Page 9 of Fangs and Fudge

Focusing on my own section, I smiled, delivered food and drinks, and forgot all about Shepard’s special guests.

When the DJ switched to Blur’s overhead music, which was easier on the ears and signaled the end of the night, I let out a relieved breath and started clearing the vacated tables. The lingering patrons paid their tabs and made their way to the exit. Once they were out, Army locked the door, and the music was turned down even more.

“This is a sweet place,” a voice said in the relative hush.

I looked up from the table I was clearing and saw Shepard leading the group downstairs. Our gazes locked, and he gave me a slight smile. It felt reassuring.

“We’ve worked hard to build a reputation in the D.C. area,” Shepard said. “The drinks and food play a part, but it’s the atmosphere and the staff that make it.”

“Understood,” the chestnut-haired man said. It was the same man who’d made Vena’s tongue roll out like a red carpet. I understood why, though. His tight clothes left nothing to the imagination. He was big all over.

When they reached the bottom, Shepard called everyone over.

“Due to last night’s disruption, I’ve invited a few friends from the west coast to give us a hand. I promise I won’t cut anyone’s hours. They’re in addition to our regular staff to ensure we continue running smoothly,” Shepard said, his gaze sweeping across the servers and landing on me.

“This is Everly,” he said, motioning to me.

I nodded at the men.

“She’s been serving at Blur the longest,” Shepard continued. “If I’m not around and you have a question, ask her.”

The comment stunned me even though I tried to hide it. Yes, I was the server with the most tenure. But Doc was Shepard’s right hand and managed the bar staff, all of whom had worked longer at Blur. So why point the new people to me?

“To her left,” Shepard continued, “is Vena, Thomas, Adrian, and Pam.”

“Nice to meet you all,” the chestnut-haired man with the prominent sausage display said. “My friends call me MC.”

“Stands for Man Candy,” Vena whispered.

I wanted to die as every non-human set of eyes swung to us. The heat flooding my face had to be giving me third-degree burns. Why did the floor never crack open when it needed to?

MC slowly smiled at Vena and looked at the man to his right. “This is Ink, LA, Hollywood, Thruster–” Vena made a choked noise “–Riff, Diego, Demo, Hero, and Jaws.”

Their nicknames, while unusual, sort of fit each of them and would help me keep them all straight.

MC had a Mega Cruller. Hollywood wore sunglasses and stylish clothes. Jaws actually looked like he could bite someone's arm off. Riff looked like he was pulled from a rock band. Ink was covered in tattoos. LA was a photoshopped masterpiece. Thruster had a package to rival MC’s, but I really hoped that wasn’t why he was called “Thruster.” Diego looked beautifully Hispanic. Demo sported a scar on his upper lip. It didn’t detract from his looks at all. And Hero’s nickname had to come from his resemblance to Captain America.

“Welcome to Blur,” I managed with a weak smile for all of them.

“Thanks,” MC said, his gaze shifting from me to Vena.

Had she just purred?

I grabbed her arm. “We better finish the cleanup so Gunther isn’t stuck doing dishes until dawn.”

Everyone else moved to their sections as I bodily dragged Vena back to her tables.

Instead of scolding her, which I knew everyone would hear, I picked up my phone and sent her a rapid text while standing a foot away.

Me: WTH is wrong with you? Anchor was standing right there! Did you even notice? You know he likes you and will be spending tonight on the couch. Don’t break hearts, Vena. It’s a rule.

Her eyes lost some of their lust-glaze as she read.

Vena: I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll make it better. I promise.

Vena: But you can’t fully blame me. If MC wedged that impressive cum cannon into those tight pants, he wanted to be noticed.

Vena: How big do you think it is? 9 inches?

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