Her Forbidden Hero (3 page)

“Here, I’ll help.” Alyssa crouched in front of him, reaching around a box to retrieve a shard.

“Don’t,” he snapped.

She jerked back.

Marco clenched his fists, hating his jumpiness, his short-fused temper, his loss of control. “Why are you here?”

Alyssa brushed her hands on her thighs as she stood, then retreated from behind the bar.

He rose and faced her. She eyed him like he was an unpredictable animal. Good. “I just meant, what are you doing now? Why are you still in the bar?” He pressed his fingers into his temple. “I know Pete has you doing…” The word
paperwork
sat clear as day in his speech center but couldn’t find its way to his lips. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “So I didn’t think…” Damn, he couldn’t even manage to talk to her, could he? He raked a hand through his hair and sighed.

Alyssa wrapped her arms around herself. “Pete invited me to have lunch with some of the other employees so I’d be able to recommend things on the menu. Since I’m here and all.”

Pete stepped back into the bar area, a cell phone pressed to his ear and a broom in his free hand. “Why don’t you show Alyssa to the break room?” he whispered to Marco. “I’ll get this.”

Wiping his hands on a bar rag, Marco nodded. “This way.” An awkward silence weighed heavily on him as he led them through a series of halls to the break room located near the kitchen. Guilt and a ten-months-old sense of failure made his gut clench. He could at least try to make small talk, couldn’t he? “Heard from Brady?”

Alyssa looked at him, her brown eyes wide and uncertain. “He called the day I graduated. From somewhere. He sounded okay.”

What Marco wouldn’t give to be out there with him. But that life was done and over, and he had no one to blame but himself. “Good.”

“Yeah.”

Hell. He needed to fix this. Brady might’ve been his best friend, but Alyssa was still one of his oldest friends. He hated this awkwardness between them. “Still playing the guitar?”

She tucked a thick curl behind her ear. “Yeah, actually. And Brady sent me a new one for graduation. Wait till you see it.”

He loved that she was still into something he’d taught her years ago but hated himself a little more for not having sent something himself. Damn. “My little Aly-girl, a college graduate. Hard to believe.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips held the hint of a smile.

They walked into the break room and found a table of food and three guys already digging in. Everyone looked up from their plates and their collective surprise at his appearance in the break room was nearly a tangible thing. Making friends hadn’t exactly been his main objective. Then the men’s attention shifted and everyone gave Alyssa an appraising glance that made Marco want to put his arm around her. Was the V-neck cut of her shirt a little low or was it just him? He just barely resisted the protective gesture and instead forced himself to make introductions. “Guys, this is Alyssa Scott. Pete just hired her as a new waitress. Alyssa, this is Tommy, Eric, and Van.”

She grasped the back of the chair next to Eric. “Hey.” Eric rose and gestured to the chair. She stepped away and he pulled it out for her, both of their cheeks pinking as she sat.

Marco eyeballed Eric, groaning internally as he saw the awe settling onto the younger man’s face. Fucking perfect.

“Thanks,” she said. “So…what’s good?”

“Everything,” Van said, passing her a mixed plate of appetizers. “But then I’m biased.”

“Why’s that?” she asked as she accepted the plate.

“Because I’m the chef.” He winked at her.

She grinned. “That either means your opinion should receive extra weight or none at all.” She looked at the other guys. “Which is it?”

Her question hung in the air a moment, and then everyone started laughing and ribbing Van in turn.

It was totally amazing to watch, but Alyssa’s willingness to jump right into the fray with this group of men who had known one another for a long time broke the ice, and the food and conversation flowed freely afterward. She asked them about their jobs at Whiskey’s and answered their questions in return—much more comfortably than she’d answered his, he noticed regretfully. Pete finally joined them and her thoughtful questions about how the business worked clearly won him over. She treated Van’s dry humor, which put some people off, like a challenge, until it almost seemed they were in a competition of one-upmanship that had everyone chuckling and eyeing her in a new way—including him.

Who was this confident, quick-witted woman?

The Alyssa he knew was shy, reserved, often timid and uncertain—exactly what she’d had to be to survive in her father’s house. Pride flowed through him that she’d achieved this transformation once she’d escaped the abuse, but his gut also twisted. He’d seen a little of that old Alyssa out by the bar when he snapped at her.

Part of him wanted to pull her out of the room to apologize. Part of him said this was exactly why he was no good for her right now. For anyone.

Just one more piece of evidence he wasn’t any goddamn hero.

He pushed his plate away.

Alyssa wiped her mouth and dropped her napkin to her empty plate. “Well, Chef, I have to give credit where it’s due. Everything was great, and I’m stuffed.”

Van grinned. “Pete has me put out a spread like this most days, so we’ll do it again soon.”

“I’ve never met free food I didn’t like, especially when it’s this good. So, I’ll be here as much as Pete puts me on the schedule. You’ll be sick of me in no time.”

“I doubt that,” Eric said in a quiet voice. He flinched the moment the words left his mouth, like he hadn’t meant to speak out loud. Marco cut his gaze to the other man and found himself again fighting the goddamn frustrating urge to lean to the right and drape his arm over Alyssa’s shoulders.

Pete stood. “Little lady, you can have as many shifts as you want. Like I said, I’m short-handed.”

Everyone else rose from the table, and Alyssa pitched right in cleaning up, asking to be shown where the dirty dishes went.

“Come on, we’ll make this the first stop on that ten-cent tour I promised. It’s all very glamorous.”

Chuckling, Alyssa grabbed a stack of plates and utensils. “Great to meet you, guys. See you later.” She threw a small smile at Marco.

A chorus of good-byes sounded out as she left. Pete’s voice chattered down the hall as he bent Alyssa’s ear about the business.

Van rounded to Eric’s side of the table with a big shit-eating grin on his face, and smacked him on the shoulder. “Down, boy.”

Eric threw Van’s arm off and scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Van laughed. “Play it that way if you want, but maybe next time you should keep your tongue in your face.”

The two of them scuffled and fake-punched their way out the door, laughing and taunting as they went. Marco sat heavily against the edge of the table as that damn ache planted itself behind his ear once again.

Luckily, the rush of the dinner service and fun atmosphere that night’s local band created kept her from sitting idly and pondering on it. Just as the doors were to open for the six o’clock service, Pete had suggested she head home, citing the fact she’d been there since the morning, but she volunteered to stay. And since she had a pair of black jeans in her car that allowed her to comply with the black-and-white-uniform requirement, she figured it was better to learn the tricks of the trade so she could start waiting her own tables and making her own tips sooner. Besides, sleep was overrated, especially when you weren’t sure where you were sleeping.

“Thanks for letting me shadow you tonight, Kim. Hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience,” Alyssa said to the friendly older waitress she’d been assigned to for the night.

“No problem, sweetie. You were a help. It was busier than normal for a Thursday. People are out enjoying the nice weather, I expect.”

“Yeah. And that band was awesome,” Alyssa said. She’d never heard them before, but they’d had a fantastic energy and presence onstage.

“They cycle through here every couple months. It’s always great to see them.” Kim paused at a table and withdrew something from her apron. “Here. This is for you.”

Alyssa stared at the folded bills in Kim’s hand. “Oh, no. That’s yours.”

The woman grasped her palm and pressed the money into her fingers. “Like I said. You were a help. You brought drinks, delivered orders, and cleared plates. So it’s only fair. Besides, whenever you start a new job there’s always a little lag before you get your first check. And I figure, when you’re young, every bit helps.” Kim winked.

Alyssa blinked away the moisture suddenly filling her eyes, bowled over by Kim’s kindness. But, see? Things always worked out. Now, she only had to figure out how to get through the week until her first paycheck. She’d make it work somehow. “Thank you,” she said.

“Don’t you worry about it.”

The rest of the waitstaff had another hour of closing down to do, but Kim shooed Alyssa away after learning how long she’d been there. Alyssa made her way to the locker room, which was really a lounge with a row of small lockers for people to store their belongings during their shifts. Marco had loaned her a lock so she didn’t have to worry about her purse, and she’d been so glad. Losing the little money she had would be devastating. How sad was that?

Still, she calculated her day’s earnings in her head and knew she’d soon be in a much better place. And then there was what Kim had given her. In the privacy of the locker room, she counted—forty bucks! Feeling like she’d just won the lottery, she did a little jig right there in front of her locker.

And then the back of her neck flushed hot.

Don’t let it be Marco. Don’t let it be Marco.

He stood just inside the doorway to the lounge, watching her in a way that made her stomach flutter. “Were you just doing a happy dance?”

She smothered a groan and stuffed the money into her purse. “Maybe.”

“And?” He crossed to the locker two down from hers and worked at the combination on his lock.

This close, the scars marking his arm stood out in stark relief. She hated that he’d been hurt in equal measure to how relieved she felt that he was okay. “Someone did something nice for me, that’s all. It made me happy.”

Marco faced her and rested a shoulder against the locker. “It doesn’t take much, does it? To make you happy.” He reached out, as if to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, but pulled back. “It never did.”

At the almost touch, Alyssa’s pulse raced until she felt a little lightheaded. She nearly whimpered from the desire to feel the gentle sweep of his flesh against hers and willed him to break through the sad, troubled expression on his face and touch her. Everything in her wanted to close the distance between them, push up on tiptoes, and prove that the reality of kissing Marco was miles better than years of imagining it.

“So, uh…” He cleared his throat. “Good day?”

“Um, yeah. Definitely.” She struggled to breathe normally. How could just the idea of him touching her drive her crazy? She busied herself with grabbing her purse and closing her locker. “Here.” She held out the lock. “I can get my own.”

“Keep it.” He chucked some papers into his locker and pushed it shut. “It was an extra. Walk you out?”

“Sure.”

Marco guided her out of the lounge. “So, where are you staying?”

“I’ve got a room.”

He frowned. “What? A hotel?”

Alyssa waved to some of the kitchen staff, who called good night as they passed. “Van’s a funny guy, don’t you think?”

Marco’s frown deepened. “Hmm, yeah. Funny,” he said in a tone that didn’t sound like he agreed at all.

A ball of sadness took root in her stomach. Why did he seem so hesitant and uncomfortable around her? She glanced up as they approached an exterior door and stopped abruptly. “Oh, wait. I parked out front. I need to cut back through the restaurant. Sorry, wasn’t paying attention.”

“I can drive you around.”

“No, that’s silly.”

He stared at her a long moment, like he was waging some kind of internal debate, then smiled. “Maybe, but didn’t we used to say silly’s good every once in a while?”

There he was, the Marco she knew. It was almost the old Marco smile that always made her protests melt away.

And now her heart was melting, too. How many times had he acted silly—telling stupid knock-knock jokes, making weird faces, pulling pranks on Brady—solely to cheer her up after one of her father’s rages had sent them fleeing to his house? “Right,” she said.