Page 13 of Rose and the Grouch Next Door

I pull back my shoulders, grab my tray, and head in Braxton’s direction. I may as well get this over with. Now is as good a time as ever to let him know he hasn’t won this battle.

As I approach his small booth, I notice his heated gaze roaming over me. Other than the bags under my eyes from sleepless nights, I look like I do every day. My long blonde hair is pulled up in a high ponytail and with little makeup, so my freckles are on full display. I’m a curvy short girl, but I’m proud of my curves and know I can pull off our Salty’s waitress “uniform” of cutoffs and a tiny green t-shirt with the logo printed on the front. Today, mine says “Margarita’s Made Me Do It” on the back.

Realizing he’s been caught staring, his eyes snap back up to my face.

That’s right buddy, this was yours for the taking. You’re gonna have to work for it now.

“What can I get you?” I ask in my normal cheery voice I use with all my customers.

He doesn’t bother to pick up a menu, just says, “A beer, and your fish special, please.”

I grab the menu from the table with a wink. “Good choice. The fish is grilled RedFish today. Draft beer okay with you?” Attempting to treat him like any other customer is difficult, but I’m determined.

“That’s fine, Rose. Thank you.”

“Got ya! Be back shortly!” Turning, I bounce back to turn in his order.

Returning with his beer, I warn him in a saccharine sweet voice, “I hope you aren’t in a hurry tonight. We operate on beach time at Salty’s. The kitchen is as quick as a lightning bolt, but sometimes it feels like they’re fishing in the dark. They take so long.”

He seems a little confused as I go back to waiting on other customers from behind the bar. Sipping his beer, his brow furrowed, like he didn’t understand the saying my grandma always used.

At the bar, I have one customer. Leo is innocently sipping his beer and looking at his phone. Leo’s probably about fifty, father of two adult children and happily married. He’s good looking and has an athletic build from doing construction work. Little does Leo know he’s going to be an unknowing participant in my new attempt at showing Braxton Barrows what he’s lost.

Bouncing up to the bar, I greet him in my best Southern drawl. “Hey, Leo! How are ya doin’? Can I get you anything else, sweetie?” I’m deliberately being overly loud, hoping Braxton can hear me.

“Uh … no. I’m good right now, I think.” Leo says, caught off guard by my over-the-top perkiness today.

“Well, if there isanythingyou need, Leo. You let me know.” I wink at him. “I don’t want myfavoritecustomer to feel neglected, ya hear?” I pat his hand.

Leo gulps down his beer, trying his best to not look at my chest. He’s shifting uncomfortably. And now, I’m feeling bad. It’s unfair to use this sweet man for my evil purposes, but I know I’m safe with Leo. He’s more than off the market. From the corner of my eye, I can see Braxton sitting stiffly in his seat, fists clenched, and a grim set to his mouth. If looks could kill, I’m pretty sure Leo would be toast.

Lila walks by, giving me a knowing look and shaking her head.

Fiddlesticks. I guess I’m going to have to find someone else to make Braxton jealous.

Just then, a group of young, college fraternity boys enter the bar. They’re easy to identify because they’re wearing Greek letters on their party t-shirts and look like they’re just here for fun and alcohol.

Two of the boys split from the group and head to the bar for drinks while the others take a table next to Braxton.

The two at the bar are adorably cute, tanned and wearing their hair longer in the back with slim mustaches. Must be the trend for college guys. Too bad college guys don’t interest me. Apparently, I only go for older jerks who wear glasses and have daddy vibes.

“Hey guys! What can I get ya?” I ask in my sweetest voice as I lean over the counter, offering them a tantalizing glimpse of my cleavage from my v-neck shirt. One of them, with blond hair and a swimmer’s physique, looks at me appreciatively.

“Sure can, good lookin’. How about a pitcher of beer and your Click Chat?” He asks with confidence. I’m mildly impressed he’s so forward because I’m not sure guys my age are very good at social interaction with the opposite sex. Too much time playing video games or on their phones, I guess. I also laugh because Idefinitely don’t have a Click Chat account. Social media isn’t my thing.

“No Click Chat, sorry. But Icando the pitcher.” Again, I use my wink in an attempt to flirt back. He’s a red-blooded male, so he’s checking out the goods.

“Okay, I’ll take your number then. Don’t tell me you don’t have one of those.” He gives a disarming grin, showcasing a brilliant white smile with dimples I’m sure works on all the girls.

“Oh, I got a number, but I reserve it forspecialpeople, not just anyone.” I say, batting my eyelashes as I fill his pitcher. From where I’m standing, I can see the steam coming from Braxton’s ears and his fist is clenched so tight around his mug it might shatter. His eyes haven’t left me.

Chapter Ten

Braxton

My knuckles whiten as I clench the mug of my beer, my gaze searing holes through the college-age idiots at the next table who just laughed obnoxiously at something Rose said. The sound grates on my nerves like fingernails scraping down a chalkboard.

These frat bro guys are batting out of their league.

---