One
Daphne
The Meat Market is always packed like a sardine can on a Friday night, and I was regretting that I said yes to picking up an extra shift. I needed the money, sure. But did I need it badly enough to spend a night fending off drunk guys whose idea of a come-on was, “If I told you that you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”
As I picked up empty glass steins from a table and loaded them onto a tray, my manager Clarisse tapped my arm.I knew what was coming.
“Table three is complaining that you dumped your beer on his lap.” Her perfectly plucked brows pinched together in a frown, and she tucked a streamer of white-blonde hair behind her ear.
I smiled sweetly at the red-faced guy who was mopping himself off with a handful of towels and gave him a little finger wave.
“Table three pinched my butt.” Then I carried the tray over to the busboy’s station and set it down. Clarisse followed me.
“He’s still a paying customer,” Clarisse said primly. “And you can just—” Her eyes opened wide. “Oh my God, it’s the Viking! He’s back!”
My friend Miranda was scurrying by with her order pad clutched in her hand. She dramatically screeched to a halt. “The Viking?” she cried out, her head swiveling as she eagerly scanned the crowd. “Where?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m seating him in my section.” Clarisse flashed a triumphant smirk at Miranda. “He’ll be eating at Chez Clarisse tonight. And after he gets a taste of Clarisse à la mode, he’ll be coming back for seconds.” She swept off toward the front of the bar, moving as fast as she could in tight jeans and sky-high heels. Her father owned the Meat Market, and she used it as her personal hunting ground.
“Does it bother anyone else that Clarisse likes to refer to herself in the third person and also uses restaurant references when it comes to sex?” I wondered aloud. “It bothers Daphne. That’s me. I’m Daphne.”
“Well, Miranda wants to yank out Clarisse’s fake-ass weave,” Miranda muttered, glaring at the waterfall of platinum hair pouring down Clarisse’s back. Then she flashed me an impatient look. “Anyway, at least now you’ll believe the Viking is real.”
For the past few weeks, all the waitresses have been obsessed with the “Viking.” The man, the myth, the legend.
He was an improbably hot guy who suddenly appeared in our little town of Red Sands, New Mexico. Nobody knew where he lived or what he did for a living. He just started coming to the restaurant a few times a week, never on the shifts that I was working and always ordered a crazy amount of rare steak to go. He sounded too good to be true, and up until this moment, I didn’t believe he existed.
In fact, I still needed convincing.
“Where is this paragon of gorgeousness, then?”
Miranda inclined her head in the direction of the front door. Across the crowded room, I could just make out the top of a tall blond guy’s head. He was standing by the door talking to the bouncer.
As my eyes lighted on what little I could see of the mystery hottie, a sensual heat flared under my skin, and my heartbeat sped up. What a strange reaction. I couldn’t even see his face.
“I can’t believe Clarisse’s hogging him like that,” Miranda complained. “Well, that’s not true. Of course I believe it. That’s exactly the kind of thing that she’d do.”
I turned away. Whoever this guy was, he sounded like trouble. I didn’t need to jump into the long line of women eager to sample his wares. “By the way, did you know that Vikings did not, in fact, wear horned helmets?”
Miranda looked at me in horror. “You shut your filthy mouth, woman!”
I shook my head in emphasis. “There has never been a single archaeological finding of a horned Viking helmet.”
“My fifth-grade shield-maiden costume was a lie?” Miranda said indignantly. “You’ve ruined my childhood. Well, one night of my childhood. All I can say is, you stay away from the Easter Bunny and Santa, wench. I don’t even know why I’m friends with you.”
“Because I’m brilliant, witty, and I make a mean apple brown Betty?”
“That can’t be the reason. Well, except for the last part. Ooh, look, there’re three more hotties! Sweet! Since we can’t have the Viking.” Miranda jerked her thumb in the direction of a nearby booth.
Objectively, the three guys who’d just settled in there were good-looking. They were dark-haired and thick-browed, wearing jeans and lace-up construction boots. Their T-shirts revealed long, ropy muscles, and they glared around the room with challenging expressions on their faces.
The hair on the back of my neck rose up. Something about them immediately rubbed me the wrong way. “I’d steer clear,” I told her. As I said it, an odd smell washed toward us from their direction. Almost like…wild dog? I’ve always had an amazing sense of smell, and these guys smelled like nothing I’ve ever come across.
Miranda nudged my arm. “Come on. I can have two of them, and you can have one. It’ll be your birthday present.”
“Nope, I’m all set, thanks. You’re still going to the spa with me tomorrow, right?” I said, worried. “I made reservations.” My first ever spa visit! I’d been saving up for this birthday treat for months.
“Of course I am.” She fluttered her eyes at the three guys. “Unless they keep me up late.” She saw the look on my face. “Kidding!”
