Fighting Heart: Fighting Heart Erotic Bad Boy Romance Series Book 1 (5 page)

Seven

On reflection I think I gave Cody too hard a time. I was too tired for all the discussion and critique on William Blake, which wasn’t a great sign about my ability to cope with work and college. This was week 2, and our studies were still only on the baby stuff. How was I going to cope working thirty hours of late nights when we got onto the really deep stuff? I was going to have to find a magic formula to make my brain work twice as hard as the others. I needed Duracell for the mind. Cody was intelligent, and kind of a sweet guy, but I’d already decided he wasn’t for me. He had an answer for every question the Professors threw us, and from the way they talked about him, it sounded like they already had him down as a good writer. I heard he did performance poetry. Like I said, he wasn’t for me, though I had to say Cody was kind of easy on the eye, in an unusual way.

I had only one more class the rest of the week, so I was able to put thoughts of study hassle, and boys, aside to get down to working hard and showing Purdy I was worth my salt. I was looking forward to the weekend, not so I could rest, but because the weekend was where the big tips would come from. In my quest to scoop enough cash to pay my fees, the weekends were going to really help. And Isabelle said the after-work parties at the weekends could make up for the slog the rest of the week. The after-work drinks were free, and it was some good downtime. That sounded great too. Anything to get my mind away from the pity-party.  But things don’t always go exactly to plan. But I should have known that already, right?

By ten on clock on Friday night Purdy’s was full of the drum-hiss beat which was so loud it vibrated straight through your lungs and stomach. I was used to it by now and even kind of liked it. Being so busy when people were getting juiced up, cheering and dancing, kind of made me feel like I was part of something exciting. It made me feel alive. I was having to weave in and out of tables with trays of drinks and hot food held overhead, and there were plenty of people standing around drinking and laughing too. The bar staff and the kitchen crew were slogging hard. We had around three and a half hours to go before we could wind down at closing, though if the money was still rolling in I knew Reggie and Purdy would find it hard to resist extending the night for the customers.

When table twelve first sat down I could see they were already well sassed. They looked like students who’d saved up all their cash for a blow-out, and Purdy’s was just the ticket for that. There were five guys, two with Beatles style mop top haircuts, one with a big quiff, and two with longer hippy hair. None of them looked in particularly great moods but I’d been there before myself – you want to go out and have a good time but there’s something in the atmosphere of your friends that says it’s going to be hard going. This kind of fug was all over the group. But I wanted tips and I wanted to give Purdy a story about how well I could work this gig. I was going to turn it round.

“Hey guys, welcome to Purdy’s the best night out this side of the river!”

A couple of the guys looked up, and their eyes kind of latched onto me. It was okay. I’d worked there a week nearly, and I already knew how guys were when they were drunk. Most of the time taking a long appreciative look was accidental, especially when the alcohol was flowing. I kept my smile on and my positive mojo working. Two of the other guys looked up. One looked me up and down. “Alright!” he said. Neither of them smiled at me.

“What’s your name?” said the cockiest one, the one with the short blond hair and quiff.

“My name’s Ashley and I’m your waitress for the evening. What drinks can I get you, guys? Would you like a cocktail or a beer or something else?”

The blond guy nodded and stared at me, with a little smirk in the corner of his mouth. I didn’t recognise these guys from Smiths College, and I was just beginning to feel uneasy. But I could do this thing. I could turn it round.

“I’ll have a White Russian. And your phone number,” said the blond guy. The others made a school boy “whoooooo!” sound and laughed. I smiled but I didn’t laugh, and I could feel my smile straining.

“That’s nice. How about a White Russian without the phone number?”

“Not so cool, but fine, I’ll get your number later.”

“Sure,” I said, ignoring him. I took the rest of the drinks orders, told them I’d return for food. I could feel them checking out my backside and legs as soon as I’d turned away. It felt so direct and impersonal. I’d been checked out maybe fifty times already tonight, and that was just the times I knew about. But that was all gently stolen glances, and mostly done with a sense of innocence or play. But to this table, I was nothing more than a slave girl with tits and thighs. This was going to be uncomfortable, but I wasn’t going to lose. They sank another round of cocktails before ordering food. When they ordered steaks, fajitas and surf n turfs, I was happy they were at least moving their evening on. But that was when the blond guy, who was looking meaner the more he drank, crossed the line.

“Hey Ashley? So how can I get that phone number of yours?”

“Nice try. We like to make all our guests welcome, but phone numbers are off limits, sweetheart.”

He wasn’t a sweetheart. He was a bastard, but I was in business mode.

As I turned to walk away with the order, I felt his hand gently seize my upper arm. It wasn’t a soft, sensual touch. It was ugly and invasive. I looked at him and couldn’t help reveal my anger and disgust. “Please don’t,” was all I said. I didn’t need a scene tonight.

“Look. The girl is begging me!” said the blond guy, to a small round of pathetic cheers. His hand slid away and I took a step away from him in revulsion. “Ashley, you are just the hottest thing in this place. Come on, give me your phone number and then I’ll buy you a drink. I promise, I can make you a very happy girl.”

Seriously? The guy was not so bad looking, but he was the biggest, messiest creep I had met in a very long time. I stood my ground, and kept my smile fixed, but there could have been no mistaking the tone in my voice.

“Not. Going. To. Happen… alright then. I’ll go and get your orders. Enjoy your drinks guys.”

I turned around and marched off like a steam train. Isabelle brushed passed me. “Is that guy giving you a hard time?”

“That whole table are sickos. Do they think waitresses are all sluts or something?”

Isabelle shrugged and went about her business. At eleven o’clock a familiar tribe appeared at the front door. It was the art crowd, Amanda, Brandon and the rest of his groupies. I looked over, and waved, my heart surging in a totally new direction.  Brandon waved back. I just hoped they would sit Brandon’s crew nowhere near table 12. I really didn’t want Brandon to see me cringing. We hadn’t arranged a date, we hadn’t kissed, yet I still suspected he liked me. Right now I wanted him only to see my best side. When Isabelle took them to table 21 across by the window on the other side of the restaurant, I was almost delirious with relief.

Table 12 was one of five tables I was working right then. The rest of the five were couples and groups who were too busy having fun to cause any hassle. The night was busy and I was moving like greased lightning, but no matter how fast I moved around 12, it was not fast enough for my liking. Or theirs apparently.

When I took them their food, they had moved on to unintelligent sarcasm mode. They were doing stupid drunken voices. I placed their plates down and they said “Gee, thanks,” in stupid fake accents. I batted it away with sugary pleasantness. “No problem. Enjoy your food.”

The blond guy said something, and I walked away blocking it. I almost didn’t hear it. But it was no good. I did hear it. I turned around and walked back to the table. “Excuse me?” I looked the blond guy straight in the eyes. I was still smiling, but no one who looked at my face could have ever thought I was happy.

“I’d rather eat you. If you catch my drift.”

“Sorry to break it to you, champ, but your best chance tonight is with your surf n turf. You’ve got less than zero chance with me. And if you ever touch me again, I will call the police. Did you hear that Mr Freakzoid?” I said it quietly enough that the next table wouldn’t have heard. If Purdy looked at me I was smiling all the while, but these guys had finally got the message loud and clear.

“If I touch you, what?”

“Was that hard to understand? If you touch me again, I am going to call the police. Was that any clearer?”

The blond guy looked around his buddies. For the most part they looked cowed and awkward, probably wishing they’d stayed back at their dorm and smoked a joint instead. But one of the long hairs seemed incensed. “She’s just a fucking waitress at Purdy’s man. What does the bitch expect?”

I couldn’t believe the attitude. As far as I had seen, in most of a week, Purdy’s was not a grab the waitress kind of place. Nothing had suggested that, and I wasn’t buying it now. But the blond guy’s face said otherwise.

“But that’s such a sweet looking ass. Look at those thighs, too, wouldn’t you just want to get…” as he spoke he reached out to me and tried to grab me high up on the thigh, I yelped and dodged back and left the bastard’s hand snatching air.

“Ashley? Are you okay?”

I looked round find the source a solid and comforting voice. It was Brandon, a half foot taller than me, standing squarely beside me. He was in one of his trademark lumberjack numbers again. He was strong, tall and resolute and as he eyeballed the losers at table 12 they looked pathetic in comparison to him.  Isabelle watched as she worked nearby.

“This fool here thinks he can grab my ass and insult me as part of the meal deal.”

“Really? What a piece of shit.” Brandon spoke down to him without anger, all cool and collected. I was grateful. I was in awe, I was proud, and somewhere inside I was quickly melting into a lovely warmth. I wanted to be held by him. I wanted to kiss him and make him mine.

“Stay out of this,” said the blond guy.

“I don’t think so. I’m over here. You touch this girl again and I will personally make a mess of your face. Do you understand me?”

They looked at one another. There was no agreement, no nod of the head, but the bastard’s drunken eyes said it all. He was going to be compliant.

I looked up at Brandon and he smiled at me. “Thank you,” I said. When he touched and squeezed my forearm electricity sparked and pulsed round my body. It was pure delight to feel him touch me. I wanted more. I watched him walk away to his table.

“I want the bill,” said the blond guy.

“And you can have it,” I said, and walked away to Purdy and Reggie at the till.

But that wasn’t the end of the matter. As they paid, the blond and his closest buddy walked up to the counter. There was no tip on the table, but I didn’t expect a penny from those slime balls. My best tip was those guys leaving. The blond guy stayed ranting at Reggie and Purdy and pointing in my direction for half a minute. Part of me wanted to run over, shout at the guy and defend myself. Another part of me knew it was best to wait it out, so I did. I cleaned their table spick and span, and waited until I was called over.

Purdy called me over as soon as they’d left. I walked over to the bar ready to give my case, but already I saw the fire in Purdy’s eyes.

“The customer is always right, Ashley! Always! Those boys were drinking White Russians at a fiver a glass. They would have ordered dessert if you had played the game right. Punks like that would have ordered another drink to finish off, but instead they went home half way through their dinner, with most of their money still in their wallets. Now can you explain to me why the hell they just did that?”

I couldn’t believe it. I wanted this job, but Purdy was already a closed book to me. The money was great. I was so torn as how to reply that I stammered.

“He tried to grope me, Purdy. They were nasty to me, vicious even. I didn’t expect to put up with that.”

“Then you be clever. You manage them. You work them, you turn it round. You don’t just blow a fuse and tell them you’ll call the police! What a stupid, over the top, crazy damn thing you did there!”

“Purdy. He groped me and he tried again...”

“So you say. That’s not what he said.”

I was speechless. She broke the silence. “I believe you, Ashley. But you’ve got to handle this shit better, or you are just a liability to us!”

“I worked my arse off all week, Purdy! How can I be a liability?”

Purdy shook her head. She didn’t like the chat back, but was biting her tongue. “Reggie! Reggie, you tell the girl.” Reggie, a big man with a soft face and deep dark black skin walked over slowly. He looked at me with his steady eyes. “I’m going to dock your wages. Just a short sharp shock, Ashley, that’s all. You need a lesson in how this place works, and this is your lesson.”

They both looked at to me, probably waiting to see if I was going to throw in my apron. Ah-Ah. That was never going to happen. My needs were greater than their punishment.

“One more thing, honey. You mess up like this next week, we’ll have to let you go. I’m sorry.” Reggie looked sad to be delivering the news, but Purdy was much more matter of fact. “You okay?” said Purdy, without sounding like she cared either way. I nodded. “Then let’s get on with the show.”

I got on with the show with the weakest smile on my face, but it was the best I could deliver in the circumstances. When we were closing I saw my tips were down, but at least I’d made it through my hardest night yet. Brandon came up to me with his coat on as he was getting ready to leave. There was a gloss of drunkenness in his eyes, but he seemed steadier than his friends, most of whom were going through the exit already.