That Girl (7 page)

I finally landed a third job. It’s part time and feels like home, waitressing in a diner off the beaten path. By far the best food I’ve ever had. Of course, I’d lie straight to Isha’s face if she ever asks. This will be my third night there. They are giving me part time hours, which is fine while I adjust to adding it to my schedule. I work from seven to midnight. Danielle needed extra help tonight, and I can never say no to an employer.

To this day, I have no idea where my work ethic comes from. Surely not my momma or her boyfriends. It’ll be a mad dash to make it on time now for my shift. Boone’s Diner is only a half of block up from the coffee shop, but I found a route that makes it less than a block to walk back to my apartment. It’s a clear shot straight through an abandoned lot. It’s well-lit and free from tall grass and debris. Of course, there are always dark shadows lurking, but I stay clear of the edges of the lot.

It’s been a little over a week with no sightings of Jenni, just the crazy encounter with her in the coffee hut. The boys must be busy at training camp or whatever, because no more truckloads of hot shirtless guys have graced the coffee drive-thru.

I didn’t realize how hot the driver was until that night while trying to fall asleep. His face was the only thing I could picture. He was by far the tannest of the truckload, with a smattering of a light beard, piercing blue eyes, and plenty of lean muscle. While trying to fall asleep, I kept trying to picture pretty boy. I remember in the moment his looks nearly knocked me off my feet, but after minutes of concentration I gave up. And to think I tossed the driver’s number. Layne? Yeah, it was Layne.

“Bye, Danielle. See you in the A.M.”

“See ya, sweetie. Do you still have that spray I gave you? I don’t like you walking in the dark.”

“Sure do. Right here on my keychain.”

“If you ever need a ride, you always know I’m just a call away.”

“Thanks, but it’s just a couple blocks. Well, officially not even two.”

I feel odd every time I look at the keychain. They are meant for cars, and I don’t have one, but in Denver I found a colorful silhouette keychain of the Rocky Mountains. It was my one treasure to remember Denver by. Instead of leaving it sit on my nightstand, I carry it around with the one key I have.

The nice thing about working at Boone’s is I’m the only waitress on shift. There has been a very steady flow of traffic the last two nights. It’s just enough to keep me on my toes and time moving fast, but not so much to cause a complete panic attack. There’s also only one cook on at night. His name is Larry. He looks like a typical Larry who would cook in a diner at night, but good hell, the man is magic. The last few nights I’ve ordered a bacon cheeseburger to take home. Like I said, the best food I’ve ever tasted.

The first night the manager, Leeann, spent about twenty minutes with me showing me the ins and outs, and then basically dropping me on my head. She handed me a tight white t-shirt with Boone’s scrolled across the front, and on the left hand corner of the t-shirt the name, “Jodie.” She told me if I made it past the three-month mark they’d order one with my name on it. She looked at me with an odd expression when I laughed out loud. She really has no clue how perfectly fine I am with wearing a shirt with a name on it other than Oakley.

“Hey, Jodie,” Larry says as I walk in the back, which leads directly into the kitchen.

“Hi, my name is actually Oakley.”

“How was your burger last night, Jodie, or Oakley, or whoever the hell you are?”

I almost drool, remembering. “Just like the first night, which was pretty much mind blowing.”

“Glad to hear,” he says.

And that’s all that comes from Larry. Kelly, the waitress on shift, catches a glimpse of my face in the kitchen, tears off her apron, and is out the back door without a word.

The other perk of Boone’s is nobody gives a shit about you, your schedule, or what you do for fun. Odd perk, but the biggest and most important one in my book. I can come to work as Jodie from Danielle’s, work my ass off, rake in the tips, and then carry my bacon cheeseburger home on a lit path. I’m thinking I made the best decision moving to Fort Collins.

Walking into the main section of the diner, I see the booths are mostly deserted. Two are occupied, and they look as if they are finishing up. I take a moment to fill up some condiments on the bar while gauging to see if the booths need anything else, or have checked out and are ready to go.

I notice one booth is filled with an elderly couple. Their plates have been cleared, and I eye a credit card receipt on the top of their table, so it looks as if they’ve paid and are simply enjoying each other’s company. They are holding hands and deep in conversation.

The other table is less romantic, occupied by two burly men who look like they just left a construction site. Their empty plates and cups still lay before them. Walking over to clear their plates, I can hear their voices and vulgar language.

“Hi, can I take your plates?”

Beady, bloodshot eyes meet my gaze. “Who the hell are you?”

You never argue with customers, so I simply say, “Your waitress’ shift is over. I’ll clear these for you. Either of you need a refill?”

“Like thirty fucking minutes ago,” the other one barks.

Frightened and trembling, I reply as calmly as I can. “I’ll be right back.”

The sound of the front door opening grabs my attention as I refill the two sodas. Pretty boy is leading a group of men through the door. My heart instantly sinks to the floor with embarrassment when I realize I’m searching the group for Layne. Quickly, I turn my attention back to the soda machine. Since this diner is casual, they can seat themselves.

“Here you go. Did you guys get your check yet?” I ask.

The beady-eyed one glares at me. “We ain’t paying for this shit. Food was good, but the fucking service is something worthless.”

To say the man yelled those words in my face would be an understatement. I felt the tiny hairs on my neck stand up as he roared. Those tiny neck hairs always stick up when danger is near. It’s a very familiar and unwanted feeling. Ignoring his outburst, I simply turn around and head to grab menus for pretty boy and his gang.

Larry is standing up by the window, even though no food or orders are up. He signals with his hand to come closer.

“You have to get their money or it’s your ass. Boss doesn’t put up with any bullies coming in here and trying to get free meals. Yes, Kelly's not the greatest waitress, but she did fine.”

“Oh, joy,” I say back to Larry with a fake-ass smile plastered across my face.

Heading out to my new table, I realize I want to be anywhere but here right now. The coffee shop wasn’t so bad, because they were in a truck, and I was in the shop. The driver, Layne, was sort of like a barrier guarding me, keeping all the staring eyes from the truck from landing directly on me.

Not this time. In my tight white shirt and black booty shorts, I’m pretty sure all prying eyes will get whatever they’d like. The night I was trained, I learned to always wear your staff shirt with no stains on it, hair pulled back from your face, and black booty shorts.

The hair wasn’t a problem. The shorts were, but I ventured to a department store and bought a pair. I still haven’t figured out the booty shorts requirement, because all walks of life visit the diner. It’s not like a sports bar or titty bar.

My cheeks flush as I near the table and hear the hushed whispers of, “That’s her.”

“Good evening, here are some menus. I’ll be back in a bit to grab your drink orders.” I keep it quick and simple.

I’m not prepared to jump off the deep end without a life jacket; I’d rather stick my big toe in the freezing cold water bit by bit. The older couple leaves the table, so I quickly get it all cleaned and prepped. The door dings as another couple comes in. Now, this is like the last two nights. Just steady enough to keep you hopping, which I’m very thankful for at the moment. Anything to keep my mind off pretty boy’s table.

“Another soda,” the man growls from the booth.

No time like now to give him his bill. “I’ll be right back. Here’s your bill. I can be your cashier when you’re ready.”

I walk before he has a chance to belittle me again, but I do hear his foul language bouncing off the walls behind me.

Filling the soda once again, I have my back to the diner when I hear someone talking to me.

“Are you okay?”

Turning around, there he is, the driver of the truck. This time he’s fully clothed in a tight tank top, gym shorts, and a ball cap. Just the picture I kept envisioning before falling asleep. It’s him.

Smiling gently, I just nod.

“Are you sure? That guy is an ass.”

Sitting both drinks down on the counter before him, I keep nodding and say, “You get used to it after waitressing for over a year.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “It’s bullshit. You shouldn’t be used to it.”

He puts his hand on the top of mine. My eyes are glued to us connected by flesh, and I’m not sure if a panic attack is on the brink, or another weird sensation is pooling in the depths of my belly. Tears sting the back of my eyes from the overwhelming desire building up inside me. It only took one touch, and all of this.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, finally looking up into his eyes.

Layne’s jaw is clenched, and a fire is lighting up his eyes.

“Jodie, get moving and get the money from that booth,” Larry hollers from the kitchen.

I wince at the thought. “I’m going.”

Grabbing the two drinks from the counter, I smile at the man before me and murmur, “Thanks.”

I decide to just drop off the drinks at the hostile booth and go grab the drink order from the group of ball players.

“Sorry, for the wait, guys. Let’s start out with drinks.”

I keep my head down to avoid the stares and direct eye contact with any of the men. They all start firing off orders, and I keep up as fast as I can. Sodas and milkshakes fill my green notepad. Eight total. Eight hot football players. Well, I’m guessing football players, from Jenni’s information.

“All right, I’ll be right back to take your food order.”

No time like now to collect the payment from the assholes. I’ve filled my other table’s drinks and food orders. The ball players all have been served their food. Plates and plates of overflowing fries and burgers are scattered on their tables. Some even ordered more than one meal, and by their stature it looks like they will be polishing off all of it.

There’s no cash or credit card visible by the bill I’d dropped off earlier. “I’m really going to need you guys to pay. I’m sorry if the service wasn’t up to your standards, but my boss really needs you to pay.”

“Listen up, we are not going to pay. We will get up out of this booth once this last drink is down and fucking walk out. I’d like to see you stop us,” one of them says in a normal voice.

Their language, demeanor, and absolute lack of respect remind me exactly of my mom’s boyfriends who used to litter our house. It creeps me right down to the bone. This is one of the first times since I’ve left home over a year ago a visual reminder like this has haunted me. I never stood up to them when I was younger. I have the scars on my hand and neck to prove it.

“I’m sorry, but…”

Before I can finish my last sentence, the bigger of the two grabs my wrist and wrenches me down to his face. It just happens to be the wrist with the knot, causing me to squeal in pain from the pressure of his grip.

“You little fucking bitch, we won’t pay. Now get the fuck out of our faces.”

A large hand comes down on my shoulder, pulling me in the opposite direction of the huge man. My back collides into a hard chest, and my wrist is jerked away from the assholes with a loud pop and crackle.

The large hand holding me pushes me to the side to another body, and then I’m pushed behind a line of men. The men act as a barrier between me and the two jackasses.

“You have a problem?” I hear a voice and immediately recognize it.

I see the asshole who had me by the wrist rise from the booth and go nose to nose with Layne.

“You fucking deaf, asshole? I want to know what your problem is with Jodie.”

“Layne, don’t.”

This is the last thing I need. I need this job. Two men turn around and stare at me with quizzical looks on their faces.

“What?” I whisper.

“His name is Lincoln,” the largest one responds.

A gasp of horror escapes as I cover my mouth and my face reddens. Holy shit, that was a tad awkward.

Their voices have escalated to yells, and I finally hear a fist slam down. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Lincoln’s fist colliding with the man’s face.

“Let’s talk a little more outside,” Lincoln says.

The man holding his face doesn’t look impressed, and his buddy whips out a fifty-dollar bill, lays it on the table, and grabs his friend by the elbow. The whole football crowd follows them, and I collapse on the barstool, relief flowing through my blood. Foul language, hollering, and fistfights bring back way too many memories for me. Something I never want to be around again.

“Ma’am, can I get another side of ranch, please?” a customer calls.

“Yep, no problem,” I reply with a trembling smile.

My legs are rubber and wobble back and forth as I try to get them underneath me. Voices can still be heard from outside. Looking back at their table, most plates still contain food. They will be back.

I focus on filling up the side of ranch, trying to gather all my thoughts and move forward.

“Get a move on. Go bus that table and get back to work.”

Looking up, I see Larry watching me through the cook window. He’s right. Get back to work. The men’s meals only totaled up to twenty-three dollars and fifty cents; guess that’s one hell of a tip.

The group of men waltz back through the front door like nothing ever happened, settle at their seats, and continue eating. I peek over my left shoulder to see if Lincoln came back in with the rest. I make direct eye contact with him. His plate is still half full, and all of his attention is on me. I watch as he pushes his chair back and begins to rise. Slowly I signal no with my head, giving him the clue – not now.