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"Besides, I felt like you needed something exciting in your day considering the shitshow that is your life." Her words came out casually and truthfully as she applied a thin coat of gloss to her lips.
"Wow, thanks, Mal," I grumbled.
"Lighten up. Have fun with it."
Fun. Right. What even was that? I buzzed from table to table, all while the man with the dreamy eyes chatted with another guy while he picked at his club sandwich. Even though preoccupied with a conversation, his eyes still found mine occasionally, and it sent shivers down my spine. Becoming more self-aware of the state of my attire, which included a soft cream-colored polo paired with slightly ripped dark denim blue jeans that exposed my elephant ankles. I found myself looking down at my appearance, and when I looked back up, his eyes locked on mine. I continued to hop from table to table, wondering every three seconds if he was still staring at me. I casually dropped the check on the man's table before heading to the kitchen to grab the next order. Busy with another rush, it wasn't until I stopped to catch my breath that I noticed he had left, and I swiped up the receipt and tip. My breath hitched in my throat as I stared down at the two crisp one hundred dollar bills. Did he do this on purpose? His tab was only $18.67 But then I saw the note on the receipt.
Next time I'll come back for something sweeter.
I realized my mouth was on the ground and snapped it shut.
"Is there something wrong?" Mal asked as she rounded the long counter.
I shook my head and shoved the money into the pocket of my apron. We were supposed to split tips. It was an odd rule considering most restaurants let individual servers keep the cash from their own tables. But Estelle liked to be inclusive, whatever that meant.
"Did he not tip?" Mallory placed her hands on her hips and folded her arms across her chest in protest.
"No, he didn't." Ignoring the devil that perched his ass on my shoulder, I shrugged and walked through the swinging door to the kitchen.
* * *
I listenedto Mallory talk about all the assholes she dealt with on the ride home. She complained about it after every shift, yet she never looked for another job.
I pulled up to her house, and before I could put the Jeep in park, her seatbelt flew back, and she twisted in my direction.
"You doing okay?"
No. I'm not. Even though the money in my pocket will, without a doubt, help me sleep a tiny bit better tonight, it's not even the tip of the iceberg. My eyes tear up as a response.
"Oh honey." She put her hand on my knee. "It's going to get better. Life always gets better."
"Does it, though?" I choked out. "Mine seems to get worse. It's always been this way. One step forward, four leaps back. I can't catch a break and now with Lincoln's lawyer issue…" I let my words trail off and buried my face in my hand.
"Here." She tapped my shoulder before returning her hands to her pink wallet.
"Oh, no, I don't want—"
"I insist." She stuffed the twenty-dollar bill in my hand. "Get some ice cream. Wine. Hell, go buy some weed if you want. Just take care of yourself, okay?"
I don't know where it came from or what possessed me to say it, but as she started to get out of the Jeep, I grabbed her arm.
My mouth opened, closed, and opened again. "What's the name of that agency? The…escort one?" I whispered the last part as if someone could hear me.
Mallory burst out in laughter, which soon subsided once she saw the seriousness etched into my features. She raised a brow, and I cut my gaze back to the street. We sat in silence as we processed the utterly ridiculous idea. An idea I hated to my core, but it seemed like the only way to help my brother.
"Really?” she asked, leaning into me.
I didn't say anything and eventually lowered my eyes to my lap. A hefty sigh made her shoulders rise. "Okay, I'll get the info and text you in a few."
I drove home with my heart pounding in my chest. I didn't regret asking for the information, and a small part of me became anxious, curious about what the process was like. I parked my car, and double checked the locks before getting out and heading toward my apartment. My phone vibrated as I approached my door, and my heart sank into my stomach. The knob was loose, meaning someone tried to break in. Great. I pushed my way in. Everything looked more or less normal. Probably because I had nothing to steal unless my collection of a boyband and baby Yoda t-shirts appealed to someone.
Certain that no one was hiding in a closet, I double-checked the locks and kicked my shoes off before crashing down into the couch. I opened the text and found the number for the agency staring back at me.
I needed better and so did Lincoln. I didn't have a choice.
