Life of the Party (Wayward #1)

CHAPTER 7

My heightened pulse had nothing to do with waiting on tables, alone, for the very first time. It had nothing to do with trying to remember menu choices and prices and customer needs. I wiped my sweaty palms on my sleek black skirt and tried to breathe normally. My anxiety had nothing to do with waitressing and everything to do with him.

He was there. After all my scheming and waiting and new-jobbery, he was finally there, behind the narrow slit of a window dividing the kitchen from the waitress area. I snuck another glance at him. All I could see was the blue fabric of his bandana as he bent down at the line. Then he lifted his head, and Grey’s heartbreakingly handsome face became visible, the deep tone of his skin darkened by a few day’s growth of stubble. His blue eyes were narrowed as he worked, his hair pulled back in a blue bandana tied around his forehead. Even in the black and white checked kitchen attire—messy with pizza sauce and who knows what else—he was gorgeous.

His sleeves were rolled up, showing dark, tan forearms firm with muscle. The apron he wore hinted at slender hips, outlined his hard torso, implied the defined muscle beneath. It was all I could do not to openly drool at him, to grovel at his feet and offer him a lifetime of servitude in exchange for a smile, a touch.

I patted my hair in place, took a deep breath, and approached the window. My table wanted extra garlic bread. It was the perfect excuse to talk to him.

“Excuse me.” I cleared my throat, watching him expectantly. His head barely lifted, barely acknowledged me, but just the feel of his blue eyes against my own was enough to make my heart race even faster.

“What.” He looked back down at his work .

“Um…can I get some more garlic toast, for table thirteen?” I asked nicely.

He looked up at me again, a slight smile bending his perfect lips. He raised his eyebrows and leaned in closer to me. I focused on breathing.

“See this?” Grey asked, his voice low, like velvet. He held up an order sheet.

“…Yes…” I smiled.

“Take this. Take your pen, write one garlic toast. ” He did exactly that, talking deliberately, carefully, like I was slow. “Put it on the puck, like this…” He demonstrated, stabbing the order sheet roughly on the nail. “Then you wait, and I go back there and put it in the oven. And when it’s done, I bring it out to you. Okay?”

“Oh…okay…” I stammered stupidly.

“There’s no need for this.” He motioned between us with his hand. “There’s no need for us to talk. Ever. Can you remember that?”

I nodded, dumb with shock, my cheeks blazing red as I backed away from the window. Trying to put some distance between me and his sudden, unexpected scorn.

I could hear him chuckling behind the counter, and at the sound, my mortification turned swiftly to anger. Clearly, I remembered Grey at the club (I’d thought of little else since)…the smiles he’d given me, the way we’d laughed and talked together. Maybe our moments hadn’t been as special as I thought. Maybe I was that forgettable.

Either way, I’d show him. He couldn’t be such a dick and get away with it.

Quickly and impetuously, I stormed back to the counter, hastily scribbled:

“ Screw you!” on an order sheet and stabbed it on the puck. Then I rang the bell beside it as hard as I could, the poor instrument protesting with a loud, tinny clang that instantly got Grey’s attention. He swung around again from the oven, and the moment my eyes rested on his handsome, perfect face, I’d completely forgiven him and wanted to take it all back. What was I mad about? I couldn’t seem to remember.

He kept his icy blue eyes on me, a small smirk on his lips, and reached to retrieve the order. His eyes scanned the page for what seemed like an eternity.

I grimaced at my own stupidity. Surely, this would make him hate me forever.

Grey raised his eyebrows, and then he glanced at me. His blue eyes were…surprised? Amused? I couldn’t tell. Then, he chuckled slightly, shook his head, and a smile broke over his perfect lips.

I didn’t want him to see my utter relief at his reaction. With an effort to seem completely calm and in control, I shook my head at him, as if the whole thing were totally immature and beneath me, and then stalked out of the waitress area.

I could hear Grey chuckling again from behind the counter. This time I didn’t mind .

The night continued. It was Charlie and I, alone—but I didn’t mind it. Charlie knew what she was doing, and albeit lazier than Sophie, the slower pace was a nice change. She was wearing a dress that night, low-cut and white with little pink flowers on it. Her wild blonde curls were half-up, half-down, her makeup done to a tee.

She looked gorgeous. I couldn’t help admiring her.

Charlie caught me staring. She smiled and outlined her outfit. “It helps with the tips.” She admitted. “You should try it. Not that you don’t look good. I like your skirt.”

“Thanks.” I looked down at myself, at my bright pink turtleneck and black pencil skirt. My dark curls tumbled down from a loose ponytail, and I wore comfortable, practical black skater shoes.

I smiled at Charlie, I couldn’t help it. I wanted to hate her, I really did, but she was so…beautiful. So damn cool. I couldn’t help but want her approval, her compliments.

“I like your style.” She confessed. Her pink lips smiled at me. “Sometimes, though, a little cleavage, it goes a long way.”

Near the end of our shift, I saw the proof. Her styrofoam cup was loaded with change, five-dollar bills mixed into the coins. Mine was full too, but nowhere near hers. I considered her advice. It might be worth it.

Grey ignored me the rest of the night. Well, mostly. Once, we happened to look up at the same time, and our eyes met, and he gave me the most genuine smile. It lasted only briefly before he went back to his normal stoicism, but I was overjoyed. Like I’d made some progress, however small.

When the OPEN light was finally shut off, the staff gathered out front again for coffee and cigarettes. I joined Riley at his table but sat so Grey was in plain view. He had changed into dark jeans and a long-sleeved grey shirt; his leather bracelets were back, his hair messy out of the confining bandana. The breath caught in my throat just looking at him, even from afar. The guys with him were laughing, flicking their cigarettes messily at the ashtray. I was surprised to recognize both the guitar player and the drummer from Serpentine, Grey’s band.

“I didn’t know they worked here, too,” I whispered to Riley, motioning with my eyes. He turned briefly to look over his shoulder, popping his gum as he did so.

“Who, Zack and Alex? No, they don’t work here. They work at the lumberyard downtown. They’re always around, though, scamming free food and stuff. They’re in Grey’s band, and Roger doesn’t seem to mind.”

“Who is this Roger? I keep hearing about him, but I’ve never seen him. He didn’t even hire me. That Mark guy did.” I nodded towards the spiky-haired blonde trying to wrestle a cash-out slip from the register. He was young, maybe twenty-seven or thirty, with a healthy obsession for eighties rock. Even now, Cheap Trick could be heard playing somewhere in the back of the kitchen.

“Don’t worry, you’ll meet him.” Riley chuckled mirthlessly. “Roger always insists on meeting the new waitresses personally.”

I raised my eyebrows at his ominous words, too distracted to pry further. I was dying for a cigarette, and watching Grey and his friends smoke wasn’t making it easier.

“Go ahead, Zee.” Riley smiled. “You can smoke. It’s okay.”

“What are you, reading my mind now?” I chuckled, reaching gladly for my cigarettes.

“Nah, you’re just too damn predictable.”

“Is it hard, though?”

“No. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay.” I knew Riley was lying, but I was desperate. I tried to keep the smoke from reaching him and inhaled happily, glancing at Grey and his friends again over Riley’s shoulder. They seemed to be planning out their next gig.

I paid close attention, trying to hear the date of their next show.

“So, how’d it go anyway?” Riley wondered quietly, noticing my interest in the table behind him. “With Grey.” He clarified. “The reason you got this job, remember? How’d it go?”

I smiled sheepishly, filling Riley in on the whole shameful “screw you” story, my voice quiet so we wouldn’t be overheard. He was laughing by the end of it, shaking his head at my foolishness.

“Leave it to you, Mackenzie. Grey’s a jerk to everyone here; some days are worse than others. It takes a while to warm him up. Most people accept it and ignore him. Not you, though.” He shook his head again, chuckling mirthlessly.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Riley muttered. “I bet you made an impression, that’s all.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” I argued, but at the same time, I desperately hoped so. I blew my smoke out and glanced at Grey’s table again. He and his friends were immersed in conversation, a serious one, by the looks of it. I watched carefully, wishing Grey would look at me again.

“You made an impression. Of course you did.” Riley sighed quietly in his chair.

I was aware of his eyes on me, but was too busy looking at Grey to acknowledge him.