Page 18 of Clean Out of Luck

She’s staring in horror at her date across the table. A waiter stands between them, and I notice that he’s resting his hand on the back of her bench seat. He probably knows Scarlett, given that she’s a regular here.

Allen is yelling something about the salsa, a finance course, and being too good for Scarlett. That she’s missing out on a good deal. I make my way through the restaurant and stand next to the waiter. He glances over at me, takes in theemblem on my T-shirt, glances down at Scarlett—who still hasn’t looked our way—and shrugs and steps back. It’s a lot easier for an outsider to step into a fight like this rather than the person who might lose their job if a customer throws a fit.

I sit down on the bench seat next to Scarlet, and she jumps, turning to look at me in surprise. “Wade?”

I lean forward and rest both elbows on the table. “Allen,” I say. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. You haven’t changed.”

It’s not a compliment, that’s for darn sure. Jack just stands there next to the waiter with his arms crossed, staring at Allen. Jack looks like it wouldn’t take much for him to punch Allen in the face. That probably wouldn’t be good for either of our jobs, unfortunately.

“Is there a problem here?” I ask Scarlett. Scarlett just mutters something unintelligible under her breath. I can’t tell if she’s thanking me or threatening my life. I wink at her before I look at Allen again.

“Who are you?” Allen asks.

“You don’t remember me? Wow, that’s a shame. I thought I was more memorable in high school.” I pretend to have my feelings hurt, clutching my chest. “But I think you may have caused enough of a scene tonight. Time to pay the bill and head on your way.”

The vein on his forehead bulges, and he leans forward, pointing at me. “I remember you. You’re that kid who hung around with Phoenix. You were like his shadow.”

I was a scrawny kid in high school, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. My grandma told me I had a hollow leg and that no matter how much she fed me, she couldn’t get me to gain weight.

That changed in my college years. I was finally able to pack on some muscle. My shoulders broadened, my chestfilled out, and now I sit at a solid weight thanks to all the time in the gym, homemade bread, and chocolate chip cookies. It’s a well-rounded happiness diet.

All that to say, it probably would take a minute for Allen to recognize me.

“Why are you two here on our date?” Allen glances nervously at Jack.

I glance over at Jack, who is still scowling at him. That guy’s ability to scowl is nearly unmatched.

“I heard some interesting stories that made me uncomfortable with Scarlett being on a date with you.”

Scarlett elbows me hard in the side and whispers out of the corner of her mouth. “I can take care of myself just fine. Victor and I were handling it.”

Under the table, I squeeze her leg. She jumps, and her knee bangs into the table. I try to rub it gently, but she catches my hand in hers and pulls it away. “Quit it, that tickles.”

But I keep my focus on Allen across the table. “I would highly suggest you leave the restaurant and never contact Scarlett again.”

Allen frowns at me and looks at Scarlett. “Are you going to let him treat me this way?”

Scarlett grimaces. “You’ve been yelling at my favorite person.”

I glance back at the waiter, who has a smirk on his face. He must be the favorite person she means.

Allen huffs, stands up, and leaves the restaurant, purposefully bumping into chairs as he goes. The other customers watch him leave with wary faces.

Scarlett leans forward, rests her elbows on the table, and buries her face in her hands. “Worst date ever.”

I nudge her elbow with mine in a friendly little bump. “Really? Because I heard about the time you went paintballing?—”

She slumps completely onto the table. “I don’t need you to give a play-by-play of my poor dating history in front of an entire restaurant.”

I reach over and gather her hair in my hand. She turns her head sideways to look at me. “What are you doing?”

“I’m moving your hair so it doesn’t fall into the salsa. Because if Allen’s not going to sit here and eat chips and salsa with you, I don’t want to let it go to waste.”

Her eyes narrow at me. “If you think I’m going to share my chips and salsa with you after you came in and made a scene like that?—”

“I think you have me mixed up with somebody else. I was not making a scene. I was simply ending the scene.” I smile brightly at her.

She does not smile back, her soft, brown hair still in my hand. She glances over my shoulder, still laying with her cheek pressed into the table. “Who are you?”

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