"Mary, I got your table."
I grabbed Lisa's arm. "No, you don't. Go serve your tables. This one's mine."
Her face fell. "Oh, come on, Mary. Do you know how long it's been?"
"Don't know, don't care," I said firmly. "He's mine."
We peeked over to Table 7, where the object of our fight was sitting. My heartbeat went up just seeing him. Damn, he was good-looking.
Suddenly, another guy in a duster sat down across from him. Dreamy said something, and duster-guy grinned at him, a clear, happy grin.
I deflated.
Dammit, why are all the good ones gay?