“Have a seat; you look stressed.”
Cassidy slapped the tray on the table and leaned across it to rip the menu out of its holder. She smacked it down in front of him. “I’ll be back.”
Mac grasped her wrist and held it on the table, keeping her in place, sitting up straighter. “Hold up.”
Relaxing, resting over her hand, she waited expectantly for his order. But he was a heartbeat too slow in lifting his eyes to hers, one brow quirking and his smile widening. Glancing down at herself, she realized her forward position gave him a view through the gaping collar to the white lace bra molding around her breast, her peaked nipple straining the stretchy material.
“You ass!” She jerked her hand away and stood up, tugging at the hem of the shirt, snapping the collar together, her cheeks blazing.
Now amused, dark orbs traveled upward as he pointed out, “I’m not the first guy you’ve flashed tonight, but I’ll give you the biggest tip.”
For a moment, she was wondering if it was a double entendre and her eyes widened. Then she realized he meant it literally, and she narrowed her gaze. “I don’t want your money, just your order. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s a busy night, and I don’t have time to deal with you.”
Mac glanced around in mock disbelief. “Got a survey card I can fill out on the service I’m receiving?”
Cassidy turned on her heel to walk away.
“Bacon cheeseburger with fries and whiskey on the rocks.”
Expelling an irritated breath, she paused and turned a baleful eye to him. “Preference on the whiskey?” She had to ask; it was her job.
“What do you recommend?”
“A twenty-seven-year-old Redbreast, but you won’t get that here. I’ll bring you a Jack.” And she walked away with his laugh following her. She swore he only showed up to harass her. Of course, she knew this wasn’t true because he’d been a fixture at the bar long before she came back to work here.
By the time Jemma filled his drink order and she returned to the table with it, he already had company in the form of a pretty brunette. She hugged her mug of beer to her cleavage, probably wishing it was his hand. Cassidy slid the drink in front of him with no intention of staying any longer than she needed to; his attention was on the woman opposite him who, based on his response, was trying to get him on the dance floor.
“Don’t dance, sugar.”
Cassidy stopped off at her next table, trying not to shake her head in disbelief at how women swarmed to him despite all the things he didn’t do: didn’t dance, didn’t kiss, didn’t… she mentally smacked herself. None of her business.
And what was it with his use of monikers? She suspected Mac used it as a tool to convey affection when he was attempting distance—he didn’t have to learn names but give a girl a moniker that hints at intimacy, and she swoons.
Misogynist, as she’d initially pegged him.
Of all of her customers that night, he was the one she was obsessing over. She didn’t give a second thought to the group of drunken guys throwing darts off to the side, their hands freely groping the teasingly shaken asses of women as they pranced by with the hopes of being grabbed. She wasn’t thinking about how one of those guys would likely end up in the infamous corner with one of those girls. No, her divided attention was singular.
So when he asked how much longer his meal was going to take, his eyes on the grinning brunette, Cassidy knew to push back his order. She told him another twenty minutes; the truth was, it was bound to be up in the next five minutes. But she headed straight back to the kitchen and told Andy to hold off.
When she watched the two walk out the door, the pang of resentment mystified her. She told herself it was because it was rude. But she dutifully kept his booth open; after all, she expected him to return for the burger. If he didn’t, Fred would get it, and she’d put it on his account with a generous tip despite what she’d said.
Cassidy knew the second he returned, even though she was standing with the dart-throwing men and a couple of their newly-discovered girlfriends, discussing the nostalgia of old-fashioned jukeboxes over the digital one Darlene had installed in the bar. The look of the juke was the same, but instead of the pleasure of watching an arm grab a 45, you scrolled through an endless list of downloaded music. It was a friendly discussion even if it went off-track while inebriated brains tried to remember their points.
Mac returned alone, and she watched in her peripheral vision as his eyes swept the bar, landing on her. He paused and considered the scene before returning to his booth. Cassidy didn’t look in his direction. She laughed with the guy in front of her who was leaning in close to her. His breath smelled like beer as he told a story she realized she wasn’t following.
“Excuse me, I have an order up,” she said to the guy, interrupting him mid-sentence. He blinked. Smiling, she side-stepped and headed back to the kitchen.
Andy looked over at her. “Two tickets up.” He slid Mac’s order and the order for another table under the warmer.
Cassidy grabbed them with a smile and a wink. She delivered Mac’s first, practically tossing the plate on the table as she passed by, not making eye contact. “Ketchup’s on the table.”
“Day!”
She paused, back to him, head tilted in his direction to indicate she was listening.
“Another whiskey if you can be bothered.” He sounded amused.
She gave him a thumbs-up as she continued onward, delivering a basket of fried chicken wings to a group of locals who were drinking and playing a game of progressive rummy. They were five decks of cards in.