Bridgette
My shift at Okihana’s was almost done, just three more salt and pepper shakers to fill and I’d be out of here.
“Busy night, huh?” Miguel, one of my fellow servers asked and I nodded my head, finishing the last of the three and ensuring that the glass toppers were firmly secured.
We were sitting on the tall metal chairs by the bar and we often did this together because we pretty much had the same shift.
He often walked with me to my car when we closed, and he made me laugh with his corny jokes. He’d been my mentor when I started there, and his personality reflected the jovialness in his never-ending smiles.
Sometimes he talked to me in his mother’s language, Italian, and he made fun of our customers that way. It amused him that I looked like me and I spoke multiple languages. I’d told him he was being sexist, and his response to that was a napkin thrown at my face in a playful manner.
“Hmm…” Miguel said out loud. Most of the time we wrapped the silverware in silence. After a six to eight hour shift of taking orders, changing orders, and catering to customers, the last thing we needed to do was talk.
We decompressed by being quiet.
“Hmm what?” My brows raised in inquiry.
“Nothing.”
“Your tone sounds like it’s not nothing.” I placed the heart-shaped napkin I’d folded like a piece of origami art to join the stacks to my left. We folded these table decorations ahead of time so that the employees opening for the lunch hour didn’t have to bother with them. “Spill.”
“Sometimes I think you’re so clueless,” Miguel said, rancor absent from his voice. He sounded as if he was deep into an analysis of me.
I turned my head so I could watch him, “What? What did I do now?”
He often teased me that the customers could be giving me the explicit invitation to sleep with me or flirt with me and I’d just dismiss it and say, “Arigato.”
“I don’t think you know just how guys look at you.” Miguel’s dark brown eyes had a speculative look. He always gave me his honest opinions and even if I only worked here a few hours a week, we’d formed a friendship that I knew would last beyond our serving skills.
“Is this one of your ‘Brigette, the guy’s flirting with you and why don’t you see it’ talks?” I raised my fingers to air quote because he’d only said it more than a dozen times.
“No.” He shook his dark head and followed it with, “It’s my ‘Bridgette-Scott-Strauss-has-the-hots-for-you-and-you-are-clueless’ talk.”
“Whatever.” I decided now was not the time to indulge in Miguel’s vivid imagination. For an accounting major, he had quite an imagination. He often mentioned to me that men chatted with me to flirt with me. I often dismissed him because there was no truth to his statement.
Men saw me as their buddy or a woman they wanted to be friends with.
I’d gone on a couple of dates and at the end of the night, I’d exchanged numbers with them and they’d said we could hang out again…as friends.
I was okay with it.
I wasn’t rushing into a relationship.
Plus, going into one wouldn’t be a great idea right now.
“Bridge,” Miguel started, the people who were close to me shortened my name to a syllable. “Come on. Don’t tell me you didn’t see the way he was tracking you with his eyes.”
I thought someone was watching me as I walked table to table, but I also thought that it was a product of my overactive imagination, so I ignored the feeling.
“He’s with the latest Vogue sensation. How can he be interested in me? Plus, how do you know his name anyways?” I averted from the topic of Scott being interested in me. There was no way he would be. Especially when a woman that my mother would only be so lucky to hire was in front of him. Jaelin Carrera might be rude, but she had that ‘it’ presence. In a roomful of models, she’d stand out.
Miguel shrugged his shoulders, “Tsk. Strauss is only Michael Jordan’s reincarnate in football. Everyone knows him. You’d have to be living underground not to hear about the way he threw the Hail Mary last season for L.A. to clinch the playoffs. I can’t believe you didn’t see the way he was checking you out. Scott was basically chomping at the bit every time you approached his table. I saw it. Virgil saw it. Even Chyna made a comment about it.”
“What did Chyna say?” I wondered since our manager had to leave early because her twelve year old daughter had an event at school.
“She said that she didn’t know if she should feel sorry for him or for his date,” Miguel laughed, as he stood up.
I looked up at the wall clock on the far side of the restaurant; it was already 11:10. The place looked spic n’ span and everyone was huddling in their favorite corners and checking their phones. It was time to go.
Sam, our boss, appeared in the kitchen doorway and said, “Alright people. Good job tonight as always. See you tomorrow.”
A chorus of goodnight could be heard from the mouths of the twelve staffers and as I stood up, I said, “Scott wouldn’t pay attention to someone like me. Not when he has a ring of supermodels around him.”
Miguel lifted his right brow, “I can’t believe you’re not only clueless. You’re also kind of a dummy, Bridge.”
I shook my head and let his comment ride out.
Because even if there was a kernel of truth to his observation, I couldn’t acknowledge it in any way, shape, or form.
Not if I could help it.
Scott was taken.
And even if he wasn’t, my brother would be hurt if I carried on a relationship with him.
Bishop didn’t ask much from me.
But if he did, it would be something to the effect of, “Please don’t get involved with Kara’s ex.”
Bishop had gone through the ringer when Scott found out that Kara was dating my brother, even after they were broken up.
They were frat brothers, and they had rules about not dating ex-girlfriends.
Dumb rule if you asked me because how can you prevent someone from being attracted to somebody and block that attraction with a rule because she’s an ex-girlfriend of a frat brother? I rested my case because frat boys will be boys.
My brother and Scott had settled the score between them and I wouldn’t want to be a part of anything that rocked their friendship boat.
Bishop was living his dream of playing rugby on an international level.
I’d heard that Scott was proving to be quite the clutch quarterback, according to the sports stations that Evan liked to watch when he was hanging out in our apartment. The guy had an affinity for athletes in tight pants, and I was pretty sure Scott was on top of his to-do list.
Who could blame him?
It had been two years since I’d last seen him, but his effect on me hadn’t diminished by a nickel.
There was maturity in his green eyes that hadn’t been there before and his skin was darker, most likely from being under SoCal’s sun.
He’d been wearing a dark green dress shirt that was untucked against dark blue jeans that highlighted his eyes, and I could faintly outline the muscles in his chest.
He was a man who wore his clothes well. It didn’t matter if he was in a shirt, football uniform, or a suit. He labeled them as his and the effect was magnificent.
If there was any truth to what Miguel was saying, I didn’t grasp it because when I served Jaelin and Scott, they looked like a couple who enjoyed being with each other, aside from the initial awkward encounter when Jaelin didn’t ask nicely about the tea.
Scott had smiled at me quite a few times, but he never let on that anything was amiss, so I was able to carry on my server duties without a hitch.
Miguel’s voice was loud as he talked with Cami, one of the sous chefs, and when he nudged me with his head to walk in front of him as he opened the door for us I gave him a small grin.
I liked being around him, a friend who treated me as if I was just a normal college girl working at this place. He never acted differently towards me even when he knew that Bishop was my brother. Like Evan, Miguel was into sports and he may have been shocked the first time he saw my brother waiting for me after I was done with work, but his actions toward me didn’t change.
My brother was poised for athletic stardom, and I just wanted to be a girl who could run errands without the flashes of camera running around me, without the chains of fame clouding my every move.
I wanted to go to college in LA because Aunt Nina was here, but also because I was far from the world my mother crafted for me.
Twenty five hundred miles away from the palace that had become my prison might not be a lot, but to me, it meant the whole world.
I was free to explore everything around me, and the knowledge filled me with so much joy.
It was a feeling that I’d been chasing for my whole life.
And I never wanted it to go away.
“You gonna be okay here, amore mio?” Miguel asked, his voice was soft, but he was already busy tapping away on his phone. After work, he liked to hang out with his soccer friends at a bar, at a club, somewhere where there were women in abundance.
I eyed my white Toyota Prime and said, “I’ll be fine. Go.”
He didn’t have to walk with me, but like a good friend, he always did.
“You can always come with –“ His eyes lifted from his phone and his sentence went unfinished as I heard a voice behind me, “Bridgette.”
The tingles on my back made a reappearance.
Where did he come from?
Granted, I wasn’t really looking at every nook and cranny of the lobby that led to the parking garage, but he’d left with Jaelin over an hour ago. Shouldn’t he be busy doing something with her?
Scott held out his right hand, “I’m Scott. A friend of Bridgette’s.”
Hold up, he wasn’t technically a friend.
Just because I talked and laughed with him that one time seven hundred and thirty nights ago didn’t mean we were friends.
Miguel’s mouth was opened and a bee could have gone in and he would just swallow. He had the same expression when he met my brother eight months ago. “Miguel Sanfori. Bridge’s friend. Too.”
Scott chuckled and replied, “Cool.”
“Nice to meet you,” Miguel was saying, but his eyes held a dazed expression.
Men and the adoration they had for athletes.
Ridiculous.
I grabbed Miguel’s phone from his hand and moving my head from side to side, I asked Scott, “Would you mind taking a picture with Miguel?”
Scott’s green eyes twinkled in amusement. “Nah, it’s cool.”
Miguel, still in half-stupor, managed to say, “Man, you’re my favorite quarterback.”
I shook my head. Just last week, he couldn’t stop talking about the Eagles’ quarterback, the one who replaced a guy named Carson when he got injured. And the week before, he swore that he would worship at the altar of the Raiders’ QB. I wasn’t a football fanatic but I knew some of it; at least enough to get by when the topic came up in a conversation.
Scott’s shoulders shook, “Sure.”
I was pretty sure that he could see through the lie coming out of my friend’s mouth. Miguel didn’t wet his pants for Hollywood actors and actresses who frequented Okihana’s, but he looked like his legs were shaking at the mere presence of Scott.
After I took a burst of photos, Miguel said, “I, ah, gotta get going. I’d love to stay and chat but my buddies…”
I wish I could record the way my friend was acting so I could use it as a bribe later on when he was being mean to me.
Scott tapped Miguel’s left shoulder, “It’s alright. Bridgette will be fine with me. I’ll make sure she gets home safe.”
I could have vaporized and Miguel wouldn’t have noticed. He carried that star struck look on his face until he got inside his Chevy Camaro.
I couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of my friend.
No doubt that was all he was going to be talking to his buddies about, and as I was about to turn to the man standing inches beside me, the phone in my hand buzzed.
Ur d only supermodel in his eyes.
From Miguel, my buddy who had just waved as his car rounded in front of us to get to the exit.
I replied with a Whatever and placed the phone inside my LAMB purse, a quintessential work bag that I loved. Gwen Stefani knew how to embed function in fashion.
I swallowed a big gulp of air before my eyes landed on his tall frame. He was still in the clothes he’d worn on his date, but this time he had three of the top buttons unbuttoned, giving me a glimpse of a white shirt that he wore under the dress shirt.
“What are you doing here, Scott?” My voice was steady. Seeing him at my workplace gave me a chance to calm my nerves and even if he had the power to rob me of my breath, I wasn’t going to mince words. “Shouldn’t you be with your date?”
Both of his hands were inside the front pockets of his jeans and the vibe that he gave off was calm, but his eyes were darker in hue, much darker than what I’d seen earlier when he was dining with Jaelin.
“Does Bishop know you work here?” Out of the many questions he could have asked, he wasted it on that one.
“Yes. My brother’s not my keeper,” I answered, and tugged on the strap of my purse as I planted my shoes on the concrete. After a long night, I wanted to get home and soak in the tub. It was a small bathtub, but it helped a lot in loosening my tired leg muscles.
He gave a small nod and asked, “Can I talk to you?”
“About what? I don’t think we have anything to talk about…” I softened the edge in my voice. He didn’t deserve rudeness. I might be uncomfortable being around him because of the attraction I felt for him, but he didn’t deserve to be disrespected.
“Did you get my text?” His voice was unsure. “After the draft? Did you get it?”
On our way back to Westwood two years ago, he’d talked about his dreams of being in the NFL. That it would be the culmination of the hard work that he’d put in. That being hired by an NFL team would mean the world to him.
I listened to him because just being around him made my nerves go haywire, and I was scared that he was going to fall asleep.
But the main reason that I wanted him to keep talking was because I was fascinated with the way his lips moved and the way his eyes crinkled at the sides when he talked about something that made him happy.
I slowly nodded my head, “Yes.”
An expression that was unfamiliar to me passed through his face. “Then why didn’t you text me or call me? Did I do something wrong?”
No.
You did everything right.
And when you kissed my forehead, just the touch of your skin on mine made me want to ignite into a million nebulous pieces.
“We can’t be friends, Scott,” I said with vigor. I was tired from work and I felt the exhaustion of the day hang over my shoulders. “Since the last time we talked, I’m still Bishop’s sister. That hasn’t changed.”
A muscle became visible in his jaw and his eyes zoomed in on me, “Since the last time we talked, Rikko is still Kara’s brother.”
My brows rose to my forehead in question, “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You can be friends with my best friend, but you can’t be friends with me?” His question sounded more like a statement.
“It’s different between Rikko and I.” Rikko regularly texted me, and we had gone to lunch twice when our schedules matched.
“How is it different?” He posed, his beautiful emerald gaze challenging me. He looked like a tiger ready to pounce; I caught a glimpse of what he must look like when he was within the confines of the kingdom that he ruled, the football field where he was revered as a god.
I shrugged my shoulders, trying to portray indifference. “It just is.”
There was electricity crackling in the air and it wasn’t from the fluorescent lights that were scattered across the parking garage.
“How is it different, Bridgette?” He asked again, this time his voice was softer, yet the edge was still there.
I turned my back to him, refusing to let him see the sparks he ignited inside me. Sparks of desire that had remained dormant for so long and only appeared when he was around.
A strong hand grasped my waist and before I could react, I felt the stubble of his jaw caressing my cheek. I could hear the sounds of people talking nearby, but all of my attention was focused on the way his lips skimmed the top of my nose and as they lowered to my mouth, there was no way I could win the emerging battle between common sense and desire.
So I opened…
I opened my lips and slowly…
Ever so slowly…
My tongue touched his.