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It’s been six grueling hours on my feet of taking orders, running trays, and fake laughing at the jokes of flirty old men.
Waitressing might not be for me. After working at the ranch all week long, I’m not sure how many nights per week I’ll be able to do this with a smile on my face.
You don’t have much of a choice if you want to get into nursing school and pay for it without your father’s help.
My goal is to save up enough so that I only have to work minimal hours while in school. I make good money at the ranch, but it’s taking too long while having to pay all my own bills.
The customers are looking me up and down, approving smirks and head tilts being thrown back at each other. It’s two men in their mid-forties, dirty from a long day of working outside in the Texas heat. They’re both eyeing me like I’m the first woman they’ve seen in days.
“Well, hello there, princess. Didn’t know we were getting the special tonight. How long you been working here?”
I blink up at the redheaded man with the bushy beard. “It’s my first day.” My smile probably looks more like a grimace, but I try to keep it on my face.
“Well, hot dog, it’s your lucky one then, sweetheart. Me and Chaz come in here most every night when we get done working on them power lines. You serve us just right, and you’ll get a damn good tip, maybe more.” He winks at me, leaning forward to rest against his elbows and pop his knuckles. The ring on his left ring finger winks in the overhead light.
My lips peel back with another forced smile. “You should know what you want then, in that case.”
The men chuckle. It’s almost ten o’clock, which is when the kitchen shuts down and I can’t put in any more orders.
They order two porterhouse steaks, rare, with double sides of mashed potatoes. I walk over to the bar after entering their food to grab the pints of draft beer they asked for.
I shift on my feet, the ache in my arches growing worse with each step. I thought I was used to standing for most of the day at my other job, but it turns out, I get more time off my feet than I realized.
This is good for you. This is for your future. You’re doing this so that you can break out on your own, be your own woman, and stop depending on unreliable people.
I pull my phone out of my back pocket, checking to see if my mom texted me back. The screen is blank. I push it back in with a sigh.
The bartender finally shoves the beer toward me, clearly annoyed at the customers for coming in five minutes before closing time. I thank her, reaching for the mugs and grabbing them. I trudge back over to the table where the men are chuckling among themselves. My skin crawls at the way their eyes travel over me, taking in every inch from head to toe. The uniforms here aren’t especially skimpy, but the manager seemed to intentionally give me an extra-small T-shirt that’s definitely too tight on my boobs. All the girls wear denim cutoff shorts and aprons with the company logo on them.
“Anything else while you wait?” I ask.
The married man with the red beard licks his lips, leaning toward me. “What’s your name, honey?”
It’s clearly printed on the name tag that’s pinned to my shirt, but I answer him anyway.
“It’s Rosie.”
He reaches forward, fingers moving toward my hands that are clasped in front of me. I’m frozen in place, debating if I should move back from him or let him touch me.
Well, that’s an easy choice.
I start to move back, but the decision is made for me by a third party who intervenes. A callous hand grips my elbow, pulling me back a step from the table.
I glance up, shock crossing my features as I see Holden Redford’s clenched jawline.
“I was told you’re my server, and we haven’t ordered yet,” he says, his demanding voice and overall menacing presence enough to shut up the other men.
I gape at him, trying to resist the urge to lean closer in desperate gratitude for the rescue from the creeps to my left.
“Of course. I’m so sorry. I’ll be right there.”
Holden half tugs, half drags me along with him toward the table in the corner, where Cash is already seated. They must’ve come in when I was at the bar, getting the beer. They’re both wearing their typical jeans, boots, and cowboy hats, looking intimidating and scary as hell with their moody glares and muscular shoulders. I’m somehow still not immune to it, and my lower belly tightens as I look them over.
“You’ll have to put your order in now before the kitchen closes,” I warn them.
Cash scoots out of the booth, ignoring me as he heads for the bar. I open my mouth to tell him that I can get a beer for him, but I shut it before speaking. More power to the man if it saves me a trip.
“What can I get you?” I ask Holden.
