Shane's P.O.V.
Brad Rickshaw, huh? What's he got that I don't? Impossible. He can't possibly have anything to offer Mitchie. With his hand-me-down, partially bleached-spotted jeans, and his despicably wrinkled item of clothing he should be ashamed to call a shirt. He doesn't even look like he can get his hands on some genuine Italian leather shoes. Pathetic excuse of a man.
"Shane," Jason interrupted my inner rant, "is your face frozen or something? Because I don't think you've even blinked for the past five minutes."
"What?" Involuntarily, I blinked to pull myself out of my silent tirade. "Jason, what are you talking about?" I cleared my throat, trying to play it off, and shifted in my seat to direct my perhaps tiny glare at the water-diluted iced tea on the table.
"I think he means that your face is a little scary," Nate added.
"It is," Jason agreed. "It's like…" When I looked up at Jason, he had his eyes narrowed into small slits, his brow was knotted in the middle, his jaw stuck out, and his nostrils were flared. He held the disgustingly ugly facial expression for a few seconds before relaxing into his normal--for him--bright and positive attitude. Either was disturbing. "Honestly, if it's permanent, I don't think I could sleep in the same room as you. You'd freak me out."
"I do not look like…that," I argued in a grumble. While my brothers rolled their eyes, thinking otherwise of me, I discreetly ran my hand over my face to smooth things out. It wasn't as bad as Jason made it look like.
"Are you all done with that?" Natalie asked, gesturing her hand to the half-eaten plates of dessert.
Nate and Jason passed their plates over. "Yes, thank you, Natasha," Nate said, confusing me.
Natasha. Right.
"I'll be right back with the bill," Natasha informed us, leaving with yet another empty smile.
"I think she wants us to leave," Nate assumed. "And why wouldn't she? I mean, after tonight's little fiasco, I'm surprised she didn't get the manager to ban us."
I scoffed. "This restaurant? Ban me?" Nate and Jason shot me a similar look. I cleared my throat again. "I mean, ban Connect 3?"
"I'm pretty sure you did something related to sexual harassment, Shane," Nate said under his breath, shamefaced to even say it out loud.
"What did I do? I asked a girl out, that's all." I couldn't even really call it 'asking a girl out,' if it wasn't Mitchie. So really, it didn't even count by my standards. And I had really high standards.
"You're paying a girl to go out with you," Jason twisted my words and added in a few that didn't relate and belong. "If I didn't know you better than I knew the back of my hand, it would totally sound desperate, Shane."
I was nowhere near desperation. Sure, I was indirectly spending money on Mitchie, something she practically told me not to do, but I had to get her attention somehow. I had to get her to focus on me, and off that idiot, Rickshaw.
Psh. Rickshaw. Sounds like some barn wheelbarrow. Which is probably where he came from.
"Um, gentlemen?" Natasha had returned to the edge of our booth table, and I had restored a newfound glare at Rickshaw. Quickly shaking it off, and ignoring the all-knowing looks of the people sitting across from me, I paid attention toward the waitress. In my mind, I was trying to figure out exactly how she could be of some use to me. "It's closing time, and the ladies themselves are about to take their leave."
With no initial intention of impressing someone like her, I took the leather folder she had in her hands and inserted my credit card into the flop. As she was taking it back, I couldn't help but notice the small snap she had her wrist. She avoided eye contact while she nodded, and came back in record time with the receipt and my credit card, prepared with a pen in hand.
I reached for the pen, but instead of actually handing it to me, she let it fall into my fingertips, without any form of physical contact. "Which one do I sign?" I asked, keeping my attitude level so that there'd be some form of common ground between us. The expectations that came along with the agreement were more than demanding for the both of us.
More from me, of course, since I had to change my entire being. The waitress simply had to just look like someone interested in me. And, all in all,…the idea wasn't going too well from the start.
"The one, Mr. Grey, that doesn't say 'restaurant copy' at the top," she replied too sweetly since the last time I heard her speaking so formally. I looked up at her, and there, on her face, was another smile. But instead of the predictable, monotonous one I was used to seeing, it had life.
A smirk, actually.
Jason and Nate stifled a snort from across the table.
Disregarding her little quip, I signed the receipt, adding on a few numbers for her tip. I expected for her to look over the amount once I gave her the receipt with an awed guise, but she lightly snatched it just the same as before and murmured a 'thank you,' and a 'have a good evening.' Her black mane of a ponytail whipped behind her when she spun around on the balls of her feet and disappeared behind a set of swinging doors.
She was going to be difficult. Whatever. A written check her way would change that.
But I'd deal with that later. Right now, I planned on catching Mitchie before she left the restaurant.
"Caitlyn!"
"Peggy!"
But it seemed like my brothers were way ahead of me on that one. They slid out of their booth seats and called those girls' names like they were on the other side of the world. They were only several meters away from where we were seated. And standing up with them from her seat at a moderately sized dinner table was Mitchie.
"Mitchie!" I called, not at all as loud as Nate or Jason was. I think.
Walking swiftly around my brothers I met up with her, gleaming smile and all--and Rickshaw.
"Shane, hi," she greeted softly, feeling a bit uncomfortable standing in between a tense vibe. "Um, this is-"
"Brady," I interjected, holding out a hand. That was gentleman-like, right? "From camp."
"Yeah, but it's Brad, actually," he needlessly corrected me, trying to give me a firm handshake.
I knew his name. I was great with names. Well, names that mattered, anyway.
"Sorry." Once I dropped my hand, I stepped closer to Mitchie. She chuckled uneasily, but at least she didn't move away. "So, camp's over. Why are you still here?" I asked straightforwardly.
"Shane," Mitchie whispered, widening her doe eyes at me. Her innocence pleaded for my compliance through her beauty. Her lips slightly pouted, the corners being tugged downward. Wisps of her bangs veiled thinly over her eyes, failing to cover up the disapproval expression.
I gave myself a moment for self-scolding. Pretending to cough into my fist, I continued. "I mean, what's…your reason for staying in town? Summer's almost over." It was hard to wrap my mind around that remark. Mitchie would be leaving soon.
"Oh, you know." Rickshaw casually shrugged. He then looked at Mitchie with a smile. "Sightseeing."
She returned him one.
"There's some really nice sights to see out of state," I told him, hoping he'd get the hint. "Or you could check out the mountains. I hear they're really something to look at."
"You mean the ones upstate?" The ones in Alaska.
"Yeah, sure." I nodded.
"Um, Shane?" Mitchie nudged me with her hand. "Could we talk? Over there?"
"Oh, I was just going to head out," Rickshaw said. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mitch?"
"Yeah," she unusually agreed. "Tomorrow." It was her turn to cough an itch out of her throat. "He's just a friend," she automatically said when she looked up at me with an innocent face.
"Weird, I don't remember you ever mentioning a Brad at camp."
"I didn't," she said, now fumbling with her hands in front of herself. "I didn't actually meet him until we met up here, at Mahogany Cork, during breakfast one time. Turns out he lives only a few hours from where I live," she said with a smile that supposed to be comforting. It was far from it.
"Oh, really?" I inquired for more information, but her nodding indicated that the interrogation had ended and she wasn't going to say anymore. Well, I had something to say. "You're not the only one who's made a new friend here."
"Oh, I know!" she beamed. She looked over her shoulder. "I think Nate and Caitlyn are adorable together. And Peggy and Jason-"
"No, I don't mean them," I interjected. Mentally, I slapped myself for that. "I meant I met someone, also." That statement was open to her interpretation, and I hoped she'd interpret that way I needed her to.
"…Yeah?" The small pause she had made me feel better. She seemed genuinely interested--and affected. "Who?"
"She's a really nice girl," I said, assuming, despite that girl's attitude a few minutes ago. "Really down-to-earth."
"What's, um, her name?"
Shoot. What is her name? I dug in the back of my head, trying to recall that name back. It was embarrassing to display such a mental lapse in front of Mitchie. So instead of risking it, I turned around to look for that girl with the dark ponytail. "She's right…there." I pointed at the girl who was piling the menus in a neat pile at the podium.
She made eye contact with me, and she smiled. No smirk, no sign of emptiness. Maybe she'd seen the tip I gave her. She moved from behind the hostess' podium and approached us, still smiling.
"Hello," the waitress with the forgettable name greeted.
"Hi," Mitchie replied. "Didn't you wait on my table?"
"Yes, I did," the girl answered. "I waited on Mr. Grey's table as well." She gestured her hand at me.
"Mr….Grey?" Mitchie slowly turned to face me. She looked suspicious.
"U-uh," I helplessly stammered for an excuse.
"I just wanted to remind you two that the restaurant's closing up, and I have a lot of cleaning up to do. I wouldn't want to be in the way and make unnecessary noise while you talk," she tipped-off.
What's-her-name was messing everything up. Right. I hadn't been clear and specific about the whole arrangement, so of course she'd be making a mess of things for me. Her fault, not mine.
"Actually, Mitchie," I said before the waitress could say anymore, "I'm going to hang back here for a while and hang out with…" Name, name. "…my friend for a few minutes."
"…Okay." Mitchie appeared more skeptical than before, but I didn't know whether her wariness was about the arrangement I had with the waitress, or the fact that I was staying behind and not leaving with her. "I'll see you another time then, Shane." Mitchie waved goodbye awkwardly to me, and I thought also to the waitress, but when I looked to my side where was standing, the waitress had left already.
Where'd she go?
Natasha's P.O.V.
"Freedom," I sighed, full of relief, as I took a seat at the bar in the back of the restaurant. Chase was wiping a wine glass with a clean cotton rag, and Charlie was leaning on the bar counter, trying to hide with her hand a large stain on her outfit.
"How'd it go with Popstar?" Chase asked, amusement settling on his blue eyes.
"Fabulous," I replied, rolling my own pair. "But I don't even know if this guy's serious."
Charlie shifted in her chair and slanted her body toward me. "He must be," she whispered, keeping her gaze on the counter. "He's making his way over here now."
My exhausted eyes popped wide and I sat up straight, alert. "Right now?" I whispered back.
"Right now!"
To certify, I looked around for anything glossy. My wide-eyed stare fell upon the glass that Chase was drying off, and sure enough, there was that dark-haired guy with a slightly bulbous head walking up right behind me.
"Didn't you tell him we were closing up?" Chase asked me.
"Yeah, and I thought he was going to leave," I whispered disappointingly.
"Hey."
I thought ignoring him and the possibility of him going away was the way to go, but Charlie's inner fan girl differed with me. She swiveled the barstool I was sitting on and forced me to make eye contact with the guy.
"Um, hey," I replied, feeling beyond uncomfortable.
"Come on, Chase," Charlie said. "Looks like they need to handle some business." She circled around the length of the bar and hauled Chase away. She would. It was just an undeniably way to be alone with Chase.
I saved my breath and didn't even bother to protest or call them back. It would be a waste, so rather than expending my time trying to deal with the impossible feat, I was going to the oxygen to good use.
"Forget anything?" I casually asked, clasping my hands onto my lap and smiling. Would you leave already?
"No," he simply said. I could tell already that he wanted to be here, standing in front of me and basically screaming desperate, just as much as he yearned for broken glass to walk on. Personally, I felt the same.
"Well, then let me show you out." I climbed off my chair and began to usher him toward the exit.
But he didn't budge when I nudged his shoulder with my hand. "I need to make a few things clear," he said.
"About what?" I hoped his memory had the same capacity than that of a rodent. The daft offer he gave me--which I foolishly accepted--seemed to mutate into something worse by the minute as I imagined…dating this jerk.
"First of all," he began, snubbing my effort to redirect things, "you need to get with the program. A.S.A.P."
Excuse me? I was just given this…job a few hours ago, if anyone can really call it that. And you expect me to merely parade myself around you in a timeless blink? I don't think so. "I'm sorry, Mr. Grey," I said. "I don't understand."
"That." He pointed his finger at me. It was one of those same fingers that dropped those coins into my coffee cup; that silver band of his was what gave him away.
"That, what?" Just as he did me, I flouted him by beginning my rounds about the restaurant. But I didn't expect for him to follow me.
"Don't call me 'Mr. Grey,'" he ordered me, having much difficulty pursuing my path around the tables. It wasn't my fault some kid had dropped more than a few crumbs under the chairs, which I had to conveniently pull out to clean the floor beneath. "Especially around Mitchie."
"I'm afraid that's part of my job, Mr. Grey, to address the consumers properly and courteously," I said, absolutely forgetting to push one of the chairs back in and blocked his way. I stifled a satisfied laugh.
"Do you always," he grunted frustratingly, failing at dodging the seat, "talk like that?"
"Like what?"
"Quit doing that!"
"Doing what?!" Annoyed, I whirled and came within a centimeter of colliding with him. Before I knew it, I was gaping at how tall he was. Tilting my head up was necessary if I wanted to make eye contact. Not that I was going to give him any since I felt he didn't deserve it.
"Stop reflecting the questions back at me!" he exasperated. "Can't you just answer yes or no to whatever I ask you?"
I scowled at him. No--I just won't answer you. I grabbed some of the dirty plates on the table beside me and huffed away from him, ebbing behind soon-to-be closed swinging doors.
As I clattered the ceramic plates into one of the many carts of used dining supplies, I pitied the person who had to load the huge dishwasher. Then I sympathized even more with the unfortunate being since he or she was going to have to hand wash the dishes later anyway; the dishwasher was nothing more than a extra counter to pile even more dishes on.
I worked my way around the kitchen, giving accolade to the cooks for keeping up with the hectic amount of orders. They simply nodded and flashed me a tired, but gracious grin.
I'd like to say they were sort of, in a way, my family at work. I'd like to say I actually enjoyed spending whatever time on my short coffee break chatting it up with the other employees that have been working at the restaurant for years now. I'd like to say how content I was with my surroundings, and how comfortable I was here.
But I'd be lying.
If I knew what was best for me, I didn't allow for myself to become too attached to anything. Unfortunately, I had to go through about eighteen years of imprudence, caring far too much for someone I only lost in the end so suddenly, and I learned my lesson the hard way.
And I've ended up pretty well so far.
"Shay!" Charlie called from within the staff break room, which could've been very well passed off as a really large coat closet. "Your cell's going off!"
I jogged over to the foldable chair on which my hoodie was sprawled over, and dug for my phone in the main pocket. When I pulled it out, Melanie's number lit up on the screen. I had missed the call. And evidently, after observing the last few calls, I had missed six already throughout my busy day.
Panicked, I fumbled with dialing her number.
"What's wrong?" Chase asked, and it was only then that I realized he was in the same room. Charlie was standing behind him, while he was sitting down on another foldable. Her hands were on his shoulders.
"Nothing," I answered. Shortly after, I stalked outside of the break room. With everything going on, I was already too disturbed to even think of what those two were doing in there alone.
I was almost to the point of pacing out in the hallway before the first ring ever came around. At first, the hall was clear of obstructions, I could swear by it. But after traveling from one end, pacing back to other, I experienced an embarrassing collision that sent me on my back.
"Ow," I groaned into my now phone-empty hand, concealing my mortified expression.
"Is this what you do in your spare time?"
My eye almost bulged out of their sockets when I heard Shane's voice.
I hastily brought myself onto my feet. "What are you doing back here? You're not allowed in here!" I exclaimed, my voice cracking from the shock. "You're going to get me fired!" I spun him around and tried to shove him out.
"Please. I doubt you're going to get fired if I'm around. In fact, when I'm around people, they usually benefit from my presence, actually." But the guy was a rock, and I instantly considered him being just as dense as one. A boulder would be more accurate, though.
I sighed heavily. "Mr. Grey, this area of the Mahogany Cork allows only the staff," I informed him, "and customers are highly…recommended to remain in the dining area; it's for your safety, sir."
His eyes narrowed at me. Huh. They were a light brown, almost bronze if that was possible. "Does your manager provide you with some kind of book that teaches you how to speak so…?"
I blinked. "Urbane? Refined? Sophisticated?" I filled in.
"The third one," he decided. "You don't have to speak in your…weird language while I'm around you. And when Mitchie's close by."
"Yeah, because she'll be really interested in you when she finds out you're with some other girl," I mockingly muttered, accidentally letting my thoughts slip out. When I widened my eyes at him and clapped my hand over my mouth, much to my surprise, he looked amused.
"That's better," he approved. I'm not sure if he had any clue of being condescending with his tone, but he held that pleased grin. "And she will be interested me, for your information," he said matter-of-factly. "She'll see how gentlemanly I can be."
Newsflash Popstar: You just knocked me on my butt a minute ago. "I don't think being a…gentleman is one of your…talents," I hesitated, circling behind him, and recalled that night he had that outburst of a little stain on his precious pants.
"See, that's what I have you for." Like a ball and chain, he trailed behind me, relentless. "You are merely there as a person that I can…demonstrate my true quality on."
"And she'll get jealous," I assumed.
Shane shrugged, the movement of his shoulders making his leather jacket crunch. "That'd be a plus."
"Uh huh," I said. It was his every intention, there was no doubt about it. "Sure."
"So tomorrow, I'm going to need you to-" he abruptly began.
"Whoa, tomorrow?"
"Yeah," he said leisurely, looking at me like I was the slow one. "What's wrong with tomorrow?"
"I have work tomorrow."
"Yeah, I know. You'll be here. I'll be here. And Mitchie will be here." His face brightened at the mentioning of her name.
"Yeah," I echoed, "I'll be here, but I have to attend to-" I had to break off from waitress autopilot talk. "…serve other tables. I'll be busy."
"Can't you not serve them? At least while Mitchie and I have some time to talk."
"Um, see, I don't get my paycheck at the end of everyday, and I'm basically living on what I get every night from tips," I honestly had to point out. "So if you see my dilemma…" I passed through the swinging doors, hoping to have been overlooked by the wondering cooks and dishwasher, and began to do another route of cleaning off tables.
"I'm paying you, aren't I?" he said, still tagging along. "And I'm pretty sure I gave you about a few days' worth of tips when I paid the bill."
It was actually more than a week's worth, but I figured he had miscalculated with his mental math. "Listen,…Shane," I struggled to say, and he seemed be as surprised as I was when I said his name, "I'm going to try, but I can't guarantee you all of my time. There will be a back up of waiting customers, then there's going to be complaints about the wait, and then I'll get blamed for everything."
"And you'll be fired," he bluntly stated.
"Yeah, basically."
"Then I'll talk to the manager and have him work your schedule out, because-"
"No!" I protested loudly. Thankfully the room was empty. "It's already embarrassing enough as it is with me and a few other people who know about this…deal we have. No one else will know about this. Ever."
"Then, what? Do you want the money or not?" he asked candidly. "Because it's kind of already too late; I've introduced you to Mitchie as my 'friend.'" He put up air quotes. Honestly, he did.
I put back down the basket of leftover breadsticks I had picked up, and I shifted my weight to my one foot, my hand on my hip. I rose an eyebrow. "You don't even know my name."
"Sure I do," he scoffed. I was internally grateful to Derek for not splurging on embroidered nametags on our shirts. "Um…" he stalled.
"Natasha!" Charlie had immaculate timing with her call. "Your phone! It was on the floor, and it's Melanie again!"
"Natasha," Shane said in a light tone.
I sighed and shook my head. Leaving him at Table Eight, I retrieved my phone from Charlie and shot her a glare. She simply grinned back.
"I have a call to get back to," I told Shane as I advanced to him, feigning disappointment. "So if you could…" I fought the urge to disrespectfully shoo him away with my hand.
"Shane," I heard come from behind me. Shane peered over my head and his shoulders dropped, seemingly perturbed. "We are about to, uh, leave." I turned around and found one of Shane's siblings, the older one, standing at the front door of the restaurant.
"See ya," I immediately responded. My eagerness couldn't have been that obvious, I'm sure of it. "Have a good evening, gentlemen." I directed the both of them to the very opening of the restaurant, and anticipated the locking of that door.
"Hold on," Shane said, coming to a stop. "I'll meet you at the car, Jason," he told his brother. Jason nodded and exited, but not without glancing at me with a wondering look.
"What?" I asked, leaning against the host podium. I gave up on being so proper around him. Neither one of us liked it anyway.
"Just so I know this agreement is final." He reached for something inside his jacket and pulled out a checkbook.
"A checkbook," I acknowledged incredulously.
"Yeah." He flipped it open and jotted down quickly an amount. "Don't you have one?"
"I'm a waitress," I reminded him. "I may give the checks, but those are also known as bills in my language, if you must know."
He ripped out the check after making a fold at its perforated edge, and handed it to me. "Well, you'll be receiving checks from now on if you work with me." I didn't take it from him, rather he placed the check onto the podium. "I'll see you tomorrow, Natasha."
Shane finally took his leave without me ushering him out. I couldn't help myself and peered at the written check. My eyes were as circular as the zeroes I saw on the amount. Was he even aware of the number he scribbled down?
But I quickly shook the skepticism away and returned my attention to the new missed call. Melanie picked up, sounding a bit unnerved as usual whenever she did call me at work.
"Hi, Natasha," she casually greeted.
"Hey, Mel, sorry I missed your calls. What's the emergency?"
"Oh, well…it's not really an emergency," she wavered. "Not for you or your mom, anyway."
"What is it, Mel? Spit it out." I headed back into the kitchen, just when the dishwasher had been activated.
"You see…" her voice trailed off in the background of the deafening rumble of the dishwasher, but I heard her loud and clear.
"What do you mean you can't watch my mom tomorrow?!"
(A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in so long. I've been working hard lately on finishing up with one of my other stories, and I've been extremely busy. But it's spring break for me right now, so this update would be my fourth one in five days. I don't know about you guys, but I'm proud of myself.
I hope you guys are still interested in the story, though. There'll be a lot more funny moments between Natasha and Shane, I assure you. And for you Smitchie fans, I'll be including those events as well. So stay tuned!
Please review!)