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And even if I’m not, it won’t change shit about this miserable situation. Shelly’s going to be in town for at least another month.
That’s a lot of evenings flirting with this clown, however long he sticks around. The sooner I get used to it and control my anger, the better.
Hell, I live next door to her gram.
My best friend is her brother.
I’m going to hear about her life for the rest of mine—including when she gets married and starts popping out kids. I can’t spend mine drowning in a bottle, much less staying pissed at a girl I ran off years ago.
Been there, done that, and never again.
“Kim, your order’s up!” Billman, the cook, shouts from the kitchen while setting steaming plates of nachos and bison burgers on the open area for waitresses.
All three of them just left with trays of drinks to deliver, and Kim had the fullest tray. She’s on the other side of the room, doling out drinks to a big party of eight or more.
Knowing the food could be sitting by the time she makes it back, I leave my area behind the bar.
“What table?” I ask Billman.
“Twenty-two.” He points at the slip he’d set in his completed pile.
Shit. I know where that is. Looks like I just can’t catch a break with Shelly Simon.
“Thanks, West,” Billman adds.
“No problem.” I gather up the plates, knowing where they’re heading, and ask Billman, “Is there mayo on one?”
“Nope.”
“Get me a side of mayo, please,” I tell him. “Trust me.”
He squints at me for a second, then reaches inside the fridge with a shrug, pulls out a small plastic cup, and plops it on one of the plates.
Sucking up a breath, I haul the food across the bar to Shelly and Mr. Shit-fuck.
She barely gives me a startled glance as I lay a plate in front of them both.
“Someone must’ve read your mind,” Hudson says, reaching across the table for her hand. “You said you forgot mayo, but here it is.”
Shelly’s lashes lower for a moment before she looks up at me, offering a tentative smile.
“Thanks, Weston. You read my mind.”
“I always do,” I say, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Kim will be over soon to see if you need anything else. Enjoy.”
That last word sounds like go to hell.
The asshole still has her hand in a death grip. Running his filthy fingers over hers.
“Thank you,” he says distantly, staring at Shelly the entire time. “I think we have everything we need.”
I start to turn, slowly, but wind up doing a 360.
Something inside me snaps like a worn rubber band.
I can’t.
Can’t take this weasel with the hungry little gleam in his eyes touching her. Can’t take the entitled undertone in his voice. Can’t take another flicking second of this bullshit.
