Chapter 17
Conleigh
I don’t know what I’m doing here. I take a deep breath as I stare at the door to The Grill. The outside is a bit rough. The sign needs updated; it creaks above my head, ready to rust off the hinges any day now. It reads Big Mike’s Grill in old English style lettering. Who in the hell is Mike anyway? Was he the previous owner? The white vinyl siding could use a good power wash and the parking lot needs swept and repaved. There’s a lot of potential here, but I doubt the place makes enough money to cover the repairs it truly needs to improve its curb appeal. I don’t know why I care, b
ut I do.
I guess it’s because I care about Holden and want him to succeed. My life is one giant clusterfuck. When did Holden manage to get under my skin so deeply?
I had Bailey drop me off here against her better judgment. I know she worries about me, but I need to sort my shit out myself. Only I can fix my life. I only wish I had a real plan. I do need a job and there is the perk of working for Holden, even though I am not entirely sure I am ready to see him yet. I scan the parking lot realizing his truck isn’t here. That’s good. I start to go in three times before I finally get over my nerves. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. He isn’t even here, so it shouldn’t be a big deal. I walk in and scan the place. Everything appears so different in the daylight. The floor is clean of peanut shells and only two customers are seated at the bar.
The bartender from the other night is on duty as well as that skank, Cheryl. Her nose turns up when she sees me and my stomach sours knowing she has fooled around with Holden. I don’t know if I can stomach working next to her. I have no reason to hate her, but I do. I think I will hate every woman who has ever felt his touch before I did.
“You the new girl?” Waylon questions as I step up to the counter. I remember him from last time I came in. He’s cute enough. I bet he makes good tips. He has piercing blue eyes that almost appear to be contacts because they are deep indigo.
“Yeah.” I smile at him trying to dial down my jealousy toward the hussy.
“Cool. Holden said he wasn’t sure if you’d show.” He smiles. Warm. Friendly.
“Well, here I am. Do I need to fill out paperwork or anything?”
“Nah, today you’ll work for cash and if you can hang, then Holden will handle hiring you.”
“Okay, where do I start?”
“You can start by taking your prissy ass somewhere else,” Cheryl sneers at me and blows her freshly painted finger nails. There’s a bottle of red nail polish sitting on the bar. Her roots need touched up and she has lipstick on her teeth. She moves to light up a cigarette and rolls her eyes at me when I scrunch up my nose.
I eye her whore polish and say to Waylon, “Pretty sure she is violating the health code.”
“Ignore her,” he tells me, motioning for me to follow him to the kitchen.
Sucking in a breath, I pass by the jealous hag and follow Waylon behind the bar. We pass through what I akin to swinging saloon style doors into the small but tidy kitchen. There’s a grill, deep fryer, refrigerator, and a prep table. Waylon goes to the fridge and takes out some lemons, placing them on the stainless-steel table.
“You can wash your hands over there,” he instructs, pointing to a small sink at the opposite end of the room.
I nod as he takes a knife and storage container from a shelve.
After washing my hands, I rejoin him, wondering if Holden actually needs to hire anyone. The place seems dead.
Waylon leaves me on my own to slice lemon and limes wedges. After that I move to onions. Once I’ve finished that I go on to filling napkin holders, the salt and pepper shakers and check to see that the bathrooms have soap and toilet paper. Thankfully Cheryl stays out of my way. Now I have nothing to do. The place is dead other than a band doing their soundcheck. I didn’t even know they had live music outside of the open mic nights.
This group has an alternative folk sound. I am sitting at a nearby booth filling out the new hire forms. Apparently, Holden called and said that after I fill these out I can leave. I don’t guess he’s coming in today while I’m here. Which sucks because I was hoping he’d be working while I am at the apartment having the talk with Ezra.
As I go the bar to give my paperwork over to Waylon the band is finishing their set. The lead singer reaches the bartender before I do and orders a beer.
“Can I buy you a drink?” He winks at me and I can’t help but blush. He’s got that whole edgy, sexy rocker thing going on. Messy bed hair that says he’s just been screwing his brains out and eyes so grey they don’t look real. They almost remind me of Holden’s eyes. He flicks his lip piercing with his tongue as he waits for me to answer. “So, whatcha drinking?” He’s dressed in black jeans with the knees ripped out, combat boots, and a black t-shirt that says Bite Me across the front with a pair of fangs.
I shake my head and look to Waylon for help and he just looks at me like no way, you’re on your own, sweetheart.
“I can’t, but thanks. I’m on my way out.”
He looks at me as though I smacked him. Guess he isn’t used to the word no.
“Do you know who I am, love?”
“A guy who wants to buy me a drink?” I tease, but seriously I don’t know who in the hell the guy is. I don’t follow music all that much.
He laughs and a dimple pops out on his right cheek. And it hits me. I’ve seen his face on the front of those cheesy tabloids at the grocery store checkouts.