Chapter 9
Billie
It’s been a while since I’ve been out on a date, and I spend a ridiculous amount of time trying to decide what to wear.
I was almost late to work, I spent so much time digging through the two suitcases that house my wardrobe.
I hung a few dresses in Bodi’s closet, but my suitcases live on the floor of his room, so I have to be careful to get my stuff the night before since I’m usually up before him.
The current living situation is fine short-term, but I need more privacy and somewhere to put my stuff.
Bodi and I talked and he said we’d make a decision about what to do once the season is over since it’s just a few months.
He doesn’t want to kick Rome out, and I wouldn’t allow that anyway, but it’s impossible to know what will happen in the off-season as far as trades and such, so we’re in a holding pattern.
And today’s dilemma was frustrating.
I settled on black leggings with crisscross cutouts going down the side of each leg, a form-fitting red sweater that shows off my figure but is long enough to cover my backside, and black knee-high boots with a small heel.
It’s been chilly this week, so I grabbed a black suede blazer at the last minute and I’m glad I did as I walk up to the restaurant.
The lot was overflowing and I had to drive four blocks away to find street parking. The place is hopping and it’s a good thing Nita is expecting me because the line is out the door and down the block.
“Hey.” Rome walks up at the same time I do, and I take a moment to drink him in.
Damn.
He’s wearing black jeans, a red Henley, a black leather jacket, and black biker boots.
And I want to walk up and wrap my arms around him. Maybe lick him and tell him he’s mine.
I don’t, of course, but I want to.
“We’re twins,” I say instead.
He looks me up and down and nods. “It looks so much better on you than me.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“As long as it gets me past this line.” He glances down the street. “This is nuts.”
“It is. But we have an in. Come on.” I walk inside and stride past the line to the hostess stand. “Hi. I’m Billie Michener. Nita said she’s reserved a table for me?”
The teenage hostess grins. “She did. Follow me!”
She leads us to a booth in the back where it’s a little quieter, but the place is amazing.
Elvis’s “Jailhouse Rock” is blasting on the jukebox, there are waiters and busboys skating back and forth like pros, carrying trays of food, dirty dishes, menus, and more.
Every table is full and from a brief look around, it appears that everyone is having fun, young and old alike.
Rome whistles quietly. “She’s done an amazing job with this.”
“It’s awesome,” I breathe.
“Welcome.” A good-looking guy wearing jeans, sneakers, and a white T-shirt with a pack of cigarettes rolled into one sleeve, greets us with menus and water. “I’m Wade and I’ll be your waiter tonight. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Light beer?” Rome asks.
“Coming right up.”
“Just water for me,” I say.
Rome cocks his head. “Do you drink?”
“Yes, but not when I’m driving. It’s Bodi’s thing, but honestly, it’s probably the safest idea.”
He nods. “My limit is one when I’m driving.”
“Good to know.”
We smile at each other over our menus.
“The food list is extensive,” he says after a moment. “It has all the staples—burgers, fries, and milkshakes—but there’s also a decent wine list and options for a more refined palate.”
“Yes.” I scan the menu thoughtfully.
This will take a while to learn, but it’s exciting because despite the fun, casual fifties theme, the menu portrays a seriousness that will bring people in for more than the atmosphere.
“Are you ready to order?” Wade asks, dropping off Rome’s beer.
“I’ll have the chicken parm,” I say. “And a side salad with blue cheese.”
“Got it. And for you?” He turns to Rome.
“I’d like the meatloaf. No green beans. Can I substitute a salad for that?”
“Sure thing.”
“With oil and vinegar.”
“Coming right up.” Wade skates away and I watch ruefully.
I really don’t know if I can do this.
I haven’t been on skates of any kind since the accident and now that I see the level of proficiency needed, I’m not sure I’m up to the task. My leg is healed but there’s occasional stiffness, so it worries me a little. Even though the doctor said I could do anything I want now.
“What’s wrong?” Rome seems to be studying me as carefully as I’m taking in our surroundings.
Am I ready to open up about the one lingering piece of trauma from the accident?
I’m past most of the emotional stuff, beyond an occasional nightmare, but the physical part is harder.
From the outside looking in, I’m fine. I don’t limp, the scars have faded so you really have to look to see them, and I’m not scared I’m going to wreck every time I get behind the wheel.
Skating is something else entirely.
“You okay, babe?” His voice is soft, less gruff than usual, and filled with concern.
“This is probably a dumb question, but do you know how to roller skate?” I ask absently, still staring out at the busy restaurant floor.
“Uh… sure.” He seems caught off-guard. “It’s been years but I used to play in a floor hockey league in the summers. Why?”
“I haven’t been on skates, roller or ice, since the accident.”
He hesitates, but a waitress skates by holding a huge tray, and I can see the wheels turning the moment it clicks
“Bodi told me you used to be a figure skater.”
I nod, looking away because the last thing I want to see is pity.
“Rome!” A loud voice makes us both jump and my chest tightens as a beautiful woman of about thirty approaches our table holding out her arms to Rome.
“Hey, Nita.” He gets up and hugs her and the urge to strangle her quickly fades.
“Hi! You must be Billie.” She hugs me too. “Athena told me so much about you—and it’s good to see you too, stranger!” She gives Rome a playful shove.
He laughs. “You too, Nita.”
“It’s been forever, but I’ve followed your career. I’m glad you’re back in California.”
“Yeah… earthquakes, mudslides, and fire, oh my!”
We all laugh.
“It’s the greatest city in the world,” she says, “but there are some drawbacks, I guess.”
“Not for you. Looks like you’ve got an incredible thing going here.”
“I do.” She’s momentarily serious as she looks around. “It’s been a whirlwind but I might have finally found my passion.”
“Restaurants in general, being in food service, being around crowds of people, or some other aspect?” he asks.
“I think a combo of all of the above. I like to cook but I’m not a chef. I have a head for business but the ones I’ve run in the past bored me. This one seems to bring all of my passions together.”
“Well, that’s why it’s so successful,” I interject softly. “Look around—this place is screaming passion and success.”
She turns, surprise flickering across her features. “I never thought of it that way—thank you. And you’re hired.”
We all laugh.
“I’m serious,” she says. “The fact that you’re friends with Rome and Athena tells me all I need to know about your character, you’re very pretty—which the customers like—and you seem to have some intuition about the business. What else should I be looking for?”
I grimace nervously. “Well, the truth is, it’s been years since I’ve been on skates, Nita. I really want to work here but I need to make sure I get my feet under me first.”
“Oh.” She pauses. “Yes, that’s an issue, but just let me know. I can put you in a training class as early as next week but you do have to be confident on skates.”
“Just give me a few days to test it out and I’ll call you.”
“Absolutely.” She hugs us both again and then she’s gone, pulled in twenty directions.
“She’s a force of nature,” I say. “And I mean that in a good way.”
“She’s always been this way. If we were going to run a summer lemonade stand, she was the one who added the strawberry lemonade option to make us different—and charge fifty cents more.”
I chuckle. “That sounds about right.”
“You were trying to ask me something about skating,” he says after a moment.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat and take a sip of water. “Like I said, I haven’t skated since… the accident. I broke my femur in two places and needed multiple surgeries to put it back together.”
“You don’t have a limp or anything.”
“No. I’m fine. Bodi made sure I did all the physical therapy, but we were on our way home from a skating competition and…” I sigh heavily. I hate talking about this.
I went through it a million times in therapy and I’ve come to terms with it, but I still don’t like dredging it up.
“I’d performed badly. Just wasn’t a good night for me and my parents were trying to console me.
I yelled at them, the way only a hormonal teenage girl can, and I slumped down in the back, refusing to talk to them.
Five minutes later a drunk driver went over the line and hit us head on.
The doctors said that’s the only reason I survived.
Because I was slumped down in the back.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.”
I swipe at unfamiliar tears—I haven’t told the story in so long because it always makes me cry. “So when I was finally better, Bodi tried to get me on the ice and I refused. I literally couldn’t bring myself to do it. It’s the one thing he’s never been able to talk me into.”
“Okay, so there are other jobs. I’m sure you can find?—”
“No.” I quickly cut him off. “I want to do this. I have to do this.”
“Okay.” He fixes his blue eyes on me intently. “What can I do to help?”
“Will you go down to Venice Beach tomorrow after the game and skate with me?”