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Ican't believe I got suckered into doing an extra shift. So much for Martin paying me like he promised. The bastard disappeared the minute I arrived, muttering something about an exotic dancer called Fifi. I can only assume he's renting her by the hour, as no sane woman would want to get naked with that asshole.
I'm not shallow enough to believe looks trump personality, but Martin isn't blessed with either. Not only does his face resemble a constipated turtle (no offense to turtles, you guys rock), but he also has the personality of road-kill after three days in the hot sun.
So here I am, juggling the late-night latte crowd with only Darlene in the kitchen as backup. And Darlene finishes in ten minutes, which means I not only have to lock up but I also get cleaning duties too. Cosmic.
The Java Junction has been busy tonight. Although coffee is our thing, we also serve light snacks, which tends to attract people with the munchies. They come for the coffee and stay for the banana bread, pastries, and toasted sandwiches. Darlene is a crotchety old bitch but she's an excellent cook. Some days, she even smiles. A smile day is a good day. Unfortunately, today is not a smile day. Today, Darlene is in a foul mood.
"I should hand my notice in," she grumbles as she wipes down the kitchen counters.
"You should," I agree while plating up some flapjacks for the group of frat bros who ordered coffee and are now waiting in a corner booth. They're already pissing me off and it's been less than ten minutes since they walked in. Typical college boys: too much testosterone and not enough charm. Normally I can handle it, but tonight, I'm not in the mood.
"But I won't," she continues. "Even though Martin's mother should have fucking swallowed."
I snort back a laugh.
"You get off, Darlene, put your feet up. I can handle everything from here."
"You sure, honey? I don't like leaving you alone with those shit stains out there. They look like trouble."
"Eh, I'll be fine. I have Martin's trusty baseball bat and some pepper spray." I reach into my apron and flash her the small canister I carry around. Better safe than sorry in my opinion.
"Well make sure you nail them in the balls before you use it," she advises.
"Damn right."
She shuffles out the back door and I lock it behind her. Only another hour to go and then I can lock up and go home and cuddle Hamish. It occurs to me I'd much rather be cuddling a sexy six-foot-something guy with tattoos, but I shut that thought down real quick. Not happening.
???
"Come over here, sweet stuff." The frat bro with the red hair and designer loafers whistles at me like I'm a fucking dog. He's handsome enough, and he fills out his gray Henley nicely, but misogynistic asshole is not my type, so nope.
"Is there anything else I can get you guys?" I ask politely, making sure I stand just out of reach of those grabby hands and avoiding eye contact. "We're closing up soon."
"I definitely want something," the asshole says as his hungry eyes linger on my breasts and then slide south.
Martin is to blame for a lot of the lecherous looks I receive. He makes us wear stupid white tees printed with the coffee shop logo, and mine is at least two sizes too small. The cheap fabric strains over my tits and frat bro is mesmerized.
I shove my notepad in my pocket and force a smile on my face. "Coffee to go?"
"Nah, I'd rather have you to go," he replies with what he thinks is a seductive smile. His two friends chuckle. No doubt they have some kind of bet going on. Boys like this always do; reeling in girls is typically a competitive sport at that age.
"Well sorry to disappoint but I'm not on the menu, so unless you want coffee or more snacks, I have better things to do than make conversation with entitled assholes." OK, so my customer service skills are not quite on point, but I'm done with this crew.
The smarmy smile drops from frat bro's smug face and he flushes with anger. I've embarrassed him in front of his friends, and he's pissed. Oops.
"You're all alone in here, aren't you," he says, eyes flicking to the door and then the kitchen. "That old hag left a few minutes ago. I saw her walk past."
He's right, but I'm not about to admit it. "Nope, my boss is in the back office." I force my voice to remain calm, bored even, but my hand twitches. It's an annoying tell, one I can't eradicate. It's how Thalia always beats me at poker. The bitch.
Frat bro laughs. He knows I'm lying. His two friends are looking at him, unsure of where this is going. They don't seem entirely on board with the plan, but I'm not convinced they will intervene if he does try anything. Which he will, because he's an entitled asshole and he doesn't understand the word "no".
"I don't think he is, sweet stuff."
I back up, my thighs bumping into the table behind me. This is going south real quick. I reach into my apron pocket and palm the pepper spray. Martin's baseball bat is lodged behind the counter, but I likely won't reach it in time if they all come at me at once. The door is too far away and there's nobody outside. My best bet is to talk this guy down from the ledge before he does something we'll both regret.
"My dad's a cop, you know. You try anything and he'll look at all the CCTV footage and then hunt you down like a feral dog. Cops are good at covering up nasty shit. They protect their own." Frat bro loses some of his puff. He isn't sure if I'm lying, then he sees my hand twitch, and the cocky smile returns.
"You're bluffing."
