Working Men Box Set

At Your Service-2

With a smile, Jen says, “That girl’s teasing him about you.”

“I figured that.” I look up again and he’s still watching me, staring like he’s thinking about something—about me, I hope—and he’s forgotten everything else around him. The restaurant has disappeared, the other patrons, Jen and that blonde with the loud laugh, they’re all gone and it’s just him and me.

Then he turns away, and the moment passes.

When was the last time I fell like this for someone I just met? I don’t remember, but when he comes back, I’m going to say something. I don’t know what yet, and I hope it’s something witty and engaging and coy. If I choke or freeze, I can always send Jen to get his number. She’s good at that. Another reason why I like her—she has no qualms when it comes to playing match-maker.

Yes, I realize with a certain irony, her match-making ability is also one of the reasons she annoys me at times. But that was before Todd.

* * * *

The blonde’s name is Catherine. “We had Geometry together,” Jen says, sipping her soda. “Tenth grade. Mr. Ford?”

I shrug. We didn’t go to the same school and I don’t know who she’s talking about.

That doesn’t deter Jen. “She was the lead cheerleader, class slut, you know the type. We weren’t friends but I knew her, I guess. I haven’t seen her since graduation.”

Somehow, I have a feeling she’s going to be talking to her again before the night is through. That’s how Jen works—she pulls any strings she can when she has her sights set on something, and right now that something is getting our waiter’s number. I don’t even have to ask—she’s already decided we need to be together.

You’re not going to call him. I’m not like that. I don’t go out of my way to meet people, especially guys, especially cute guys with sunshine smiles and sparkling eyes. You’ll never see him after tonight so just enjoy this while you can. How old are you again? Out of college and too damn old for schoolboy crushes.

“You’re not going to talk to her?” Part of me wants to be flirty with the guy—Todd, I remind myself, his name is Todd—but the other part of me is twisted into knots at the thought of actually talking to him. It’s that part that cringes at the way Jen smiles. “Jen, no….”

Her gaze flickers over my shoulder as someone approaches. “Hush up.”

It’s Catherine, our appetizer dish balanced precariously in both hands, and she flashes us a bright smile as she sets the dish down in the center of the table. “Potato skins,” she says, looking at me as if she expects a tip.

Then she turns to Jen and her smile widens. “Jen McElvey?” Her eyes widen in mock surprise. “God, girl, how long has it been? We had math together, remember?”

Jen’s face lights up in her patented fake smile, the one she reserves for people she knows distantly and doesn’t really care for, but she’s too polite to brush them off completely. Besides, she’s got an agenda. Hook Danny up with the waiter… her good deed for the day.

“Catherine!” Jen cries, half-rising from her seat to hug the other girl quickly, one of those fast, emotionless squeezes women seem to share whenever they meet someone they haven’t seen in a long time. “How you doing, girlfriend? Haven’t seen you in years.”

Girlfriend, like they used to sleep over each other’s houses when they were little. I dive into the potato skins, wishing Todd had brought them to the table instead.

“I’m fine,” Catherine says, a little too loftily, and tosses her hair back over her shoulder. With a glance at me, she adds, “I heard you were seeing someone. This your boyfriend?” She smiles at me again, expecting an answer.

“This is Danny.” Jen laughs, and I force a quick grin around a mouthful of food. “He’s a friend. I’m dating Greg. You know, Steve’s brother?”

If it’s possible, I’d swear Catherine’s smile widens until it threatens to crack her face in two. “Dodson?”

At Jen’s nod, Catherine looks up and frowns. “I’ve got to go. Back to work. It was great seeing you.” Another quick hug and she’s telling Jen to call her sometime, they should get together, but as she walks away, I already know that isn’t going to happen.

I shove another potato skin into my mouth. It’s hot and dripping with cheese, but at least it takes my mind off the waiter for a little while. “What was that all about?”

Jen laughs at me.

“What?”

“She was checking you out.”

I roll my eyes. “Great.” I frown. “Just what I need…”

But Jen shakes her head. “Not for herself, silly.”

My frown deepens and she sighs, exasperated. “She just came over here to make sure we weren’t a couple. Don’t you get it?”

Apparently not.

When I don’t say anything, she sighs again. “Someone,” she explains, “wants to know if we’re together. Like that. Since she went to school with me, she offered to come over and find out.”

Another sigh as she realizes it’s still not connecting for me. “Jesus, Danny! He sent her over here to see if we’re dating or not!”

“Who?” I ask, though I already know. “Todd? The waiter?”

She nods.

“How do you know?”

With a satisfied smirk, she replies, “I just do.”

* * * *

Two different servers bring our food, but this time Todd is right behind them, a smile on his lips that I fancy is just for me. “You’re lucky I didn’t carry it,” he jokes, replacing our empty glasses with refills. “I’m clumsy.”

“You?” He’s got a dancer’s grace when he walks, and I wonder how well he moves in bed. I blush thinking that, but now I can’t get the image out of my mind—the two of us lying on my narrow futon, him beneath me as his hips wriggle in maddening ways. “I wouldn’t have thought—”

He trips against the table and for a frightening moment the glasses in his hands threaten to slip free to dump melted ice into my lap.

Jen lets out a tiny squeal and I slide back against the far side of the booth, but then he laughs and catches himself. “I’m just teasing.”

Now Jen’s laughing, too, and when I look at him, I’m drowning in his gaze, scarcely able to breathe because he’s so close, watching me like he’s trying to memorize my face so he’ll never forget what I look like once I leave.

Suddenly I wish Jen wasn’t here with us. I wonder if he’d dare to sit down across from me if she wasn’t already there. I wonder if he’d talk more, maybe ask my name or give me his number like he hinted at before when I couldn’t decide what to eat.

Because I don’t know what to say, I pick up the fork and knife and cut into the chicken I ordered. “Thank you,” I say softly.

“You’re welcome.” He stands there a moment longer before moving away.

Once he’s gone, Jen winks at me. “See?” she says, as if proving a point. “What did I tell you? He likes you.”

“Maybe.”

I’m not going to get my hopes up, no matter how cute he is or how irresistible his smile. What if he’s just being friendly? What if I give him my number—heaven forbid, I could never do that—but just saying I did give it to him, or Jen gave it to him… what if he never called? I’d feel like an i***t.

But right now I’m high on his smile, so lost in the thought of him and the images of the two of us pressed together that I devour my food without even realizing I’m eating. When the plate is empty, I stare at it for a long time. Something’s stirring inside me, something akin to hunger that has nothing to do with second helpings and dessert, something that makes me feel flushed and eager and a little clumsy myself.

He likes you…

God, I hope she’s not just saying that.

When Jen’s finished, she pushes her plate away and slides out of the booth. “Be right back,” she tells me, then disappears in the direction of the restrooms.

I pick at the remaining vegetables on her plate and wonder if I should ask for his number when he comes to clear our table. Can I sound casual about it? I don’t know. If he asks me what I want for dessert maybe I can say—

“You finished?”

I look up and Todd’s there, standing by my side again. Without Jen here, he’s got one arm draped around the back of the booth, the other resting on the table near my hand. His fingers brush against my wrist like live wires, his touch electric on my skin. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

“She’s not.” I choke down a green bean lodged in my throat. I’m intensely aware of him and can’t take my gaze from his hand where it touches mine.

“Not what?”

I jump when his other hand smoothes across my shoulders with the softest caress. “Not my girl.” Daring to meet his eyes, I look into their oceanic depths and breathe, “But you already know that, don’t you?”

He laughs, and his hand moves across my back again as he leans closer. “I want to ask you something.”

“What?”

Ask for my number.

Would I give it to him? Hell, yes.

But he doesn’t ask for that. Instead, he stares at me until it’s just us. The restaurant around us is gone, and I strain to hear his low words. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

I swallow hard, not trusting myself to speak.

With a wink, he adds, “Or should I walk by again?”

I’m struck dumb. Before I can figure out if he’s joking or not, if he expects an answer, if he wants one, Jen’s sliding into the booth across from us, that ‘I told you so’ look of hers already in place.

With fluid grace, Todd takes our plates and hands us a dessert menu, professional waiter once again. “You guys want something sweet?”

I feel as if he’s only talking to me. I take the small dessert menu, which is still warm from where he had it stuck in his back pocket. I do, but I guarantee what I want isn’t on these glossy pages.

I wish I had the guts to say that out loud.

* * * *

Jen wants dessert. She picks out something decadent and says we’ll share, and when Todd walks away with our order, she says casually, “I have his number.”

My hand jerks, knocking over the salt shaker and spilling salt in a white fan across the table. “What?” I scoop up the salt and drop it into my empty glass. “Who’s number? How? You went to the bathroom, Jen—”

“And ran into Cathy.”

So it’s Cathy now, is it?

Jen leans across the table, excited. “She said he likes you—told you, didn’t I? He wanted to give you his number but he’s shy.”

I laugh. “You’re joking,”

We must be talking about two different Todds here, because the guy who leaned over me and asked if he should walk by again was anything but shy; he’s raw sensuality pouring out of every pore and he was practically in my lap. I can still feel his hand on my back… that boy is not shy. “She gave it to you?”

Jen nods. “His pager number.”

“Give it to me.” I hold out my hand. I can’t believe it. I have his number.

To my surprise, Jen shakes her head. “No. I know you, Danny. You’ll stick it in your pocket and forget all about it. It’ll go through the wash and when you find it again, it’ll be all smeared and torn apart and impossible to read.”