Don’t Go Away Mad by Lacey Black
Chapter Seven
Jasper
When Jani came back to retrieve the cheese curds, I overheard her mention to my dinner shift assistant chef, Doug, that she had to deliver them to a table where all the other owners are standing, talking to a young couple. She wondered if it was a sibling to one of them, but something told me it wasn’t. Call it my Spidey-sense, or my Lyndee-sense.
Everything started tingling.
I told her I’d deliver the order, barely gave Doug a backward glance when I said, “Watch the grill for a minute,” and bolted for the door, despite the fact we were stacked up with tons of dinner orders and he has his own job to do.
I press through the doorway, dodge a surprised server, and head for my friends. The first thing I spot is the wheelchair, confirming my suspicions of who’s here. As I approach, I hear laughter, particularly Lyndee’s. It’s like an angel’s call, beckoning me to the Promised Land.
“I swear to God, I’ve never seen his bare ass move that quickly from a bedroom window before in my life,” Walker says, causing a ruckus from the entire group and me to stop in my tracks.
I know that story.
Bastards!
“Hey, man. Whatcha doing out here?” Jameson asks, pulling everyone’s attention my way.
“Delivering appetizers,” I reply, grinding my teeth so hard I swear I crack a molar.
I step forward and set the curds down on the table, taking in everyone’s positions. Walker is standing beside Isaac, behind where Dustin sits, and Jameson stands directly beside Lyndee. His arm dangles mere centimeters away from her arm.
I almost growl.
Her stunning brown eyes widen, and Jameson snorts a laugh, letting me know I may not have actually contained the possessive noise.
I give Lyndee a quick smile and turn to her brother. “Good to see you.”
“You too. We’re excited to be here,” Dustin replies, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.
“What did you order?” I ask, giving him my complete attention.
“Lyn and I both got the Panty Melter,” he states, reaching for his beer.
“Excellent choice. I’ll make sure they’re extra gooey,” I retort, turning a cocky grin Lyndee’s way.
“And Jameson ordered us these cheese curds. He said they were his favorite,” she replies innocently, taking one of the pieces of breaded cheese and popping it in her mouth.
My eyes instantly narrow and zero in on my friend. “Did he?” I comment, staring down Jameson.
He only laughs, clearly not fazed by my annoyed glare. “They are my favorite,” he declares with a shrug and a wicked grin.
“Well, as fun as this is, I’m going back over to Mal and Lizzie to finish our dinner. Lyndee, we’ll stop by on their way out and I’ll introduce you,” Walker states, turning and making his way back to where his girls are waiting.
“I’m going to check on the reservation list. Lyndee, Dustin, enjoy your meal. It’s on the house tonight,” Isaac announces.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that. We’re happy to support another local business,” Lyndee insists.
“No way, not after those goodies you sent us. Tonight, it’s on the house,” he states before giving them a wave and walking off.
Jameson, the asshole he is, seems to just get comfortable. The fucker just smirks, overlaps his left foot over his right, and relaxes into his stance, arms crossed over his chest.
“Well, I should get back to the kitchen.” Before I turn, my gaze catches hers and I swear the entire room can hear the thunder of my heart trying to beat out of my chest. I’m certain Lyndee can, maybe even feel the heavy thump from three feet away. “Enjoy your dinner.”
“Thank you,” she replies quickly, offering me a small grin.
With a nod, I turn to Dustin, pat him on the shoulder, and return to my domain, my gut heavier than it was when I came out here. I push through the door and find chaos erupting around me. Doug is trying to keep up on the grill, but he just doesn’t have the expertise to systematically move that many burgers in a short amount of time.
He’s not me.
I jump right back in, barking orders and doing everything I can to get caught back up. I was only out in the dining room for five minutes, but all hell broke loose in that short amount of time. This is why I hate leaving anyone else in charge in my absence. Yes, they manage, but no one runs this kitchen like I do.
Time to put Lyndee out of my head and do my thing.
Ha! Fat chance of that, buster.
***
Once the kitchen has been completely closed down, the restaurant long empty, and the bar hopping, I finally make my way over to where the action is. The moment I saddle up to the end of the bar, Walker has a bottle in his hand and the top off. “Busy night,” I say, taking my first long pull of beer of the night.
“Yep. He draws more and more of a crowd,” my friend replies, nodding to where Jameson plays guitar on the small one-step stage in the corner of the room.
This is the time where the bar is somewhat quiet, patrons enjoying his weekend acoustic sessions. Friday and Saturday nights, our friend plays. Crazy to think it started as just a way for him to practice whatever song he was working on, but now, he’s a big part of the draw. Burgers, beer, and damn good music.
I glance around and find every seat filled, including some with familiar faces. As in, ones I’ve met up with well after the bar closed. Shit, I think there’s even a small group sitting together that all looks very familiar. When I get a few waves and red-stained grins promising dirty favors later, I look away. Any other night, I’d eagerly anticipate one of them coming over with a proposition, but tonight, well, I’m just not feeling it and kinda hoping no one approaches me.
“This is exactly why I refused to dip my quill in company ink, man.”
I look up and smack directly into Walker’s laughing gaze. “Shut the fuck up.”
That only makes him laugh even harder. He dries a few glasses and sets them on the shelf behind him. When he turns back around, he tosses the towel over his shoulder and leans in. “There comes a point in every man’s life where the endless supply of willing women gets old.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, chugging half my beer because I, in fact, know exactly what he’s talking about, or alluding to, at least. Maybe I should say who.
He’s way off base, though.
No way am I ready to commit my cock to one woman for the rest of my life.
Ain’t happening.
Just because he cut off his balls when he met Mallory and willingly handed them over to her doesn’t mean I’m going to do the same. He thinks just because he’s happy, everyone else should be too. Well, forget that. I’m more than happy living the single life, hooking up like always.
Keep telling yourself that.
Walker just grins. “Jameson and Isaac told me you knew the woman across the street from college. She’s the one who had your panties in a bunch back then, right?”
I gape at my friend. “What? That didn’t happen,” I argue, but my too-observant friend just shakes his head. The bastard makes a damn good bartender, or therapist as they’re often referred to. “You guys never even met Lyndee.”
“True, we didn’t, but we witnessed how agitated you’d get after those classes and how competitive you were with her. We may not have met her, but she made an impression on us, only because she made one on you.”
Bastard. He’s just standing there, all smug and righteous, like he knows everything about me. “Whatever,” I mumble, finishing off my beer in one more swallow.
Walker just laughs again as he reaches down and grabs a fresh bottle, pops the top, and slides it in front of me. “You want to hear what I think?”
“Don’t you have a job to do?” I practically growl.
“Yeah.”
“Then go do it and forget about analyzing something that doesn’t deserve a second thought. I’m not into her, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ve barely even thought of her,” I insist, the lie rolling off my tongue like turpentine.
Now, he’s practically doubling over with laughter. “If you say so.” He sobers, clears his throat and leans in. “Good to know you’re not interested, because there’s a lady at the table over there that hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked in and sat down. I guess since you’re not hung up on anyone else, you might as well go over there and buy her a drink.” He turns and heads down the bar to start making drinks, leaving his words hanging over me like a horrible headache.
I glance over my shoulder and spy a brunette with smoky makeup in a booth along the wall. Her friends’ attention is pointed at Jameson, but hers is directed at me. She sips a martini and gives me a grin. I know that smile. It’s one a woman gives a man when she’s interested in a shag.
Keeping my eyes on her, I turn a little and bring my drink to my lips. I watch her observe me, knowing this is exactly what I need to do to push Lyndee out of my mind. I’ve been all over the damn place since Monday when I discovered she was opening across the street. She invades my thoughts, day and night, and I’m tired of her fucking with my head. I thought maybe sleeping with her was the perfect solution, but by Wednesday morning, I had talked myself out of that. It was a horrible idea.
The brunette nibbles on her plump bottom lip. Normally, I’d find it sexy, but tonight, it feels forced and overdone. Why do all women bite their lip? I mean, Lyndee did it Monday afternoon when I was there, but not like this. She wasn’t trying to draw attention in that seductive way.
Forget about Lyndee.
I scan what I can see of her appearance, which is from the chest up. Tight red shirt with ample amounts of cleavage pouring out of the V-neck shirt. Lyndee wore a V-neck the other day too, but hers was a bit more tasteful. Not nearly as tight, nor were her tits popping out of the top like her shirt was two sizes too small.
Goddammit.
Just as Jameson finishes his set, the energy in the room starts to pick up. Everyone knows what’s about to happen, and to be honest, I’m still shocked it does. It’s a tradition on Friday and Saturday nights that dates back to the very first weekend we were open.
At eleven on the dot, Jameson sets his guitar down and everyone watches as Walker heads for the jukebox. With bated breath, we wait for tonight’s song selection. I slip behind the bar and pour a shot, like one of us does every time this happens. Tonight, I choose tequila, something he’s not a huge fan of. Serves him right for meddling in my business like a fucking girl.
Finally, the song starts, and the crowd goes wild. The familiar opening melody of “Looks That Kill”blares through the speakers, and the brunette catches my attention. She’s grinning like I chose that song just for her.
The entire bar starts to belt out the Mötley Crüe song as my friend makes his way back to the bar. He heads for the center, places his hands on the top, and hoists himself up. And yes, every patron is egging him on. Walker starts to dance, shaking his hips and ass like it’s his fucking job, and I guess, it is. That first night, we all had way too much to drink, celebrating our opening and praying for success, and I have no idea why he ended up on the bar at eleven o’clock, but he did.
And it was epic.
So ever since, we salute our favorite band with one of their songs at the stroke of eleven. Word spread so fast about the dance that it was expected, patrons coming from all over to observe the craziness by my friend.
I’ll never forget the night his girlfriend witnessed his bar top dance for the first time. I thought for sure he was toast, their relationship over, but do you know what? She laughed and egged him on. Didn’t complain about the panties thrown behind the bar or the numbers slipped into his palm. It takes a strong woman to not get jealous and pissed, but she saw instantly what we all knew.
Walker was pussy-whipped.
No way was he going to step out on Mallory, not then or now. He’s so deliriously in love with her you get a toothache from watching them.
So even though he’s on the bar, dancing and thrusting his hips like he starred in Magic Mike, we all know he’s only going home with one woman, and she isn’t in this room. She’s at their shared home with her daughter, waiting up with a glass of wine for her man to get home. I’ve never understood the appeal, but I guess I can see how less drama and headaches can be appealing.
“Hey, you.” I turn to see the brunette from the booth sliding between my stool and the one next to me, her tits pressed firmly against my arm.
“Hi,” I reply, giving her one of my trademark panty-dropping smiles.
She moves her martini glass to her lips with her right hand and practically purrs, “Mona.” She reaches out her left hand for me to take, her long, fake nails painted a deep red color, but that’s not what catches my attention. No, my eyes are riveted on the huge sparkly diamond ring on her left finger.
“Jasper,” I croak, staring at what looks like an engagement ring and its accompanying thin platinum band.
Fuck.
When my eyebrows draw together in question, she just shrugs her shoulders. “I’m in town for the weekend with some friends.” She glances at her own ring. “He knows I like to have fun,” she says, leaning into my personal space, her red lips dangerously close to my ear. “And you look like someone I can have fun with.”
I can’t help but smirk. Oh, I’m definitely the fun kinda guy, but my eyes just keep going back to that damn ring. I don’t make a habit of sleeping with married women. Oh, it’s happened before, but both times were accidents. Neither was wearing a ring, and they both conveniently left that part out of our introductions.
But now, even though she’s gorgeous and giving me those fuck-me eyes, seeing that damn ring is like being doused with a bucket of ice water. Well, that and the fact I can’t help but picture Lyndee. Her light makeup is such a stark contrast to the woman beside me. She has a natural beauty she doesn’t have to accentuate with smoky eye shadow and layers of mascara.
Dammit. Stop. Thinking. About. Lyndee.
Mona drains the rest of her drink and sets her empty glass down beside me. A shadow falls over us, and when I look up, I find one of my best friends still on the bar. His gaze is curious and holds a hint of irritation as he crouches down and grabs the shot glass, throwing it back and draining the contents. I can’t help a smug smile as he pulls a face and sets the glass back down, daggers aimed directly at me like bullets from a gun.
Serves him right.
Mona smashes her tits against my arm and leans into my side. “So, are you going to buy me a drink before we head back to my hotel room, or should we just leave now?” I can smell the gin on her breath.
Normally, a forward woman is hot as fuck, but I just can’t seem to get into her advances. Everything about this is…wrong. And I don’t mean to sound like a dick. She’s stunning and that wicked gleam in her eyes is no doubt promising a night of naughty bedroom fun, but I’m just not feeling it tonight.
“Sorry, love, but I’m not available this evening.”
Lies. I’m available.
Mona pouts. Like actually juts out her bottom lip and whines. “No.” She draws out that single reply as if it has fourteen syllables, grating on my nerves instantly. I’ve never understood why people do that whiny shit. I mean, even Lizzie doesn’t whine like that, and she’s three.
“’Fraid so, darling, but enjoy your night,” I reply, sliding off my stool and heading for the back hallway, beer bottle in hand.
If I’m choosing to not get laid, there’s only one other escape for me. I make my way back to my kitchen and prepare to dirty everything I just cleaned. As I flip on the lights, an idea pops in my head. I’ll bake a pie. Walker can take it to his great aunt’s house tomorrow. Aunt Edna will hate it, only because she knows my pecan pie is better than hers, which makes me grin. I’ve gone round and round with the older black woman on many occasions, only because it’s so much fun to get her going.
Pecan pie.
Of course you’re making one. It’s the only thing you haven’t been able to best Lyndee at.
Well, stand back, Lyndee Gibson. I’m about to blow your socks off with the best damn pecan pie recipe out there. Your reign at the top is officially over.
