2
The uniform takes some getting used to. I practice walking and bending in front of the mirror at home, making sure that mandatory "smile" under the bright orange shorts stays visible at all times. The tank top fits like sausage casing, but I know my tits look good—too good, I might have worried, if not for the strictly enforced, no-touch policy and the numerous bouncers stationed around the "breastaurant."
At three o'clock on Friday, I punch in for the first time and step behind the bar with the general manager who hired me. Despite his good looks and position of authority, Emmett has a way of easing my nerves and making me quickly feel part of the Hooters family. He starts me at the end of the bar, farthest from the service area where the waitresses pick up their drinks.
"These six stools and anyone who walks up behind them are yours. You keep them happy, and that'll keep me happy. I'm happy, you're happy. Capiche?"
"Got it."
"Anyone gives you a hard time, you yell for me or one of the bouncers... or better yet, let Rosie handle 'em." He puts his arm around the gorgeous blonde bombshell standing next to him and draws her to his side. "Bella Swan, meet Rosalie Hale, bartender extraordinaire and love of my life, not necessarily in that order."
Rose rolls her eyes. "Welcome to Hooters, Bella. You need anything, I'm right here."
Rose knows her mixology, but more impressive, she manages the food orders with ease and slaps drinks on the servers' trays as if she has six hands. On top of all that, she checks on me at regular intervals to make sure I'm not drowning—which, I am proud to say, I am not.
Aside from the openly brazen tit staring, Hooters customers are pretty much like any other thirsty, hungry bar patrons I've served before. Just like riding a bicycle, except I have some new specialty cocktails to learn: Packin' a Punch, the Hootercane, the Long-Legged Long Island.
The bar fills quickly, and I don't have time to be nervous. Before I know it, two hours have passed, and the dinner crowd starts rolling in. My six stools fill, with a second row forming behind.
I am in the zone. I am perpetual motion—maybe not poetry, but I am damn proud of how I'm handling myself. No spills, no hideous mistakes, no qualms with the kitchen. Basically, I am rocking it.
And then he walks in.
Even before seeing him approach, I feel his presence as a warm tickle at the back of my neck. I'm sure I am blushing like a fool. It's been five days since I've seen him, but it strikes me at once that he's been a subconscious tickle at the edge of my memory this whole time.
A beeper at the end of the bar flashes bright red blips, snapping me back to reality. The customer settles his tab and slips through the crowd. The two couples standing behind the barstool wave off the single spot. My heart leaps right into my throat as my bus stop hottie settles onto the stool.
With trembling fingers, I pull a cocktail napkin off the stack and set it neatly in front of him. "Welcome to Hooters, Umbrella Man." My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
"I told you you'd get the job."
So he had. "You come here often?"
He chuckles. "No. I had to come see for myself..." What he's come to see becomes apparent as his eyeballs hit the "HOOTERS" stretched across my chest. "Bella. Suits you."
"Well, that doesn't seem fair. Now you know my job and my name."
"I'm Edward." He offers his hand, and I take it before remembering mine is damp and chilly from handling cold beverages and wet cloths.
"Sorry, my hand is—"
His grip tightens as I try to pull away. "Incredibly soft," he says, holding my gaze as firmly as my hand.
A shiver races up my arm. "Edward? Not Eddie or Ed? Or Ted?"
"Never Ted. Eesh!" No, I suppose, not Ted for the man who brings his mother flowers.
"Edward, then. That suits you, too. Very old-school."
"Ouch." He releases me and claps his hand to his chest.
"I like it. It's different."
"Old and different. Maybe I should quit while I'm behind."
"Can I buy you a drink, Edward?"
"To make up for all the insults?" He gives me a fake-wounded pout I don't buy for a second.
"Let's call it a trade for the umbrella."
"Fair enough. What's your specialty?"
"For you, I like something classic, clean, and simple."
That easy smile spreads slowly across his face. Message received. "I like the sound of that."
"Vodka, bourbon, or tequila?"
"Let's start with tequila."
I very much like the sound of that—his settling in for more than one. "Sit tight. I'm gonna blow your socks off."
"There you go again, talking about my underwear."
Gah, this guy can flirt! It isn't just that he keeps leading my thoughts wherever he wants them—in his pants, mostly—but he seems to love catching me off-guard. He's made no bones about coming to see me. This man's confidence might be the sexiest thing about him, but then again, those eyes...
"Can we get another round?" Seat three circles his finger over the two empty pilsner glasses, pulling me out of our little bubble.
"Sorry," I say to Edward, "the natives are getting restless."
"Go! Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."
I pat the bar in front of him, a little parting-is-such-sweet-sorrow gesture. "Thanks."
A backlog of needy customers has piled up while I was schmoozing up Edward. I hustle my orange-clad ass, opening, pouring, and mixing my heart out, while Edward's eyes follow my every move. His presence expands to fill every molecule of space. Avoiding his gaze requires significant effort.
What a relief when I can finally mix Edward's drink and give him my complete attention. I pull down a highball glass and drop in two fresh mint leaves. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch his smirk as I plunge the muddler inside the glass and grind the mint with vigorous pumps. I fill the glass with ice, a shot of Herradura, lime juice—lovingly hand-squeezed—and a splash of soda, then garnish with a fresh mint leaf and a bright pink umbrella, which brings a chuckle from Edward.
"Nice touch," he says, giving the umbrella a festive twirl.
"Well, I did hijack yours."
"I'm pretty sure I gave it to you."
"Whatever. Try your drink."
Edward lifts the straw to his mouth and pulls in a long sip. "Mmm. Consider my socks knocked off."
"There you go again, talking about your underwear." Edward's gentle laughter sweeps me right back into our little bubble, but the spell is quickly broken.
A hand snakes around my waist. Rose appears at my side. "How's it going down here?" Rose scans the bar with the practiced eye of a pro, landing on Edward at the end. "Oh. Hello."
Edward nods politely, suddenly very enthralled with his drink.
Something is going on between these two, something I don't think I like. I study Rose for a clue, but my coworker has her game face on. I'm not going to get anything out of her right here; that much is clear.
"Need any help, Bella?"
"Nope, I'm all set."
Rose gives me a cheery, "Okay," then skitters away, leaving me with questions I can't wait five hours to get answered. Hell, I can't wait five minutes.
"Excuse me," I mutter, then scoot to the other end of the bar and place my mouth near Rose's ear. "You know Edward?"
Rose crouches to grab a pair of Bud bottles from the cooler. "Who?"
"My customer. Seat one?"
"Oh! No, I don't know him."
"You seemed to recognize him." Rose is doing the work of two while I am standing here interrogating her, but my need to understand outweighs everything else.
"Hey, if you're worried about me horning in on your sugar daddy action, Emmett is more than enough man for me."
"There's no action to horn in on! We just met the other day, right before my interview."
Rose stops suddenly, breaking into a wide grin. "Aha!"
"'Aha' what?"
She snags the edge of my shirt and drags me to the back wall of the bar. "He's been in here the last three nights. I'd never seen him before that. He never sits down, never orders anything, never looks at any of the girls with more than a passing glance. I couldn't figure out what his deal was, but it makes total sense now."
"It does?"
"Duh, Bella!" Rose laughs, tossing her long blonde waves around her shoulders. "He's been looking for you."
I know damn well he's watching me. I shouldn't turn and look at him, but I can't help it. Gone is the confident ease that turns my insides to jelly; in its place, worried eyes and a sheepish frown. Yeah, his behavior is a tad stalkerish.
I saunter back, hand on one hip, eyebrows raised, and wait for an explanation.
"I'm busted, aren't I?"
"A little bit."
Edward shrugs. "I figured I had three options if I wanted to have any hope of seeing you again. One, come back here every day for two weeks to see if you got hired—which, thankfully, you did. Two, stand at our bus stop... forever. Three, pray you'd show up for Meatloaf Monday at Shady Acres. And now that I've said that out loud, I realize how insane it is."
"A little bit," I answer, but I can't contain my smirk. "You forgot number four."
He looks up. "Oh yeah?"
I lean across the bar and put my Hooters right in his view. "You could have asked me for my number."
He chuckles. "Now, why didn't I think of that?" As he slowly pulls his phone out of his pants pocket, a grin settles on his face. "Okay, we can do it this way, but you don't know what you're missing. The meatloaf is truly outstanding."
###
Author's Note: Just a tweak here and there from the original version... bigger changes coming in later chapters. Thank you all for reading and leaving me your own little love notes back. They make me smile. :)
Hope your holidays are bringing you joy.
XXX ~BOH
