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The three huge men took one of the tables in the corner, and it was only as they were sitting that I realized a small child was trailing behind Kerrigan. The big pitcher gently lifted the boy and set him on the bench beside him.
At a glance, I couldn’t imagine it was Kerrigan’s son. Kerrigan looked like some sort of dark-haired interpretation of the Thunder God. He was all wild power and lithe athleticism with rugged features. He was the embodiment of masculine capability. And then the boy…
I felt my heart go out to the little guy, because I knew how kids could be. He was small, with the tiniest most cramped in shoulders I thought I’d ever seen. He was also already pulling out a little sketch pad and leaning down to draw.
Someone snapped in my ear. I flinched, realizing that like most of the customers in the store, I’d stopped to gawk at the procession of male models that had just strolled in and sat down to eat like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“I’m not paying you to stand around,” Tony said.
“Honestly, my paycheck from you is like gas money. Tips pay my bills, Tony.”
“Is that the sound of you volunteering to get off my payroll, then?” Tony was a thick set Italian without a hint of an accent or any sign of his heritage except for olive skin and a gorgeous head of dark, wavy hair.
“That’s the sound of me getting back to work,” I sighed.
Tony grunted his approval and let me rush off to greet the table of Greek gods.
The men hardly looked up at me as I took their orders. Chris ordered a round of beers for them while his brother and the bearded one talked in low tones about something that sounded important.
I brought them their drinks along with some coloring tools for the little boy. He looked at them, picked up the crayon packet, and then gave it a disdainful little shove toward the center of the table. I quirked an eyebrow. “Crayola is beneath you?”
“Too thick,” he explained.
Chris nudged his brother, who was still talking to Kerrigan. “I’ve heard that before.”
I gave him a look. Chris made a dismissive gesture at the menu, then smiled up at me in a “you know what, who cares?” kind of way. “Can you just pick out something that will fill up three very large men? Please and thank you.”
“You don’t want—”
“Do you mind?” the other man growled, turning to face me with the most terrifying glare I’d ever seen.
I liked to think I had backbone, but in that moment, I was glad I didn’t because it would’ve slid itself right out of my ass and onto the floor. I turned, went to the computer, and plugged in their orders.
“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath. I ordered something for the little boy I thought Griff would like. Grilled cheese, maybe? Then I plugged in one of our challenge pizzas for the three men. It was called the Gut Buster, and it consisted of three large pizza crusts combined together, quadruple the toppings, sauce, and cheese. To top it off, hot sauce was drizzled over the entire thing.
It was utterly disgusting, and I hoped the jerk and his stuck-up ass would hate every bite.
But Chris said to make sure they’d be full, and I couldn’t think of how ordering them an eight-pound pizza was being disobedient.
“Why are you smiling at the computer like that?” Griff asked. I noticed there was something stuffed in his pocket that wasn’t there before. Whatever it was, it could wait, I decided.
“Because sometimes it’s fun reminding people they aren’t the kings of the universe.”
Griff scrunched up his face at me, then shook his head and headed back to his spot at the bar.
It only took about two minutes passing for me to start re-thinking what I’d done.
Within three minutes, I realized I might have possibly over-reacted by just a smidge. But hey, I had a short temper. He was lucky I didn’t toss a drink in his face for being an absolute dick when I was just trying to do my job.
Tony came to check in with me. “They really ordered it?” he asked, looking at the table.
“Yep,” I said shakily. I’d gone too far to admit the truth now. I just needed to hope the men didn’t complain, or I knew I’d be screwed.
Then again, I thought if a woman was going to get screwed, they could do a lot worse than those three men. Except I’d already played the fantasy game of picking which one I liked. Mr. Beard, please and thank you. And while I was in fantasy land, I’d take a winning lottery ticket on the side.2JackWe were crammed into a little booth in a small restaurant on the outskirts of the city The place was out near a park I liked to do a little of my off-season exercise at.
