I roll my eyes. “Does she look like she’s in any position to hook up? She’s running around like a chicken with her head cut off.”
A few more guys come in, leaving a trail of mud all over the floor, and Summer’s eyes narrow for a second, before her expression morphs into one of resignation. Like this is par for the course.
“She’s cute,” Mick says. “You should go for it.”
“She’s busy,” I reiterate. “And guys probably hit on her all day long. Last thing she needs is some horny rocker all up in her business.”
“Maybe we could help,” Bart says thoughtfully.
Angus follows his gaze and then wiggles his eyebrows. “Hold that thought.”
At that, he gets up and walks behind the counter. He picks up the two coffee pots—one decaf and one regular—and starts walking around the restaurant asking people if they want refills.
“What the hell is he doing?” Jonny asks, wide-eyed.
I chuckle.
My bandmates really are the best.
Sam pulls out his phone and snaps a few pictures—our publicist is going to love this. Frankly, I wish I’d thought of it, because the look of shock and then appreciation on Summer’s face is priceless.
“You’re not as cute as her,” one of the truckers says to Angus.
“I’m also not as busy as she is,” he replies. “Decaf or regular?”
I bite back a grin as I get to my feet and reach for our now empty dishes.
“What are you doing?” Jonny demands in confusion.
“What’s it look like?” I laugh. “I’m gonna bus some tables for her.”
“Are we too poor to pay the bill?” he asks.
“No, dipshit, we’re nice guys.” I carry the stack of dishes toward the back just as Summer is coming back out.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she asks, eyes wide and filled with confusion.
I give her what I hope is my most charming smile. “Helping.”
Chapter 2
Summer
Have I suddenly transported to some alternate universe where cute guys help out at the diner? The one who’d flashed an American Express card earlier is walking around refilling coffee and the one with the gorgeous blue eyes is bussing his own table.
“You don’t have to do that,” I say quickly.
He chuckles. “I know. But what else are we going to do? We can’t go anywhere until this storm settles down, so we might as well make ourselves useful.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I default to being polite. “Uhh… Well, thank you. I’ve got it from here.”
He arches one brow and looks around as two more guys come in, tracking more mud all over the floor.
“Why don’t you show me where the mop is,” he says solemnly.
I want to say no, but I’m incredibly grateful for the help. I can’t remember the last time it was this busy on a night I was working by myself. I’m guessing that a lot of these truckers would’ve just kept driving if not for the storm. Instead, they’re hanging out here, taking advantage of the unlimited coffee refills.
“Are you sure?” I ask Blue Eyes.
