Page 4 of On Your Knees

I was so stunned the whole time that I just kind of let it all happen. He took charge and… there I was. And, really, what was I going to do? He was helping me.

But why did I feel so strange the whole time? Not bad-strange, just strange. Alert but also kind of relaxed? And maybe… warm?

I’m overthinking it.

I’m sure it was nothing. This is a charity event after all. He was probably just being nice. He’s probably already forgotten me.

The thought weighs a little heavy for some reason, but it’s for the best. I just have to get through this dinner, get my money, and go. I mean, what did I think, that we were gonna be… friends or something? God, I’m such a dumbass.

I follow the other servers through the ballroom. Even from a distance, I spot Ethan easily. It’s partly that he’s so handsome. Objectively, of course. I mean, it’s way too obvious to not notice, especially with that Henry-Cavill hair. But it’s more than that. I’m not sure what the more is, but it’s hard not to look at him.

And for some reason, he’s looking at me. At least, I think he is. I repress the urge to look over my shoulder to check whether he might be looking at someone behind me. I have to focus. The last thing I want is to drop another tray.

I get to Ethan, but I’m watching the other servers so I can mimic them. I don’t really look at Ethan until I’ve set down his plate and only then because the hair is lifting on the back of my neck.

His dark eyes are hard to read, but he’s staring at me so intently that I almost think he’s angry. I jerk my eyes away. I need to do my work, nothing more. I see that the other servers are moving clockwise, so I do the same, moving around the table to set down the second plate in front of my other assigned person, John Clifford. He’s gray-haired and sort of grandfatherly.

Mr. Clifford smiles a little and thanks me, which seems unusual but nice. I nod and offer a quiet, “Sir,” before stepping back. As I wait for the other servers so we can retreat together, I scan the glasses around the table, but nothing needs bused or refilled.

I try so hard to not look at Ethan again, but my eyes jump to him anyway.

He is angry. I can see the muscle bunching in his jaw, and he’s looking right at me. Then his eyes move with a sort of predatory slowness to the man I just served. Ethan watches Mr. Clifford for a moment, then his eyes come back to me with something like… warning. Goosebumps erupt all over my body, and I feel something strange in my groin.

The seconds drag by agonizingly until the other servers finish, then I turn away in relief to follow them.

We have a brief interval before serving the sorbet, so I find a space out of the way in the servers’ room. I have to calm down. I’m imagining things. There’s no reason for someone like Ethan to be paying attention to someone like me. I’m creating a story that doesn’t exist, and I don’t know why. I don’t even know what the story is.

A female voice asks, “Are you okay?”

I startle, looking up at the female server from my table. She looks around my age, mid-twenties. Her tone is cold, and so is her expression. I become very aware that I’m being too expressive with my face and body. People don’t like that.

I feel myself close up and go still. It doesn’t exactly feel good, but it feels like how I’m supposed to be.

“Yeah,” I reply. “Thanks.”

I don’t know why I thank her. She wasn’t really asking. She doesn’t care. The point of the question was to tell me to get my shit together, and she confirms that by walking off without another word.

But maybe I needed it, because by the time we’re serving the sorbet course, I’ve got myself under control.

I don’t look at Ethan, at least not directly. When Mr. Clifford touches my arm and asks me to change his entrée, I could swear I feel Ethan’s gaze on me, but I ignore it. I have to focus. I have to stay in reality, not wander off into some weird, half-formed fantasy.

Reality is being two months behind on rent because I got fired—again. I can’t fuck this up. I’d be removed from the list of temps, and I have nothing else right now. The only reason they took me for this was job desperation.

I escape with the other servers and report the entrée change to the kitchen.

Halfway done.

When we serve the main course, I’m still closed up. I’m functioning correctly, and there are no mishaps. I accept Mr. Clifford’s thanks for the entrée adjustment. But when I step back to wait for the other servers, I look at Ethan. I try to tell myself that I’m checking on him because it’s my job, but my eyes lock, caught by his gaze.

An electrical current seems to travel through the air and shock my nerves. It lifts all the hair on my body. I don’t know why I feel so strange when he looks at me.

I take in his face more fully than I have before. I see past his handsomeness to the actual characteristics of his face. It’s slightly broad, with dark, beautiful eyes and a strong, clean jawline. His cheeks are hollow, his lips are full and firm, and there’s a subtle cleft in his chin.

His hand lifts from the white tablecloth. He motions for me to come. My feet obey at once, but tension hums along my nerves as I walk around the curve of the table to his side. I don’t know why I come so close, but it feels right. It is right, because his eyes are on me the whole time and he motions me closer. I bend down.

My face is right at his shoulder. His lips are close to my ear. It makes my scalp prickle.

He speaks in a quiet but forceful tone. “Don’t talk to him.”