Page 6 of Worth Every Game

A sharp pinch on my shoulder wakes me from my reverie.

“Table fourteen,” Marcia hisses at me.Oops. I completely ignored her earlier command. I’m away with the fairies tonight.

I rush through the darkened bar. There’s a comedy act going on. Apparently, he’s popular on social media and he draws a pretty big crowd; the place is packed. With any luck, a few people will stay on for my set.

I make my way towards table fourteen, but my pace slows when I see who’s sitting there.

Jack Lansen.

He’s early. It’s only half nine. My heart gives a giddy little thrum, which I can’t explain.

He’s wearing a white shirt without a tie, and the collar is undone at the neck. It’s a perfect mix of casual and smart; he rests his elbows on the table and his biceps fill his sleeves. Dark scruff shadows his strong jaw, and I’m pretty sure I can make out the blue of his eyes, even in the dim light and from this distance. Or maybe I’m imagining it...

He’s with a woman, who at first I assume is Kate, because they were supposed to come together, but on closer inspection, it’s definitely not her. This woman’s hair is a fraction lighter, like gold has been spun through it, and her features are less angular than Kate’s. Her eye makeup is heavy; thick black liner decorates her top lids, and her lashes are full and dark, but in an overwhelming way. They can’t be real. Her lips are so shiny they look sticky, but in spite of all that, I can’t deny she’s beautiful.Together, she and Jack look like a couple from a magazine shoot—they’re so good looking that it’s hard not to stare, and down here in the Marchmont Arms, they stick out.

The woman smiles at Jack, her hands on the table, leaning towards him. And Jack—thearsehole—is laughing. His entire handsome face is glowing. He’s radiating happiness, and it makes my stomach churn.

It’s only when he stops laughing, his attention drawn by me staring, that I realise I’ve stopped walking. I’m standing between two tables, my iPad dangling from one hand.

And Jack Lansen is staring right at me.

The woman with him turns to look too, probably pissed off that she’s lost his attention for a second. She gives me the once over and then looks away; I might as well be another table or chair for all the acknowledgment I see in her eyes.

She strokes the back of Jack’s hand with her fingertips, and he drags his gaze off me and back to her.

I will my body to move.Get a grip. You knew he was coming.

But now that he’s here, and with someone I wasn’t expecting, I feel a whole commotion of weird emotional crap bubbling up.

I walk over to the table, but right about when I should be asking for their order, I can’t seem to open my mouth. Jack’s gaze slides over me, but my inability to speak must be catching because he doesn’t say anything either.

With a monumental effort, I roll my shoulders and plaster my great big server smile on my face. It’s my job, after all, and I need to keep it if I want to pay my rent to my prick of a landlord.

The woman wafts the back of her hand towards me, keeping her eyes locked on Jack when she says, “Can I get a white wine spritzer?” and then continues to chew Jack’s ear off about someone they know in common. It sounds deathly dull.

Jack’s blue eyes pop up towards me, then back to the woman. “Lydia,” he says, and his tone sounds like a gentle reprimand.

“Huh?” She raises an eyebrow, clearly a little peeved that he’s interrupted her tirade.

He cocks his head at me. “This is Elly. My sister’s flatmate.”

“Oh.” She shifts sideways in her chair to get a look at me. “Oh. I thought you were the waitress.”

“Iamthe waitress,” I deadpan, holding my iPad poised to fill in their order. Lydia’s glossy lips pucker and her brows shoot up, but I don’t acknowledge the caricature of shock she’s currently portraying.

“One white wine spritzer and…?” I look to Jack.

“A lager.” He holds my gaze way longer than is necessary to order a beer, and my cheeks heat.

“Is that all?” I ask, breaking the staring match.

Jack blinks, confusion skirting his features, like he’d momentarily forgotten where he was, or what he was doing. “That’s all.”

“So, you live with Kate, do you?” Lydia says. “That’s weird, isn’t it? Your flatmate’s dating a billionaire, and you’re working tables?”

So rude. The thump of my blood in my veins suddenly seems too forceful.

“You made it.” Kate’s delighted voice drifts towards us, saving me from having to respond. She’s bustling through the tables, wrapped up in a cashmere coat and scarf. She grabs me in a big hug, then hugs Jack. She’s about to slide into the seat next to him when she notices Lydia eagerly staring up at her. She gives her brother a quizzical look.

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