Chapter 4
Say you’re fucking sorry. Now
“Table seven,” George called.
I balanced the heavy tray stacked with baskets of chicken wings and onion rings, two sides of Southern fries, pitchers of beer, and three glasses of water over my shoulder and threaded my way through the patrons to serve the food.
Lola’s was the typical outside-campus pub.
Exposed brick walls, worn wooden floors, white-painted open-beam ceiling, and baskets of roasted peanuts in the shell on each table.
Square wooden tables with red vinyl-covered chairs mingled with brushed stainless-steel bar-height ones ringed by black-topped stools, scattered across the room.
Six giant flat-screen televisions occupied the walls, including one just above the liquor shelves behind the bar.
Pool tables were set in the far corner, nestled between two half-circle booths and the hallway that led to the storage room and restrooms. Black-and-white signed framed pictures of athletically gifted students who attended Crestwood University and frequented Lola’s over the years covered a full wall.
The scent of stale beer and cooking oil filled the air, so overpowering you could almost taste it.
A playlist of country and classic rock played softly from ceiling-mounted speakers and could be heard when the place sat empty.
Otherwise, it got drowned out by the loud chatter of the patrons.
I fixed what I hoped was a genuine smile on my face as I neared table seven.
The guy sitting on my right wolf-whistled, and I offered him a raised eyebrow along with my most do not even try expression as I unloaded the tray and placed the orders in the middle of the table.
“What’s your name, ma jolie?” he asked, which translated from French as sweetheart or pretty girl.
This was the part of the waitressing job I hated.
Where guys acted as if I was an item on the menu.
It always took me back to high school and that time when Nathan Bellevue had asked me to spread my legs against his truck to thank him for taking me out to dinner the night before.
I ignored the jerk’s comments, pouring draft beers into the glasses.
“Did someone eat your tongue, or can I be the one doing the honors?”
The sound of his voice alone grated on my nerves.
“Don’t be a jerk, Nichols,” another guy sitting opposite him said.
“Anything else I can get you?” I asked, positioning the empty tray before me, using it as a shield. My Lola’s uniform wasn’t revealing, but tonight it made me feel as if I were naked from the way he stared at me.
“You. In my bed. Riding my big, hard cock,” Nichols, as his friend called him, said, with a shit-eating grin. “And then you, on your knees, begging me to feed you my dick for dessert.”
“Whoa, isn’t it a bit presumptuous of you to think you’re such a catch?
No doubt you’re still single if these are the pickup lines you use on girls.
For your information, I’m not interested in a pig like you.
Offer to feed me—or any other waitress—your pathetic excuse of a dick once more and you’ll end up with your ass on the sidewalk and be banned from coming here for the foreseeable future. ”
I heard an “Ohhh” from my right but didn’t let it stop my rant.
“What will it be, Nichols?” I was unable to resist calling him out in front of his friends.
“Will you start respecting me, or do you want Damon, the guy with big biceps and a don’t mess with me expression standing by the bar, to kick you out and ban you from returning?
” I tipped my hip forward, waiting for his answer.
If I hadn’t grown some spikes since leaving my hometown, I wouldn’t have lasted working at Lola’s for more than a day. College kids my age could be downright gross when they put their minds to it.
Nichols puffed out his chest, trying to look like the real deal in front of his friends and not like someone who’d just gotten served his balls on a platter by a girl.
“I won’t let you intimidate me, ma jolie,” he continued.
“I know my value. You would never get me thrown out of this place, because you’re aware you’d miss out on so much if you did.
Let’s start over. Just gimme your number, and we’ll go from there.
What time is your shift ending? Unless you’re too enthusiastic about being rammed from behind and can’t wait.
In that case, we can sneak off somewhere more private during your break.
Oh, and by the way, I didn’t catch your name.
” His gaze shifted to my name tag, but I lifted the tray to hide it from his view.
“You know what? Don’t tell me. I prefer not knowing the name of every girl choking on my giant dick. It kinda kills the fantasy.”
“Tell me, Nichols, are you blind?”
“I sure am not, ma jolie.”
“I couldn’t care less about you and your dick, which, according to your level of cockiness here, is probably a teeny-tiny, little asparagus.
” I raised a finger and folded it in two.
“Guys who talk about their junk usually have nothing to brag about.” I made a face.
“Sorry to deliver the sad news to you. Now, can we change the subject? I’m done discussing your probably non-existent private parts.
Had I known it would be the hot topic tonight, I would have brought a magnifying glass with me to help you find it.
” I scanned the table filled with football players gaping at me with slack jaws and wide eyes and kept my face straight. “Anyone needs anything else?”
“Whoa. Hold on a sec.” Seriously, this guy was stupid. Couldn’t he read nonverbal cues and understand simple words? “I love tigresses dressed in sexy clothes. They’re the wildest between the sheets.”
I snorted. As if my denim skirt and black Lola’s T-shirt could even be considered remotely sexy.
“You and I gotta get in bed together. I predict fireworks.” He pointed at his crotch.
“Want to feel how much effect you have on me? I’m sure you’ll change your mind when you feel what I pack in these jeans, ma jolie.
Here, gimme your hand, I’ll let you pet the beast. Maybe you’ll succeed at taming it… or not.”
He winked and lifted his hand to my arm, but before I had time to sidestep or throw a beer in his face, a presence lurked behind me, and Nichols’s smile dropped. His throat worked, and he looked uncomfortable, leaning back and keeping his hands to himself.
Without even looking over my shoulder, I could tell who stood inches behind me. Just like the other night, the hair on my arms stood on end. My breaths accelerated. Only one person could provoke such a visceral reaction from me.
I would recognize his scent—driftwood and pine—and overpowering energy anywhere.
A shiver traced my back.
I tried to stay indifferent to the prickling on my skin but failed. Without even touching him, I could feel him all over my flesh.
This was not how I had imagined our reunion after not seeing him—not really seeing him—for eight months.
“Lost your tongue, Nichols?” I asked, using my most sassy tone. “I thought you had balls seconds ago.”
Mason didn’t resist immersing himself in the conversation, as if I still needed him to save me nowadays.
“Evan, you say another word, and my fist will connect with your jaw, and your sorry ass will be out of commission for weeks. I don’t care if you’re one hell of a cornerback.
” His words were clipped, his tone lethal. “Say you’re fucking sorry. Now.”
Nichols blinked, not sure whether it was a game or not. His gaze traveled back and forth between Mason, who was still standing behind me, and me.
“I said fucking now,” Mason repeated. I didn’t have to look at him to feel the tension rolling off him. I could picture the corded forearms, those I admired whenever he did manual work or played ball, and the tense stance, ready for a fight—or to defend my honor.
I felt his heat spreading all across my back.
His breath caressed the nape of my neck.
I clenched my jaw. Why was my body still so receptive to him? It’d been a long time since I walked out of his life, and yet, suddenly, it felt like I never had.
At that moment, I missed him more than I had in the last eight months and seven days since our friendship fell apart.
I remembered it all. It came rushing over me like a tsunami of memories and regrets.
I recalled how nice and collected he usually was and how intimidating and unapologetic he could become when threatened.
Nichols cleared his throat. “Huh, I’m…sorry?” It sounded more like a question rather than an apology. “People, I know my ass is kinda magnificent, and it’s easy to get obsessed with my physical attributes, but can you all stop threatening to kick it to the curb, please?”
“Try again,” Mason said, his voice sharp and lacking any traces of amusement. “Drop the humor. You’re not even funny.”
Nichols frowned. “Are we still talking about my ass here?”
Mason growled and stepped closer to me, the heat of his body enveloping me, and added, “Your apology. Do better.”
Nichols rolled his eyes and sighed. “Lady, I’m sorry for what I said.”
“That’s the best you can do?” Mason asked through gritted teeth. “Nichols, I swear…” From his tone, I could tell he was getting agitated. How could I read him so well after all this time without even looking at him? My pulse accelerated, and goose bumps blossomed across my arms.
“Lady, I’m sorry for the dick comments. I was being a dick…
while talking about how you should suck my dick.
Double dick. See what I did now? A pun.” His gaze shifted past me, and his humor died down.
“It was not cool of me to talk to you like you’re some side piece I wanna fuck, and I apologize.
” He nodded and cast a glance down, his focus now solely on the plate of food in front of him.