Page 4 of His Kidnapped Irish Mafia Virgin

It was the truth. There hadn’t been any fights. Nothing had happened that couldn’t be cleaned up before tomorrow. The club had run the way it was supposed to. That only made it harder to understand why one small accident had stayed with me long after everything else had faded.

I walked over to the window and looked out across the empty street. The neighborhood had settled down hours ago. The only movement came from a car disappearing around the corner. My attention barely stayed on it because another detail pushed its way to the front of my mind. When the waitress apologized, she didn’t look at my face first. She looked at my hands. Most people watched a man’s face when they were trying to figure out what he was thinking, but the waitress’s eyes dropped to my hands before lifting to meet mine. It wasn’t a normal reaction, and the more I replayed it in my mind, the less sense it made.

I rubbed the back of my neck, irritated that I was still thinking about the waitress whose name I didn’t even know, the waitress who’d only worked one shift, spilled a pitcher of beer on me, apologized enough for three people, and somehow managed to follow me without leaving the club. I told myself that tomorrow night she would simply be another waitress carrying drinks across the floor, and this whole thing would finally disappear from my head.

Even as I turned off the lights and headed upstairs, I already knew those frightened brown eyes would find their way back into my thoughts before morning.

***

The club looked the same as the night before. There was a line outside the entrance. People could hear the music every time the front doors opened. Friday was over, and Saturday brought a different crowd with the same hopes. When I walked inside, the staff were already moving fast, like they always did when it got busy.

I nodded at the two security guards at the entrance. Then I walked the floor, checking each section like I always did. The exits were clear. The emergency lights were working. The bar staff were already struggling to keep up with the wave of drink orders. Nothing seemed out of place, which was how I liked it. Organized nights meant easy work, and easy work meant everyone went home safely.

I’d almost finished my walkthrough when I saw her. She was carrying a tray of glasses to the bar. She moved slowly, which stood out from everyone else. The other servers rushed between tables whenever they could, but she moved carefully. She waited for people to pass. She changed her path when someone stepped into her way. She avoided brushing against customers even when the floor was crowded.

She hadn’t seen me yet. Her attention stayed on the tray until she reached the bar. There was something different about seeing her from a distance. Up close, I’d been too distracted by the spilled beer to notice much. From here, I could see how her brown hair was pulled back loosely. She had a soft, natural look, contrasting the polished appearance of most of the women in the club.

She put each glass down one at a time, then gave another order to the bartender. I found myself watching her a little longer than I should have. A loud laugh came from near the pool tables. Two men were arguing over a game, and one of them had already had too much to drink. I walked over before things got worse and reminded them that they could either calm down or leave. They chose to calm down without complaint, but I stayed nearby for a while to make sure they meant it before I kept doing my rounds. By the time I reached the other side of the room, the waitress had moved on.

She was taking an order from a couple near the windows. She wrote everything down, even though their requests were simple, and smiled politely before heading to the bar. It was efficient, but nothing she did seemed rushed even when everyone around her was moving fast.

I leaned against a pillar near the dancefloor, watching the room like I always did. My eyes found her again before I realized it.

She looked different when she wasn’t frightened. The tension on her face was gone, replaced by quiet concentration. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before turning toward the tables.

She changed direction a split second before a customer stumbled backward. She slipped past him without touching him. A minute later another server rushed through a narrow gap between tables. She stepped aside and waited until the path was clear before continuing.

Most people would call it politeness, but I wasn’t so sure. It looked like someone who’d spent a lot of time learning how to stay out of other people’s way. The thought settled in my mind as another burst of laughter rolled across the room. A man near the bar raised his voice, complaining about the brand of whiskey. The bartender handled him easily. I caught something I doubted anyone else did: the waitress paused. It lasted less than a second. She waited a while before she kept walking like nothing had happened. If I hadn’t been looking at her, I probably would have missed it. Once I’d seen it, I couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened.

She’d never looked at the man, but she’d heard the change in his voice, measured it, and decided it wasn’t her problem before returning to work.

“You’ve been standing here longer than usual.”

I glanced sideways to find Paddy folding his arms. My attention drifted back across the room before I caught myself and looked away. “Table nine’s getting loud. Deal with it.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Are you avoiding the question?”

Before I could answer, one of the bartenders raised a hand from across the room, signaling that another customer had become argumentative. I pushed myself away from the pillar and headed in that direction without another word, grateful for the interruption because it gave me something useful to focus on. The rest of the night kept me so busy that I didn’t have much time to think. Every now and then, my eyes found their way back to the waitress.

She never asked for attention, never tried to stand out, and never seemed aware that anyone was watching her. She simply did her job, blending into the movement of the club so naturally that most people probably forgot she was there the moment she walked away.

I should have done the same. Instead, I caught myself noticing her over and over before I turned my attention back to the crowd. The fact that I couldn’t seem to stop looking at her bothered me far more than it should have.

***

The club was always different after it closed. The music stopped, the guests left, and everything got quiet. I walked around the building to make sure all the doors were locked. I did this every time we closed, just like I’d done for years. I could do it with my eyes closed if I had to.

Paddy was already in the office when I got there. He sat at the desk with a clipboard and a list of people who were working the next day, crossing out names with a black pen.

“You look busy,” I said.

“I am,” he said, not looking up at me. He informed me that half of the people who worked here part-time swapped shifts again. One bartender had already called out sick for tomorrow. Someone wrote their phone number on a report instead of signing it.

I pulled out a chair and sat. “So it’s a normal weekend.”

“Pretty much.” He writes one more note and then puts the clipboard down. He looks at me now. “What do you need?”

I put my arms on the table. “I want to know about the waitress. The one who started this week.”