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“This came out nice,” she said aloud. Jazz pulled the door open and strode out into the main dining area. “I look pretty damn good, if I do say so my—oh, hey.” Somehow in the two minutes she was donning the shirt, she’d forgotten about the two men waiting on her.
Toni sat at a booth with both Gumby and Screw. The men were on opposite sides of the table. Had Toni been the one to draw them together or had they overcome their silence and gravitated toward each other? After all, there was a pretty strong attraction there.
“Damn, woman, that shit makes your tits look stellar.” Screw said.
Immediately, Gumby’s mouth turned down, but he too had his gaze glued to her chest.
It was such a Screw thing to say, such a normal reaction from the jokester that Jazz couldn’t do anything but laugh. He hadn’t spoken more than two words to her since the night she asked him to back off and the moment of normalcy felt so damn good, she nearly teared up.
Gumby tore his gaze away from her body to glare at Screw who shrugged. “What? It does. I’m not blind.”
“Shut it, you two,” Toni said as she rose from the booth to circle Jazz.
Heat rose to her face under Toni’s perusal. She’d made it her mission to blend in and not be stared at over the past year and change. Being the subject of such blatant scrutiny was uncomfortable to say the least.
“I love it!” Toni clapped her hands together and bounced on the balls of her feet. “I’m so glad Zach finally convinced me to officially put my name on there. Toni’s Diner. Simple, but it makes me so happy.”
“I think it’s perfect,” Jazz said looking down at herself. “Too bad this one doesn’t have my name embroidered on it.”
Laughing, Toni waved her hand. “I’ll order you a few of those. Oh, wait.” She moved back to the table, then rifled through the box. “The shirts rock, but I’ll have to have a chat with the company before we make a big order. I can’t have them sending incorrect sizes like this. Here, another extra small.” She tossed a shirt Jazz’s way. “Try that one on for me too, if you don’t mind.”
Once again, Jazz snatched the shirt out of the air. This one was teal with black lettering, a reverse of what she wore. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be right back.” She held it up to get a better look and her stomach sank to the floor. “Uh, Toni?” she said unable to keep the tremor out of her voice. “This is a tank top.”
Refolding a few of the shirts, Toni said, “Yeah, I know. I’m not sure I want to go the sleeveless route. The neckline is low, maybe too low even though it’s squared. But I figured if I was ordering a bunch of different styles, I might as well get a few so we can make a decision on it. I just need to see you in it for a second.” She lifted her head and smiled, oblivious to the turmoil raging through Jazz.
“Uhh, maybe you should model this one.”
Toni snorted. “Sorry girl, an extra small I am not.”
An invisible hand wrapped itself around Jazz’s throat, squeezing tighter with each excuse Toni knocked back. Her next words came out a strangled whisper. “H-holly could—”
“Holly left about ten minutes ago, and you think her boobs are gonna fit in that thing? Come on, girl, it’d be downright pornographic.”
“I’d pay money to see—”
“Shut it, Screwball,” Toni said, holding her hand in front of his face.
Jazz stood frozen to the spot like a helpless animal caught in the high beams of a semi-truck. Memories assaulted her. Events she kept in a tightly sealed box in her mind broke free.
The smell of blood.
The sound of her own screams.
The terror.
The pain. God, the pain…
“Just try it for me, please. I promise you only need to keep it on for a minute. You won’t get too cold.” Toni still glared at Screw as she spoke. She’d yet to notice her employee’s internal freak-out.
Jazz rubbed over her arms as the sensation of a thousand bugs crawling across her skin grew in strength. The thought of standing before her friends in the low-cut tank brought with it a paralyzing dread that kept her feet rooted to the ground.
“No!” she yelled with far more force that the situation called for.
Toni, who’d resumed chatting with Screw, whipped her head around. Her eyebrows narrowed. “Seriously?”
“Yes. I’m not putting this on.” Jazz threw the shirt back to her friend and boss. Never before had they even come close to arguing over a business decision, or a personal one for that matter, which could be why Jazz felt the urge to vomit. Or it could be the horror of imagining herself walking out of her office in the tank top.
