Page 50 of Forget Me Not

“Bet.”

“It’s just dinner. One hour, tops. There are some things we need to discuss.”

“The only thing we need to discuss is your lack of boundaries.”

“Fine.” He shrugs his shoulders. “We can discuss boundaries. I think that’s a great idea.”

“Now, will you move?” I two-step again, and finally he moves out of my way. He’s sadly mistaken if he thought that meant I was agreeing to dinner with him.

With a wave of his hand, he clears a path. As I walk past him, I’m so damn tempted to fling one of these sizzling pieces of bacon at his face. But that would not only upset my customers, but would be a waste of perfectly good bacon.

Tray still in hand, I unload at the small round table where Mr. And Mrs. Hargrove are seated. As usual, they ordered the exact same meal with a glass of ice water for Mrs. Hargrove.

“Thank you so much, Rhea,” Mrs. Hargrove says, her voice as sweet as honey.

“You’re very welcome. Can I get you two anything else?”

“This will do, dear,” Mr. Hargrove responds.

As I’m walking back to the waitress station, awaiting more customers, the door chimes and a group of younger guys come in—probably high school aged. There’s three of them, all loud and boisterous.

Taryn seats them and comes over to where I’m standing. “You want them?” she asks with a click of her tongue and a nod in their direction.

“I could use the tips.”

“Good luck with that.” She shields her mouth and leans in to whisper, “Those assholes don’t tip for shit.”

I raise my eyebrows and roll my lips before patting her on the shoulder. “In that case, they’re all yours.”

“Nah,” she drawls. “I’m going on break, hun. Be back in fifteen.”

“Jerk,” I mutter under my breath.

Dragging my feet, I approach the table of guys. Notepad out and pen pressed to it, I prepare to deal with even more bullshit in my day. “How are you guys doing today?”

“Pitcher of Diet Coke and three glasses,” one of the guys, wearing a Lockhaven letter jacket, barks without lifting his eyes from the menu.

“Okay, then,” I say, not bothering to write it down.

This should be fun.

I grab their drink order and return to the table. Their laughter halts when I approach and pinch my eyebrows, wondering what’s so funny.

Setting a sweating glass full of ice in front of each of them, I can feel the tension like a thick blanket. I could be nosey and ask, but I probably don’t wanna know anyways. Instead, I force a fake smile on my face and do my job.“Do you need a few minutes, or are you ready to order?”

Out of nowhere, the one in the letter jacket sputters out a laugh before breaking into full-blown hysterics. One of his friends, a scrawny guy, with blond—nearly white—hair follows suit and is now laughing his ass off too.

I look from one guy to the next, confused as hell as to what’s going on. “Am I missing something?”

“Tell her, man.” Unable to refrain from laughing, the letter jacket guy drops his head into his folded arms on the table.

“You fucking tell her,” the blond guy says.

“Come on, guys. Knock it off,” the final guy says, shaking his head in embarrassment of his friends. I take him to be the mature one of the trio.

Letter Jacket Guy lifts his head, letting out a small snort with his lips pressed together. It's obvious he's struggling not to laugh again. “Uh." He averts his gaze. "You’ve got blood on the back of your pants. Might wanna go check that out."

The color drains from my face, my body frozen in shock. A jolt of adrenaline floods through my veins as I make a beeline for the bathroom.

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