The Bet

1) Day

Brief author's note:
For those of you that aren't coming over from my other story 'The Debt' and don't like super short chapters, don't be alarmed, my parts are usually way longer than this one. I just made it short for story telling purposes:) With that said, welcome, and happy reading;)

Chapter 1) Day

  "Sam, the guys are here," my coworker, Andrew, sprinted over to tell me. "I've got this table," he jumped to steal the orders from my hand with a big pleading smile and puppy dog eyes.

  I looked over my shoulder to find the men in question already making a racket in their usual booth they never bother to wait to be seated in.

I sighed and nodded wordlessly at Andrew. His face flooded with relief as he ran back to the kitchen to turn in my old table's drink orders.

I swear that kid only has one speed. Sprinting.

I left my old table so I could head over to the rowdy group of large, heavily tattooed, and shaggy haired men.

"Hiya gentlemen, what can I get you today?" I yelled in order to talk over all of them speaking at once.

"Hey babe, how 'bout the usual for me," Mr. Roy ordered in his New York accent that always sticks out here in Texas. He's sort of seen as the unofficial leader of the group. If I've picked anything up from serving them every night, it's that.

"Me too!" "I'll have an omelet." "I want everything pizza." "My usual for me too," the rest of them all hollered at once. Usually the twins, Darion and Domino, are the only ones screaming things at the same time, but apparently everyone is extra eager to eat today.

Unfortunately, omelets are only served at breakfast and only pepperoni and cheese pizza is on the menu, but I'm certainly not going to be the one to tell them that.

I scribbled down all they yelled about and clicked my pen shut. "Alrighty, I'll get y'all's drinks out here right away."

They always have beer from the tap until they drop, or get bored of making a mess on my table and floor and leave. "And your food will be out in a bit," I called over my shoulder as I made strides towards the back.

The kitchen will have to whip something together for them.

I'm the only waitress they tolerate and that tolerates them. The table of brutes seem to have some sort of soft spot for me, but just because I'm the only waitress they don't send home crying, doesn't mean I'll get off without getting them exactly what they want.

  "Thanks, hot stuff," Mr. J shot back at me before getting back to his very loud conversation.

  I threw a disapproving look at the cat call over my shoulder, and the black haired vixen only sent me a mischievous and unapologetic glance back.

  I made sure I was turned all the way around before rolling my eyes.

They may have a soft spot for me — for some reason — but that spot is still about as soft as alligator skin.

I let the door to the back swing closed behind me, but could still hear their usual hoots and hollers through the café.

I swear to god, you can tell by looking at them they are fully grown men, but they are like children to wait on.

  "Here ya go, Coco," I reached over the counter to hand our chef the guys' orders.

  She frowned. "It's them isn't it?"

  I chuckled, "yeah, sorry babe," I told her.

I'm sure she can tell who they are by their notorious special orders.

  She rolled her eyes with a growl that made me giggle. trust me, babe, I know the feeling, I thought before I was off to baby sit.

  After a couple hours of serving the oddly sexy but hulk like toddlers — don't EVER tell them I said that — they were off to drunkenly holler somewhere else, and I was off to job number two.

  . . . If you could call it that.