Page 17 of Loaded

I play the lead in, and Jake comes in flawlessly. After spending more than five years in choir together, musical stuff is the one place where we always harmonize. Forty minutes later, when it’s time for me to get ready for work, I’ve come up with a winner.

Or at least, I hope I have.

After another few moments of agonizing, I upload the file, and then I click submit.

“You’ll win,” Jake says.

I’m almost to my door, but I pivot and point. “You willnotcall anyone. Swear.”

He rolls his eyes so hard that a preteen girl would be jealous. “You think I have connections toJello? I’m not Bill Cosby.”

“That’s not a promise.”

He leans against the wall, the set of his jaw so familiar I could draw it with my eyes closed. “I swear, Hornet, that I won’t mention your submission to a soul, not even to Seren and Dave.”

“Alright, then.”

He’s gone by the time I come out, ready for work. That’s typical Jake, too. He’s not big on hellos and goodbyes. I think he’s still broken from his dad. Eventually that guy will get out of prison again, and then things will get ugly, I’m sure.

But for now, I just have to accept that I’ll never know where Jake is without microchipping him. Mom and Dad talked about doing it a lot. Seren and Dave, I mentally correct myself. Making a mistake in front of my birth mom or my grandfather always results in alotof drama, so for years, I’ve tried my best not to call my real parents ‘mom and dad’ where anyone can hear.

As a bonus, it makes Jake feel easier that he’s not the only one calling them by their first names. We all know they’re Mom and Dad to him too, but some of us can’t always say it. The great thing about Seren and Dave is they just take us as we are, damage and all. They always have, from the first time I split Seren’s meaty lasagna with Dave.

I’m almost to work when Kiki-the-sous-chef calls.

“Hey,” I say. “I’m almost there, but I’m not late. Is everything okay?”

“I forgot you do that,” Kiki says.

“What?”

“You’re always on the defensive. You’re not late.”

“Then what’s up?”

“There’s a super hot guy here waiting for you,” she whispers. “He said not to tell you, but he asked if you’re working.”

My heart races. “What does he look like?”

“Tall. Dark hair. Striking blue eyes. I mean, he wouldn’t turn me straight, but it would be a close call. You know those Jude Law lookalikes do it every time.”

It’s Easton. It has to be.

Until she said it, I didn’t realize how much he looks like Jude Law. Why is he there?

“How busy is it tonight?” Maybe I can call in sick. I mean, I kind of need the tips from a Saturday night, but some things aren’t worth the trouble.

“Don’t even think about calling in.” She snorts. “Harv would lose it.”

“Fine. Thanks for the warning.”

“Sunglasses and a scarf?” she says. Then she hangs up.

Like I have a scarf that would cover my whole face. I’m not a 1950s housewife, a bank robber, or a rancher in Montana. Besides, even if I do cover my face, how many other waiters are five foot tall with long black hair? He’d realize it was me and it would be even stranger because I’d tried to sneak past him.

I opt for walking really fast, but it’s not a great plan. I’ve barely squeaked through the door when Harv stops me. “There’s a VIP in there asking for you.”

He’s flipped my own people.

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