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I wave to Helen, the head librarian, and make my way to the information desk. Taking a seat, I bend forward to place my purse in the desk drawer.
“Hey, Bridget?” Helen calls. “Someone in the nonfiction section is asking for assistance. Think you can help them out?”
I lock my purse in the drawer and stand. “Sure thing.” I head down the aisle until I hit the nonfiction section. I turn the corner and stall in my step. “I doubt this is a coincidence.” My lips downturn at Chase standing in the aisle, holding a book on teenage periods.
“Oh, wait, you work here? I was in town and—”
“Give me a break. Why are you here? How did you know where I—?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?”
A gasp sounds from the aisle over. “Shhh! Are you kidding me?”
“No. I want to know.”
I take two angry steps toward him, my voice low, angry. “You came all the way here, to my work, to ask me why I didn’t tell you I was a virgin?”
He nods, as if it’s the most reasonable thing to ask a person, waiting for my answer—one I don’t have and won’t give. “It’s none of your business. Unless you’re going to check out The Beginners Guide to a Girl’s Menstrual Cycle, then please leave.” I twist on my heel, and he grabs at my arm.
“Wait.” I tug on my arm, but he doesn’t budge. “Please.” I turn around on his plea. “Just give me a chance. I’m not a bad guy.”
“What do you want, Chase? We had a night together. We were never meant to see each other again. We should keep it that way.”
“And I agree. Clingy girls aren’t my thing—shit!” he hisses as I kick him in the shin. “I take it back. I’m not into violent chicks. Shit, that hurt.”
I pull on my arm, and he lets go. “Good, so we’re done here.”
“Hell no, we’re not done!” He raises his voice, garnering attention from Sue, our other librarian.
“Bridget, everything okay over there?”
“Yep. He’s looking for an erectile dysfunction guide. I told him it’s in the next aisle over. Mind helping him? I have to get back to the desk.”
Sue smiles, trying to hide her humor at the book request, while Chase turns red with anger. “Have a great day, sir. Hope that book helps.”
I walk off, a smug smile on my lips, the lingering thought of those sexy, sinful eyes creating a tingle down below.
The diner is crazy busy tonight. Every time I think I’m about to get some downtime, a rush of people come in.
“Bridget! You got an angry customer at table seven! Says he’s been waiting on service for over fifteen minutes. Get your ass out there!” Hank, the manager, yells over the counter. What the heck? I’ve been diligent with every customer.
“Sorry. I’m on it.” I hurry out, placing four plated burgers and two milkshakes on a table and rush over to—
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Chase is sitting at table seven, like the booth has been reserved just for him, reading an erectile dysfunction book.
“Finally.” He doesn’t take his eyes off his stupid book. “I’d like a double cheeseburger and fries, extra cheese—oh, wait. My handy book just told me fatty foods is a cause of my erectile disfunction. Cancel that. I’ll go with the chicken salad and a water with lemon.”
I roll my eyes, a sigh leaving my lips. “Are you serious?”
“I’d say as a heart attack, but since I’m changing my eating habits—hey! You’re not allowed to assault customers,” he gripes when I throw a towel at him.
I shake my head and walk off, putting his order in. I may have added that he wanted the cheeseburger after all and requested it to be burnt. Once his food is up, I can’t decide if he eats it to prove a point or he was really that hungry. He sits there for the rest of my shift, ordering random side dishes and water. And still, I ignore him. He has to get tired of this little game and leave sooner or later.
“Hey, Bridge, who’s the hunk at table seven who can’t keep his eyes off you?” Carol, the other server, asks.
I finish ringing up a bill and look up at Chase as he quickly diverts his attention to the ketchup label. “He’s just a guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
A guy I should have never gotten involved in my messed-up life.
“Well, lucky for you, he’s a looker. I’d be all over that if I were you.”
In another life, so would I. One where I wasn’t emotionally broken. “Well, you can have him. Just make sure he pays his tab. I’m heading home. See ya tomorrow.”
I stuff my apron in my purse and slide out the back door. Heading up the alley, I take a turn down Hamilton Street.
