Page 13 of Bitter Beats

You’ve got to be kidding me. Seriously, universe?

She pushes her blonde hair behind her shoulder and gives me a quick once-over, her eyes sparking with memory, her lips drawing tight.

I step to her, trying not to think of her perky breasts or her yellow boy shorts, or the moans she made when Mav thrusted into her on the other side of my bedroom wall.Oh my God, stop it!I yell at my wayward thoughts.

Mortification rolls through me. I want to dip my head, turn around, and bolt from the café. But sheer desperation keeps me rooted in place. It’s not like I can rely on my parents for a safety net. No, Ineedthis job.

“Can I help you?” the blonde asks. Her hands are busy with menus and rolled silverware. She’s good at her job, qualified.

I rub at the center of my chest. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. She’s beautiful, clearly a lot more fun and less prudish than me, and qualified to live in society.

She looks at me and lifts her eyebrows, calling me out.

I clear my throat. “I’m here for a job application.”

Surprise flickers in her eyes, but she doesn’t comment. She reaches under the hostess stand and pulls out an application. She places it on a clipboard and sticks a pen into the silver claw. “Fill this out.” She hands it to me.

“Thanks. I, um, I’m Mckenna.”Stop stuttering. You can at least introduce yourself!

She gives me a small smile. Polite, efficient,working. “Lia.”

“Lee!” a guy hollers for her.

She gestures to a chair in the little waiting area, and I sit. Then, she springs into action.

I watch, forgetting about my application, as Lia whirls around the café. She exudes an effortless friendliness that people—BU students, professors, and families alike—are drawn to. She stops to chat, refills coffee mugs, and memorizes orders.

She brings out plates piled with toast, bacon, and eggs. She delivers maple syrup and ketchup. She does it all, and the entire time, she doesn’t crack. She doesn’t dab at a sweaty hairline or glance around helplessly.

When she looks in my direction, I fill out the mocking job application.

How have I gotten to age twenty-seven without ever holding a job?

The thought bewilders me because it doesn’t make sense. Allegra worked at a cocktail lounge our senior year at UCLA. Even Ivy was a bartender back in the day.

Did Mav work before the band made it big? Ugh, stop thinking about Mav!

My nose wrinkles in distaste.

“You done?” Lia asks.

I stand and pass her the clipboard.

She scans my application before sighing. Looking at me, she shrugs. “One of our best servers just quit.”

“Uh, what?”

Lia chuckles. “It’s your lucky day, Mckenna. You really want a job?”

I nod.

Lia rolls her lips together and studies me. “You start tomorrow morning. Be here at 5:45 AM.”

I gasp.

She narrows her eyes. “I’m training you. We’ll be together through the brunch rush on Sunday. Then, you pick up whatever shifts are open until you prove yourself. After a month, I’ll do my best to schedule the days and times that work for your schedule. Base pay is $6.25 an hour. Anything else is tips.” She watches me closely, but I don’t flinch.

I’m in shock. Do servers live on $6.25 an hour plus tips? How is that even legal?

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