Ouch, she sounded so pathetic.
Nope. Not dwelling.
But what if she messed everything up and they lost business because of her?
The room bordered on cramped and was little more than a heavy-duty wooden desk with equally antiquated office chair that took up the near wall. A folding table for four sat in the middle of the room, and shelves of labelled boxes covered the longest wall.
Extending the folded t-shirt, Finn asked, “This fit okay?”
Setting down her purse on the office chair, Haley pulled off her blouse.
Finn’stonguerolledoutof his mouth and his eyes bugged out of his head like a horny cartoon character as Haley slipped her top over her head. She wore a lacy silk tank top underneath that clung to every curve. Groaning to himself, he bit his tongue and looked at the ceiling.
Once her head was clear of the top, she snagged the shirt from his hands. Perfect fit, the Halseth’s logo rested on one of her marvelously perky breasts. The vee of the top was not quite low enough to offer a cleavage window, but thanks to the silk-tank-top vision permanently imprinted in his brain, he could imagine well enough. Straightening the jersey cotton over her torso, she pulled her hair up in a messy bun, letting out a few rebellious tendrils that seemed designed to taunt him.
Clearing his throat, he untied his server’s apron and handed it to her. She secured it around her waist and pulled out the notepad and a pen. “Ready.”
Shit, she was fierce. Or foolish, not having a clue how much she was going to be hurting later. His first day behind the bar a few months back, he’d had to cover himself in icepacks the next day. Not to mention it had taken a solid week for his brain to recover. He ought to call his old coach and have them add waiting tables and tending bar to their training routine.
Her hip cocked out with arrogance, his gaze followed her legs down to her heeled boots. “You sure about this? It’s not too late to change your mind.”
She followed his gaze to her impractical shoes. “I’ve hosted parties for three hundred in stilettos. These are cross-trainers by comparison.”
Shaking his head, he grinned. “Is there anything you don’t tackle with attitude bigger than a quarterback’s?”
Following her easy shrug, that wicked corner of her mouth quirked up. “Guess we’ll find out. Break it down.”
He ran her through the basics, the rhythm, the principles she may not have realized went on behind the scenes. “Because you don’t have a food handler’s card, I’ll bring out all the food, but you can handle the rest?”
She mock saluted. “Absolutely.”
Leading the way back into the restaurant, she headed out first. Exhaling as he watched those hips sway with each step, his name stamped on her back… maybe Tara was right. He needed a fling.
Haley had mentioned divorce. A nasty one at that. Sucked, but good chance she wasn’t looking for anything serious either.
Halseth’s was hopping, and Haley brightened the place with that fearless manner and wholehearted laugh. She made it look easy and, well, fun. Nothing seemed to get under that porcelain skin of hers. Stereotypes painted porcelain as flawless and easily shattered, but Haley proved that meant she was tough as steel.
By six o’clock, when families with kids under twenty-one could still come in, Haley handled picky eaters and messy tables with ease. As one toddler threw his milk at his mom, testing the mother’s patience more than most would be able to handle, Haley appeared behind the little guy with a distracting peek-a-boo. Popping in front of him, then disappearing behind him again, she had his stuffed animal—and source of the outburst—playing a goofy game before returning it to his sticky arms. With her other hand, she delivered a fresh Halseth’s shirt and a handful of wet napkins to the equally sticky, milk-soaked mom.
The dad immediately pulled out his wallet to pay for the shirt, but Haley shook her head. “That one’s on me.”
Breezing from table to table, Haley never ran out of energy. Or patience. If she did, she refused to let it show.
By eight o’clock, as she closed out a group of inebriated hikers, a sloppy brute grabbed her ass. A pissed-off growl rumbling deep in his chest, Finn tossed down his towel and headed their way. Before he reached them, he watched as she slipped out of the asshole’s reach and growled a good one of her own, “Dude, really? Has that ever worked? Ever, in the history of come-ons?”
Blushing, the drunkard shook his head, the others at the table glaring at him, frowning in frank disappointment.
Haley finished her set-down. “Next time try to use your words and tell a woman you like her. Trust me, you’ll fare much better.” She waved at the rest of the table. “You guys have a great night. If it’s not already on your agenda, check out Sundown Trailhead. The incline is steep but worth it.”
Backing up, Finn tried to get back behind the bar before she realized he’d been coming to the rescue. Too late, she turned and ran right into him. Slamming into his chest, she caught herself, her hands pressed against his abdomen.
Inhaling sharply, he tried to say something, but exhaled with a laugh. “Sorry. Thought you might need some back-up, but you got it.”
She looked up, those cobalt eyes locking onto his and that adorable lopsided grin about knocked him on his ass. “Thanks for the assist, but not my first foul.” Biting her lip, she added, “What’s the penalty for roughing the passer?”
Chuckling, he stood as still as possible, fearing she’d move her hands when she realized she was still touching him. “Really, I think you just have to know if you’re offsides or not.” He wanted to holler to the asshole that had grabbed her ass at the difference. Or knock him upside the head. Or make his knee bend the wrong direction.
Taunting him, her hands lingered on his waist as she brushed past.
