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“Oh, you know, nothing except Easton, Drew, and two other guys who are disturbingly just as gorgeous are my table of four.”
“Damn. You have all the luck. I’ll have to swing past and say hello to Drew. Maybe he’ll want to get together tonight. Anyway, look at this.” She thrusts her phone in my face.
It takes a minute for my eyes to focus, but when they do, my mouth drops open. There, on the tiny screen, is a picture of Drew and Easton in matching Tennessee Blaze uniforms. My eyes scan the article quickly. It’s from last year when they won the World Series. Holy shit!
“And I believe this is where I say I told you so.” She laughs.
“Okay, so he was honest about that, but come on, Chloe. Think about this for a minute. Guys like them can have anyone they want. Why some random stranger at a bar? Oh, that’s right, they want to get their dick wet. Case in point, you took Drew home with you.”
“You’re damn right I did, and it was ah-maz-ing. You need to have a little fun in your life, Larissa. Knock off the cobwebs.” She grins, placing her phone back in her pocket.
“Hey, Chloe, table of two,” Tara announces on her way to the kitchen.
“I might just have to take the long way to my section,” she says, sauntering away.
I watch her go, still in disbelief that Easton plays for the Blaze. Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I gather their drinks, steel my features, and head back to their table. I can feel his eyes on me as I pass out drinks. “Are you ready to order?” I again start on the left, ignoring his penetrating gaze. I focus on taking their orders, then turn to Easton. “For you?” I ask politely.
“What do you recommend?”
“The spare ribs are an excellent choice. We also have a great sirloin. You can cut it with a fork.” I tell him my usual spiel.
“I’ll take the sirloin,” he says.
“Ten ounce or twelve?”
“Twelve.”
“How would you like that cooked?”
“Well done. Baked potato, butter and sour cream, broccoli, and salad with ranch.”
I work on writing down his order, knowing he’s still watching me. When I look up, he’s smiling with the menus in hand.
“Here you go.” He hands them to me.
“I’ll be right out with your salads.” I rush away to put their order in and get a break from his stare. At the computer, I enter their order then place the menus back on the bin, but something catches my eye. Pulling open the top menu, I find a piece of paper with a number on it and a little baseball flying through flames. The Blaze. I can’t help but laugh at his hint. Of course, he couldn’t write his name. His number falling into the wrong hands would be a nightmare for him I’m sure. It’s not the official Blaze logo, but I get the point.
“Table of one,” Tara says, smiling.
Quickly, I shove the paper in my pocket and head to my table of one. I smile when I see Mr. Brown. He’s a regular here, a widower who lost his wife of forty-eight years. He comes here once a week to have dinner. He told me how this was her favorite place in town to eat, and he comes here for her. One day, when life slows down and I feel like I get a minute to breathe, I want to find a love like that.
I take Mr. Brown’s order and rush to get his drink. I scan Easton’s table and see how they’re doing on drinks without stopping. Minimal communication is key here. I gather a refill for each of them, as well as Mr. Brown’s sweet tea and water with lemon, and place them on my tray.
“How about some refills?” I ask. I don’t make eye contact with any of them while I set their drinks down.
“Thanks, Ris.” Easton smiles.
All I can do is nod and try to act as if his smile doesn’t make my belly quiver. As I head to my next table, I think about how much I love that he shortens my name, but I’ll never tell him that. I’ve always just been Larissa to my family and friends. “Here you go, Mr. Brown. Your salad should be out soon.”
“Thanks, dear.” He smiles kindly.
As I walk back through the dining area, I feel a hand grab mine, stopping me in my tracks. Looking down, I see Easton holding onto my hand. “What time do you get off tonight?” His brown eyes are pleading for me to tell him.
His buddies make some lewd jokes at his question, and honestly, it’s hard for me not to smile as well. He kind of walked into that one. He whips his head around and gives them what I imagine is a “shut the hell up” look before turning back to face me. “Maybe we can go for coffee or something after?”
