CHAPTERFOUR
BECKETT LOVES BRUNCH
Beckett had absolutely forgotten how busy a brunch shift could be. Saturday had run him ragged, and he’d barely stumbled into the shower early enough on Sunday morning to walk the four miles between his apartment and the restaurant before his slated start time. Well, Audra’s start time. But he’d taken her two weekend brunch shifts, much to Heather’s disappointment. Her frown when he showed up for work on Sunday was confirmation enough that she had deliberately removed him from the weekend rotation as punishment for needing emergency dental surgery.
He couldn’t even say that sentence with a straight face, and yet it was the truth. Nothing he could prove, though. He knew it, and so did she. He anticipated the schedule sabotage to drag on for longer, but the weekend he was covering for Audra would at least mean he could add some Ramen into his celery diet, and he was thankful for that.
Beckett dumped a shot of espresso straight down his throat, then popped two mints into his mouth and headed onto the patio. Audra was undoubtably the favorite, because the patio was the best section. The day before, he’d made almost five hundred bucks in tips, and Sunday was shaping up to be just as lucrative, if not more. There was a table that had just been seated, a four top waiting for one latecomer to arrive.
“Good morning, guys,” he greeted, approaching the three. Two were obviously a couple, and the third looked like he wanted to be anywhere besides there. “Can I get you started with some drinks while you wait for the rest of your party?”
“We should wait,” one of the men said. He looked familiar, and Beckett narrowed his eyes, trying to place him. He was probably someone Beckett recognized from the restaurant, but he wasn’t sure.
“I’ll have a Bloody Mary,” the third man ordered, folding his arms across his chest. He was younger, his hair darker, and his expression far more sullen than the two men sitting across from him.
“You said you’d be nice,” the first man said.
“I’m trying to hold up my end of the bargain.” The dark haired man looked up at Beckett and frowned. “So you should make it two.”
“And two mimosas,” the tallest of the three ordered. He had glasses on and he looked like Egon from Ghostbusters, but with lighter hair. It was a good look.
“Two mimosas and two Bloody Marys,” he repeated, “I’ll be right back.”
Beckett stopped by two other tables and collected their drink orders before heading to the bar and repeating everything back to Hunter, the bartender.
A lone man navigating his way through the tables caught his eye while he waited, and Beckett’s breath caught in his throat.
First off, there was no way this guy wasn’t the fourth to the table outside, but judging by the tension in his shoulders, Beckett guessed the newcomer wasn’t entirely welcome. Reading people’s non-verbal communication was a skill he’d picked up over the years he’d spent waiting tables, and it saved him a lot of awkward situations with customers who were on the brink of breakups, proposals, or catastrophic arguments.
He’d gotten so distracted by the way the man’s ass filled out his dark green pants that when Hunter pushed the tray of drinks into the side of his arm, he startled, almost sending the champagne flutes flying. He caught and steadied them, then grabbed celery from the garnish tray and set to work on the Bloody Marys.
Beckett weaved back to the patio, finding his assumption about the man with the great ass was correct. He made his way to the table and set the mimosas on one side, and the Bloody Marys in front of the dark-haired man closest to him.
“Two, Jace?” the hot newcomer asked.
“I promised Remington I would be nice.”
The one with the glasses sighed, and Beckett had pieced together 50% of the names. Remington was the tall one with glasses, and Jace was the sullen one with a taste for morning vodka.
“I don’t need you to be nice,” the hot one said. “I can handle you at your worst.”
“Good to know, Rhys. I’ll make sure you get it.” Jace shoved a celery stalk out of the way and drank half of his first drink in one go.
75% of the names.
The hot guy was named Rhys.
Rhys sighed and looked at the man directly across from him. Beckett lingered and studied the two men, estimating they were most likely related. Hair the same color, bone structure comparable, and shit…matching Rolexes on their wrists.
“I think this was a mistake.” Rhys stood, his chair scraping against the concrete ground.
“Probably,” Jace agreed.
“Can I get you a drink or are you leaving?” Beckett asked, tucking the tray under his arm. He hoped Rhys was staying because he was nice to look at, but the mood of the table felt like hell and Beckett wouldn’t blame him for going.
“If you could point me toward your restroom,” Rhys said, smoothing a hand down the buttons on the front of his shirt.
“Sure.” Beckett gestured toward the restaurant. “Right inside, all the way to the back.”
