Page 136 of Tell Me Something True

“Inefficiency,” Hayden said, adding soda to the glasses.

“Confusion,” Greer said, opening a bottle of water and taking a sip.

“Chaos.”

Greer tipped her water bottle at Hayden with a nod. “Anarchy.”

“Jesus,” Walsh grumbled, narrow gaze shifting from one woman to the other. “Fine. I’ll work the fucking system.”

“Of course you will,” Hayden said, as if that were never in doubt. She added stir straws to the drinks. “And, just so you know, that grumpy, anti-social attitude is why you get shit for tips. Try being pleasant once in a while. Friendly.” She inclined her head at Greer. “Be more like Greer.”

“I am a delight,” the waitress agreed with a dimpled grin as Hayden walked down the bar to deliver the drinks. “And I make bank in tips. Although if you really want to rake in some cash, stripping is the way to go.” Drawing her dark eyebrows together, she studied Walsh as he rubbed the rims of four shot glasses with a lime wedge. “Which might actually work better for you. No pleasantness required. I mean, you’re definitely pretty enough—”

“He can’t dance,” Hayden said as she walked past them toward the cash register in the corner.

“He can learn,” Greer said. “They taught Joe Manganiello to dance for Magic Mike.”

“Yes, but unfortunately for all of us,” Hayden said, “Reed isn’t Joe Manganiello.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have anything to work with.” Greer turned to Reed. “How’s your muscle definition?” she asked the kid, then gestured at his shirt. “Let’s see your abs.”

In the act of pouring tequila into the glasses, Walsh froze, his face going ruddy. “What? No.”

“Come on,” she said with a gimme gesture. “You can’t be shy and strip. I mean, I suppose you could, but you need to have a healthy dose of body confidence. Mostly, though, as a male stripper, you’ll need at least a six pack. And a v cut wouldn’t hurt.”

“He’s out then,” Hayden said, opening two bottles of Modelo. “You’ve seen him eat. No way he could get that kind of definition with all those carbs.”

“Good point. How do you feel about boneless, skinless chicken breast?” Greer asked Walsh.

Walsh set the shots onto the tray with the other drinks. “Order’s filled.”

She blinked at him innocently. “You forgot the extra lime wedges.”

He tossed several lime wedges onto the tray where they scattered amongst the drinks. “Go. Away.”

“Huh. It’s like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

“Yes.”

With a laugh, she lifted the tray. “You’re adorable when you’re all brooding and grumpy. When I’m on my break, we’ll brainstorm ways you can use that in your act.”

And she sashayed off, leaving Walsh with a horrified expression on his face.

“You know,” Miles said to Walsh, “if you were anyone else, I might feel bad for you. But since you’re not anyone else…”

He shrugged.

And grinned.

Walsh slapped a bar towel onto the counter and wiped it clean with strokes hard enough to take off the finish. “Might want to stop being so fucking amused by the shitshow that is my life and start concentrating on the shitshow that’s yours.”

He sent another look down to the other end of the bar.

Miles looked, too, just in time to see Tabitha laugh at something Black said.

Miles couldn’t remember the last time he’d made her laugh. Or even smile. A real smile, not one she gave him because she was hiding behind it or because she thought that was what he wanted to see.

One that he’d earned.

---