Chapter 3 - Bertie the Waiter.
Well, that went well … Not! Jesus Christ.
Dear future me, you have weird taste in women, and crazy is not always best. Try to settle down with someone who smiles for a change.
Strutting across the street, I can’t help but smile. She is completely insane. So, why, oh why, did I enjoy that brief time with her. I mean, hate isn’t a big enough word to describe how she feels about me. She was right about one thing, though—the suit. It is way too hot to be wearing one, but she isn’t the one wearing it. She’s just plain rude.
Am I really that bad? Max reacts the same way around me. Note to self: Speak with Logan and see what he thinks.
A horn blaring jolts me from my thoughts, so I turn in its direction. My heart jumps to my throat as the brakes screech and the taxi comes to a stop a slither from my kneecaps. The driver throws his arm out the window, flipping his middle finger and shouting profanities at me.
“Sorry man, my bad!” I shout before turning and running across the road.
As I’m about to enter the café, I hear a female shouting, and spin around. Pearl is inches from the cab driver”s face, her face red, and she’s gripping his shirt in her hands while screaming, “You could have killed him, you twat. Green means go, red means stop. Those lights were red.”
Wow! what a woman.
Running back toward them, worry crawls through my body. Little British bulldog here doesn’t know New York and is asking for trouble sticking her nose into something she was not a part of.
“Pearl!” I shout as I pull her hand away from his shirt. “Let’s go, now.” My firm tone snaps her out of her rage, then she lets go and interlocks her fingers with mine.
“Sorry, babe, this guy nearly killed you.” She throws her thumb in his direction. Still trying to process the sweet tone in her voice when calling me babe, I nod toward the café. Painfully aware of the ten horns now honking at us for holding up traffic, I pull her across the road.
“You’re fucking crazy,” I mutter as I push open the café door and pull her in behind me.
“He could have really hurt you. I think what you are trying to say is thank you!” she yells, ripping her hand from mine, then wiping it down the front of her skirt like I contaminated her with a horrible disease.
Flabbergasted, I haul her forward by her lower back and bring her body flush against mine. Her breathing increases as her chest heaves.
She likes this game.
“Thank you?” I say, my voice darker than usual.
“Yes,” she whispers, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, and her gaze meets mine.
I drop my head a fraction lower, so our mouths are nearly touching. “Thank you, darling.” I say, then grab her hand and pull her to an empty table before she can change her mind.
“Hi, I’m Bertie. Welcome to the Bean There Café, I will be your server today. What would you like to order, might I suggest—” I cut Bert off with a flick of my hand. He does this shit every time my friends and I come in here. He knows exactly who I am and how much I hate when he goes on and on.
“Hey Bert, I will have my usual please, and you?” My eyes meet Pearl’s, her face back to its normal pale complexion and her scowl firmly back in place.
“I would like to hear what Bertie was going to say before you so rudely interrupted him,” she snaps, then smiles up at him before gesturing for him to continue.
Who the fuck does she think she is? Well, she wants the rest of Bertie’s speech, she’s got it.
Death by cafe menu, here we come.
Bert pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and a silly grin pulls at his lips. “Okay, might I suggest the pecan pie with a mug of our homemade hot chocolate, or if you’re after something more refreshing, a scoop of our award-winning lemon sorbet paired with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice …” I have heard this speech so many times in the last year and a half that I can recite it word for word, and I find myself mouthing his speech along with him.
Pearl bites her lip, holding back a laugh while wiggling her eyebrows at me, then to Bert. I am certain he is living his best life right now.