My dreams have been overrun with fantasizes of him fucking me against the hallway wall—filthy, rough, deep. I’m sick—and I don’t want to get better.
“Enough. Go shower,” Michael tuts, waving a dismissive hand our way.
Sagging, I bend over unlacing my shoes flexing the toes as my stomach gurgles, I’m famished and have a shift in half an hour.
I stand under the hot spray of the shower, letting the droplets massage the aching muscles in every part of my body.
“I think he has some kind of crush on me.” Jewel Conway’s voice rings out, her tone high and screechy.
Jewel. Even her name makes her seem untouchable, delicate, precious.
Stepping from the shower, I wrap a towel around my body, hating the harsh fabric against my skin. “He’s gay actually,” I say, squeezing the water from my hair as I walk to the mirror beside her.
Jessica’s narrowed gaze burns a scar into the side of my face. She’s Jewel’s friend, more like a shadow than a person.
Jewel looks me up and down, her nose curled like I’m letting off a bad smell. “How would you know that?”
“I saw him with his boyfriend.” I roll my eyes. I haven’t seen him with anyone, nor do I know his sexual orientation, but I feel insulted on his behalf.
The truth is, Jewel’s movements are hesitant because she’d been gouging at her feet with scissors to remove hard skin or bunions before training began.
That’s what I really saw—the blood seeping through the fabric of her pointe. He probably saw it too.
“I did hear you like to watch people together, creep,” she snipes, and I grin back at her through the mirror.
So pretty.
So pathetic.
She’s everything I’m not.
Blonde. Blue eyes. Porcelain skin. Petite. Rich. And she immediately took a disliking to me. She’s worried I’m her competition—and she’s right to worry.
“Ignore her, Jewel. She’s just jealous he’s noticed you and not her,” Jessica sneers.
Noticed her for being sloppy?
“Don’t you have a thrift store to be rummaging in?” Jewel jibes, raising a brow.
She thinks her taunts are insults. With a gentle nudge as I pass her, her lipstick swipes across her cheek. I can be juvenile too.
“See you later, Janet,” I call over my shoulder.
“Alyssa, drinks are ready for table eight,” Joelle calls from the bar to get my attention.
Table eight is Milly’s, but I don’t see her anywhere.
She only works one shift a week that syncs with mine, but the others have talked about how lazy and stingy she is with the sharing of tips—and that immediately made me dislike her.
I run the drinks to her table and place them down, grateful the customers take their chosen drinks without me having to ask who ordered what.
“Let me know if there’s anything else you need,” I offer with a smile, then make my way back to the bar to get a fresh order pad.
Tonight had been crazy long. In fact, it’s been a long week, and once again, the same as every night this week, Mr. Leto hasn’t made an appearance.
I check the clock and sigh. Nearly home time.
“Are you ready to order food?” I ask in my most polite tone, holding in the yawn desperate to break free. This is my last table.
“Can we have a few more minutes?” One of the women ask not looking up at me as she scans the menu.
“Of course.” I smile, despite wanting to yell at them.
They’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes, and fifteen of that was them deciding what they want to drink. We close in an hour, and it will take half of that for the chef to cook their order.
“You look wiped.” Simon runs his gaze eyes up and down my body, his brow raised.
A group of women who spent most of the night in a private booth reserved for special occasions giggle and stumble as they leave for the night.
One breaks away from the group and slides a folded-up bill and a napkin with a number written on it across the bar toward Simon.
Smirking, he pockets the napkin in front of her, making her blush.
I take a moment to really look at him.
His dark hair is neatly styled to one side. Amber eyes are rimmed with thick, dark lashes that would make any female jealous. Prominent cheekbones and a slight crook at the bridge of his nose make him handsome in an unconventional way.
“It’s been a long week,” I groan, looking over at another of Milly’s tables. It hasn’t been cleared of the dirty plates despite her customers being finished. “Where’s Milly?” I ask.
“She’s in the bathroom for the hundredth time tonight. I think her boyfriend dumped her again.” Joelle sticks a finger in her mouth in a gagging motion, overhearing our conversation.
“If Hannah comes out here and sees the tables this way, she’ll fire Milly—and that would mean more work for the rest of us in covering her shifts next week,” she adds, pushing the receipt booklet for their table over to me.