Page 1 of Hot As Ice

one

stevie

BEING broke sucks ass.

Excuse my crude language but I am simply fed up.

I’m behind on rent, and it’s really stressing me out. My waitressing job barely pays anything. I’ve been charging everything on my credit card with no idea how I’ll pay it back.

Don’t even ask me about my credit score.

I can’t keep up with anything – not my bills, not my schoolwork, and certainly not the tables that keep filling up in my section with rowdy college students.

I stare at the college students filling up the booths with longing. I’d rather be eating a greasy burger than serving one at this pathetic minimum wage job.

Tips? You might get some good ones if you enjoy being manhandled by drunk idiots.

My boss, Joe, pokes me in the back sharply, rousing me out of my self-pity. “What?” I snap, before remembering he treats me worse and docks my pay when I get fresh with him. He glares at me.

“Go take care of that fucking table,” he growls. “They’ve been waiting for too long. And don’t piss me off,” he adds through gritted teeth. He pinches my upper arm and all but shoves me toward the table where three men just sat down. Prick. At least he doesn’t smack my ass too.

I plaster on a smile and walk toward the table with a pep in my step. Even when I’m enraged, I can still put on a happy face. One of the many things my mom drilled into me when I was a child.

“Nice of you to come over,” one of the patrons says as I approach the table. “We’ve been waiting for fucking ever.”

“Shut up, Ryder.”

The guy named Ryder glares at his friend who told him to shut up. It always amazes me the way males talk to each other. I would never dream of telling one of my girlfriends to shut up. Of course, none of my girlfriends would ever be rude to service workers.

I beam. “So sorry for the wait. We’re kind of slammed tonight. Can I get you started with anything to drink?”

“I’ll have a beer,” Ryder says, pointing at the menu. He’s extremely good looking, but the snarl on his face classifies him as an asshole. I hate assholes.

“Can I see some ID?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

I keep my chipper smile on. “Nope.”

“You seriously don’t know who I am?”

I frown. Is he famous or something? I look at his friends. They’re both remarkably handsome. One of them, the one who told him to shut up, has piercing blue eyes and black hair. He has high cheek bones, full lips, thick eyebrows, and a perfectly straight nose. He looks like he could be famous. But Concord isn’t exactly a town with Hollywood celebrities walking around.

I squirm, even though my mom always told me it was one of my worst habits. “Um, should I know you?” I ask Ryder. He has chocolate brown hair that sort of flops over his brow and bright green eyes that are narrowed in disbelief and…anger? Christ, this one’s got issues.

“Ryde,” the guy with the blue eyes and black hair says. “Just shut up and show her your ID.”

Ryder sighs, rolls his eyes, and makes a show of pulling his ID out of a sleek black leather wallet. I check his birthdate and smile. Turned 21 years old only two months ago. “Thank you.”

“I’ll have a Coke,” Blue Eyes/Black Hair says. He holds my gaze for a moment, and something seems to pass between us. Like something in me recognizes something in him. A funny feeling unfurls in my belly, and I force myself to look away.

“I’ll have a beer too,” says the third guy. He’s got dark blond hair that looks golden in the overhead lights and a sullen look to his face. He shows me his ID without my having to ask.

“Be right back, gentleman.”

As I’m putting the order in, Melanie, one of my coworkers grabs my upper arm and squeals. “Oh my god, please trade tables with me.”

“Why?”