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“You sure you’re okay, sweetie?” Marsha leans against the counter eyeing me with worry.
“I’m fine. Just dealing with a little, uh, stomach bug. That’s all.”
“Right, a stomach bug.” Her lips press together. “Is this the kind of stomach bug that might get a bunch of our patrons sick?”
“No, definitely not,” I say quickly.
“Well, let me know if you need another break.” She gives me a friendly shoulder squeeze before getting back to it. I love Marsha with all my heart—she’s in her early forties, the saintly mother of five, holding it all together with duct tape and prayers. As I carry a tray of food that makes me physically repulsed over to table six, I can’t help but wonder if I can be even half as strong as she is.
Probably not.
It’s an ugly shift. Definitely not my finest work. I screw up a couple orders and the tips are lousy, but at least there’s money in my pocket when I clock out for the night.
“You know what I get to do when I go home?” Marsha asks as we step out the front door. The night shift is already settling into their routine.
“Yoga. Bubble bath. No, let me guess. A very gorgeous foreign man is going to rub your feet and go down on you for a half hour?”
“Dishes. I get to do dishes.” She gives me a look half filled with shock and half with curiosity. “A half hour? Hon, if someone so much as touches me down there, I consider myself lucky.”
“Please, you’re still gorgeous. I see the way the old guys look at you.”
“Good point. If I wanted a bunch of geriatric men on social security, I could have a whole harem of them.”
“They’re your speed. Some dirty stuff at five, asleep by six.”
“You’re tempting me, hon. I just might get me a Metamucil Daddy. You know, like a Sugar Daddy, but old.”
“I got it.”
She slaps my back, laughing at her own joke. I shake my head and move to follow her to the bus stop, but movement toward the sidewalk makes me stop. We’re out in West Philly, and while it’s not a bad neighborhood, I still get a little jumpy in the middle of the night.
And I should, because standing under a streetlight next to a parking meter is Saul.
“Hey, you coming?” Martha hesitates a few feet away.
Saul’s not moving. He’s staring at me, head tilted to the side. I stare back, a tingle running down my spine, caught between running away and getting closer to him. He’s wearing a dark suit, as black as his hair.
“Actually, I’ll catch up with you,” I say, taking a step toward him.
“You know him?” Marsha’s eyebrows are in her hairline. “Here I am bragging about all my old boyfriends. Where’d you meet an underwear model?”
I shoot her a look. “He’s not that handsome.”
“Yeah, hon, he really is. I’d eat raw burger meat off his chest.”
I cover my mouth. I definitely didn’t need that image. “That’s disgusting.”
“No kidding. I’m way past the point of having dignity.”
“I’ll meet you at the stop in a few minutes, okay?”
“Sure, whatever you say.” She grins at me and winks. “If he offers you some Metamucil, say yes.”
I roll my eyes and stalk over to Saul, mostly to get away from Marsha’s teasing. She ambles away, laughing to herself and casting bemused looks over her shoulder, the nosy creature.
“What are you doing here?” I hiss at him once I’m close. I grab his arm and move him a few feet away. He lets me draw him along, and I’m very aware of the thick, corded muscle under my fingers. The guy’s freaking cut like he does wrist curls with thousand-pound plates for fun.
“I came to see you.”
