11
RACHEL
So far, I had only dropped one plate and thankfully, it had been empty. Nothing with spaghetti sauce to mop up like the last time, only a quick sweep with a broom. Not only was I the usual bumbling waitress, but I was distracted.
Two hot guys did that to a girl. Two hot guys whom I’d had s*x with not once, or twice, but three times—if having Cord eat me out as my alarm clock counted.
It so counted.
“You okay, hon?” Bessie asked, skirting behind me with a stack of laminated menus. I was at the counter, rolling silverware into napkins. The lunch rush was over and we only had one customer who was nursing a coffee and slice of pie.
“Sure,” I replied.
“Your hand okay?”
I glanced down at the Band-Aid I’d put on this morning. I’d forgotten about the cut. “Doesn’t hurt at all,” I
