Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
A bachelor party hoots in the corner as I enter the sports bar the next night. They’re the only customers in here. Why the casino packs two waitresses in what’s generally a customer dead zone is beyond me, but I’m happy to escape Mont Belle Lounge for one evening.
Nessa tucks a few bills in her caddy and spots me, a bright smile lighting her face. Several men from the bachelor party ogle her ass as she walks my way.
She sets her tray on the counter. “Hey. How are you?”
My first instinct is to panic. She knows. But Nessa can’t know about Drake. First of all, there’s nothing in her tone to indicate that she does. Second, I haven’t told anyone, and for some reason, I trust Lewis won’t either.
Cali left town before I returned from work last night. She texted that she’d be at her mom’s in Carson City. We didn’t get a chance to talk after our fight—which means I didn’t get a chance to tell her about Drake. Without Cali’s support, I feel doubly vulnerable.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” I tell Nessa, and grab a Styrofoam cup from the bar.
I pour coffee, adding a packet of processed hot chocolate.
We get creative when business slows, and making use of the various bar supplies seems a good utilization of time.
“You know, about stepping out of my comfort zone?” Nessa glances up with interest. She follows my lead and pours her own bastardized mocha. “Have you heard of the Alpine Mudder?”
After registering for the race, I researched it.
I’ll need to train if I’m to have any hope of surviving.
Normally, the mudder isn’t a race, but a physical challenge for those wishing to torture—I mean, test—their mental and physical endurance.
This year’s Alpine Mudder costs more to enter and provides cash prizes to top finishers.
The leftover proceeds go to a national charity.
Typically, people participate in the mudder to have fun, but with cash prizes within grasp, pro triathletes have entered and the number of participants has doubled.
The shift from challenge to competition has blogs blowing up, and there’s talk of increased security to keep participants safe from overzealous competitors.
I’m trying to not think of all that. I want to do something that will make me stronger, more capable, and the mudder seems a good fit.
Nessa’s face lights up. “Yeah! Are you thinking about doing it? That would be perfect. The guys did it last year. It’s pretty hard-core though. They came back looking like hell, except for Lewis. The mud somehow added to his hotness ad he looked rugged.”
My throat constricts and I blink off a wave of emotion.
Lewis can’t be in the race this year. I need the Alpine Mudder to toughen me up.
I can’t do that if I’m stumbling around, my concentration impaired.
Putting aside the fact that his presence zaps my coordination, Lewis has seen some of my weakest moments, and that makes me emotionally raw.
But I can’t explain any of this to Nessa without outing my feelings for Lewis. “Cool, yeah, so I’m doing it, but I’m looking into how to train.”
“You should talk to Zach. He and Lewis trained together last year. Lewis ended up doing really well.” Her face scrunches.
“He finaled, or won—something like that. Anyway”—she grabs the cup from my hand and sets it on the counter, gently pushing me toward the casino floor—“go see Zach while it’s slow. I’ll cover for you.”
She rests her elbow on the edge of the bar, waiting patiently for me to leave, as if there’s no doubt I’ll ditch my station to seek advice about a rogue triathlon.
So of course I go.
I glance back nervously as I exit the sports bar. Nessa flitters her fingers above her head and saunters toward the bachelor party. “Say hello to Zach for me.”
I speed-walk across the casino, determined to make this quick.
Zach looks up as I near his blackjack pit. “It’s the hot dog girl!”
So not how I want to be remembered.
The customer in front of him turns and does a full body scope. Excellent. Really don’t want to know what that guy is thinking.
“Hey,” I say quietly, attempting to dampen the attention. “Nessa says hello.”
A wide smile spreads across Zach’s face as he clears cards. Why don’t these two just date? Zach obviously has a thing for her, though I’m not sure about Nessa… Then again, who am I to judge? I have a bad history when it comes to men and relationships.
He deals a new hand. “How are things in the sports bar?”
“There’s a bachelor party perving on Nessa. Other than that, it’s slow.”
Zach’s gaze goes flat and he stretches his neck as if he’s suddenly tense.
That was an immediate reaction. If he really likes Nessa, he should do something about it before another guy swoops in. She’s too pretty and wonderful to stay single for long.
“Do you have time to chat about the Alpine Mudder?” I ask, changing the subject. “Nessa said that you participated last year.”
Zach’s cheeks tighten into a deep grin, replacing the dark look that stole his features after I mentioned Nessa and the bachelor party. It’s not natural for him to be angry, which solidifies my belief that he has a thing for Nessa. “That was a blast,” he says. “I electrocuted my ass off.”
Yeah, I read about that online. Supposedly, there’s a field of electrodes. Nothing that could seriously harm, but still, what the hell?
Stepping out of the box, I remind myself.
The pit boss lays three new decks on Zach’s table. The one customer sitting there glances warily at them and knocks back a watered-down drink before leaving.
Gamers hate it when new decks come into play, or when a dealer is replaced. They think it ruins their luck.
“I’m glad to hear you enjoyed it, because I signed up,” I say. “It takes place in a few weeks and I’m trying to figure out how to prepare.”
Zach’s gaze cuts eagerly to me. “Some of the guys and I are doing it again. We’ll help you train. To start, you could probably get information on this year’s obstacles from Sallee Construction. On the down low, of course. You know who—”
The pit boss taps Zach’s shoulder.
Zach gives the man a knowing nod before his gaze returns to me. “Sorry, Gen. Talk later?”
“No problem.” I scribble the name of the construction company on my ordering pad. It couldn’t hurt to talk to them. I’m trying to not think about what other guys are participating with Zach this year, but I’m afraid I already know one of them.
I turn to leave—and freeze, my hand flying to my chest. Maryanne is standing two feet away and I’m in her section. She was nice last night with the Drake situation, but I don’t want to push my luck. Casino waitresses are highly territorial. I scan for a discreet escape route.
Before I make a run for it, a loud, nasally “Hi, Snoooww” blares from behind.
Amber, my least favorite waitress. She kept the high-paying table she should have handed over to me the one time we were stationed together in the lounge, and was all-around miserable to work with that night.
Amber stops a few feet away to talk to a change clerk—and to watch the fireworks she set off by blaring my nickname in front of Maryanne.
Maryanne glances between Amber and me, her expression puzzled. She has every right to chew me out for being here when I should be in the sports bar. Instead, she snaps back to hyper-multitasking mode: empty glass sweep, napkin placement, drink dispersion.
What? No set-down?
Not sticking around to question it, I move into the lane—
“Hold up, Snow.” Maryanne smiles at her customer as he hands her a tip. “You can have my tables at ten,” she says over her shoulder. “I need to leave early.”
Wait—what? She’s offering the tables that pour in a ton of money in tips? To me? Not one of the senior girls?
I take too long to respond, because Maryanne faces me, her expression pure exasperation. “Do you want ’em or not?”
“Yes. Of course. Thank you,” I say in stunted English.
I glance at Amber, who has paused in her conversation to gape at Maryanne.
She snaps her mouth shut and walks over.
“Uh, Maryanne, I can cover for you.” Her head twitches awkwardly as if she’s trying to refrain from cocking it like a pissed-off bird.
She looks down at me, even though I’m several inches taller. “I have more seniority than Snow.”
Maryanne counts her cash and winks at another customer. “Thanks, but Gen’s got it.” She speeds off, her short legs pumping in her cheap heels—the same ones I’m wearing.
Amber’s mouth purses and she glares at me before storming off to Mont Belle Lounge.
That was—I don’t even know what. Unbelievable? Brilliant?
Maryanne was the first waitress to haze me with the Snow White nickname. Now she’s calling me Gen and giving me her tables? And putting Amber in her place…
Wow. Just—wow.
I’m trying to not think about why she’d do that, and whether she feels sorry for me after the Drake incident. Pretty sure she knew something was up with him. But like that night when she offered to take the drinks to his party, I’m not going to question her generosity.
“She said that? Maryanne?” Nessa stares in disbelief after I relay the events.
“I can get someone else to cover her section if you think you’ll need me here tonight.” The bachelor party is rowdier than when I left. I don’t want to leave Nessa in the lurch, even if good tips are singing to me.
She shakes her head and waves me off. “I’ve got this.”
By the end of the night, I pull in a few hundred dollars working Maryanne’s blackjack tables—my best score to date.
Let’s hope my luck holds in the race. There is a five-thousand-dollar prize for first place down to one thousand for fifth place.
I’ll be lucky to finish the mudder, but if by some miracle I win something, it would go a long way toward building self-confidence and financial independence.
I refuse to sit back and let things happen to me. This time, I’m fighting for myself.