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“You got it.” My voice is quieter than I would like.
But I don’t think he has really placed me yet. The longing look of familiarity dances between us, but I think he’s having a hard time putting his finger on it.
“We’ll grab a seat. Cam, get our drinks,” Laura orders.
Cam. I wonder if it’s short for Cameron or if it’s just Cam.
“Aye, aye, captain,” he retorts in a mocking tone.
Thank God Chloe is filling the cups for orders because I’m fucking helpless right now.
Cam has me all weird. I’m flustered and overanalyzing everything he does to see if he recognizes me. But so far, he hasn’t given me an indicator that he has.
“That will be right up,” I tell him as he sets his phone on the counter and places his palms down on either side, wrapping his fingers around the edge of the counter.
He is just watching me, studying me.
I wonder if he does this to everyone. Is it because no one stops him? Because he looks like a golden-tan god?
“If you prefer to have a seat, I can bring them to your table,” I offer with a hint of sternness in my voice.
“That would be great actually, thank you.” He smiles, grabs his phone, and pushes off of the counter, spinning at his torso, and he heads over to the booth that Laura always sits in.
I exhale the breath I was holding as an ounce of pressure releases from my shoulders.
Spinning to Chloe, I already know what to expect.
“Nikki, it is fucking fate. Please get his number, dear God, for the both of us,” she mumbles as I help her finish making the drinks.
Glaring at her, I say, “You know damn well that I cannot do that.”
Grabbing two of the drinks, Chloe whispers, “Wrong. You won’t.”
I grab the black coffee and chocolate milk and lead the way to their table. “Stop it, Chlo.”
They all drop whatever conversation they are having as we approach.
A knee hits my thigh, and I bite down on the inside of my cheek in an attempt to stop the blush. Cam’s knee is now pressed firmly against my right mid-thigh, and he clears his throat.
But I ignore him, which is harder than I thought it would be. In my peripheral vision, I see him shaking his head ever so slightly. I’m sure he has used this routine on every waitress.
I set the black coffee down, and all I can think about is getting back behind the safety of my counter. I don’t fear Cam—quite the opposite actually. But that is far more worthy of my fear.
Jack smiles up at me as I reach across the table on the left side and hand Jack his milk.
“Here you go!” I say in a cheery voice.
“Thank you!” He sings as he grabs it from me.
I quietly clear my throat before saying, “Please let us know if there is anything else we can get for y—”
Suddenly, my arm is in a grasp, and my heart plummets to my gut. But as fast as the fear and anxiety arrived, it dissipates as I realize what’s happening.
Cam has my forearm in his grasp, and the most devilish smile appears on his lips. It takes me all but a second to realize what caused this reaction from him, and I suddenly wish I had worn long sleeves today.
Stupid.
He gently tugs me forward, pressing me harder into the table and into his knee so I have no choice but to face him. I look down.
