No dealers will be present this afternoon.”
“Strippers? Are you bringing me into some huge orgy thing?” I was mock serious, trying to have a little fun with this, realizing that this could be a really amazing opportunity. And, I wasn’t too worried about danger, but just in case, I’d text Andrea, my best friend, and let her know where I’d be. Done and done.
“Definitely no strippers. I got into so much trouble for that last time.” Ryan winked at me and grabbed a scallop. He popped it into his mouth and wiped his fingertips on his beer-soaked napkin. “Let’s be honest; you poured beer on me. I think you owe me.”
He was probably right.