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"Yes!" Tristy yelled back. "No mustard this time."
I rolled my eyes but repeated to Julian in a playful baby voice, "No mustard, you hear that, Fighter? Your mama's gonna fire us if we don't get it right."
He gurgled and cooed in response, so I spent a moment cooing back, rubbing my nose against his until I got him to smile and wave his arms. He'd only started smiling a week or so ago. Tristy claimed she still hadn't seen one, even though I'd caught it on camera. I had to hold my tongue to keep from telling her she actually had to look at him to notice it.
After we men made the sandwiches, I warmed a bottle for the little guy. Back in the living room, Tristy took her sandwich with a half-hearted grunt, and Julian and I settled into the rocking chair. While we all ate, I watched Tristy madly type, pause every few seconds to read something on the screen, then nibble from her ham and cheese before typing some more.
"What're you doing, anyway?" I asked, mildly interested. "Writing a book?"
She speared me with a short scowl before she went right back to typing. "I'm talking to someone on Facebook."
I lifted my brows. I hadn't known she'd joined the network. I'd never had the time to myself. "Who?" I asked, wondering who the hell else from our neighborhood got into that shit.
With another glare, she muttered, "None of your damn business."
Well. I lifted my eyebrows but let the issue drop. After I finished eating, and Julian was nearing the end of his bottle, I pushed up from the chair and sighed. That was the one break I'd have today. "I'm working at the bar tonight," I reminded Tristy, carrying the baby back to his swing. "So I'm going to take a shower and push off again."
She groaned and sent her son a glance brimming with disgust. "Can't you take him with you while you get ready? I've had him all fucking day."
I clenched my teeth and popped my jaw but acknowledged her request with a strained, "Sure." Picking Julian back up, I carried him down the hall and set up a bouncer seat next to the tub for him to wiggle in while I took a quick shower. As I dried myself afterward, shaved, and ran a quick comb through my hair, I talked nonsense to the kid, telling him about who'd come into the garage today and what was wrong with some of the cars I'd worked on.
Tristy might think it was stupid to talk to someone who didn't understand a word I said, but he responded to me more than anyone else who lived in this apartment, so I kept talking to him. Besides, he was too cute not to talk to him. He watched my mouth when I spoke as if every word was divine; he was mesmerized. Kinda made me feel important.
I slipped on my Forbidden Nightclub uniform—which was actually just a snug black T-shirt and blue jeans—and checked the kiddo's diaper one more time before I carried him back into the front room.
"Here you are," I told Tris. "He's clean and fed and ready to go." I tried to hand Fighter to her directly, but she shot me a dirty look. So I sighed and settled him back into his swing. I bet he hated that damn swing.
I would not lose my temper. I would not lose my temper. No matter how much she neglected her own child, I would not yell at her.
That had become my mantra these past few months.
Kissing Fighter on the forehead, I wished him a quiet farewell, then I waved goodbye to my wife of six hours, who remained seated cross-legged in the same spot on the couch she'd been in when I'd walked in the door, and I left to start my second job of the day.
As usual, I was late for work.
"Hey, look who finally decided to join us," my coworker, Noel Gamble, called as I ambled inside. He and the new guy, Mason, were already behind the bar, which meant I got to wait tables tonight. Fine by me. I made more tips working the crowd anyway, especially on Thursdays when it was ladies' night. The ladies loved me.
"I decided you'd miss me too much if I didn't show," I hollered back to Gamble. Sending him an air kiss, I tapped my chest with both hands and then spread my arms wide. "So here I am, baby. Just for you."
He snorted and shook his head. "You'd need bigger boobs to interest me."
Chuckling, I turned to find a complete stranger fumbling to tie a waist apron around his hips but messing up so bad he had to start again.
"Whoa. Wait." I took it from him. "It's like this."
After I showed him how to properly tie the thing on, he looked up and smiled appreciatively. "Thanks."
"No problem." I gave him a nod before adding, "Now who the fuck are you?"
I wasn't rude about the question. I mean, yeah, I might've dropped the f-bomb, but mostly I was just surprised to see another face working tonight. Grateful but surprised.
The guy skittered away from me, though, clearly intimidated, even though he was a good six inches taller than me and twice as wide.
Maybe my tattoos and multiple facial piercings put him off. Who knew?
"Uh . . . I'm Quinn. Quinn Hamilton. This is my first night."
I nodded. "Huh." Chewing on the side of my lip, I studied him from head to toe. "So, where the hell did Jessie find you? Hiding under a pew at church?" He looked like a freaking choirboy, his hair all gelled and styled and his face fresh and pure as if he'd just come from a confessional to blot all his sins away. All two of them.
