His

Chapter 2

When I get to work, there are a few people eating and watching sports. Alyssa, one of the waitresses, is talking to guys at a big table as she sits their beer down. When she sees me, she winks.

"Eagles game tonight, girl. It's going to be busy."

Football nights are by far our busiest nights. I love them but hate them. I love the tips but hate the customers. I get hit on more than any other night. I had to slap a guy because he couldn't keep his hands to himself. I'm usually not the fighter type, but I need some of those moments occasionally.

I turn on my computer as I enter behind the bar as I hear Frank yelling something at Jennifer about some spilled beer. She's a 29-year-old mother of two who had a recent divorce and desperately needed a job.

"If you can't carry the trays without spilling shit everywhere then maybe you shouldn't work here!"

I hear Jennifer mumble something and when Frank walks past me, he throws his hands up. "Teach the girl, Tally! I don't want her wasting my damn money all over the floor!"

"Yes, sir." I nod and Jennifer comes to stand next to me.

"I really didn't mean to."

"I'm going to help you one time and that's it. Don't let this place or Frank intimidate you, Jen. It's just a bar."

My first few days here, I struggled as much as her. I wasted so many drinks, my first pay was ten dollars, because I had to pay Frank back for all I spilled. I hated being a waitress, but after hours, I'd play around behind the bar and make drinks when the old bartender was out. A couple months in, he left so I asked Frank for a job. Now I only waitress when there's a huge crowd. Including tonight.

As time goes by, I go through all the complications first of starting my shift. In between, I make a few drinks for the first customers. The beginning of my shift is always nice and quiet. I like to think of it as the calm of the storm before the clouds roll in.

Around 6:45, the crowd starts moving in, each barstool and table already occupied. As the game gets started, everyone shifts into full gear. Waitresses are running around like chickens with their heads cut off, I'm fixing drinks left and right with the help of the other bartender, Jonathan. I've looked over at Jen a few times and she's moving around the crowd much better. She's even smiling, probably getting more tips now that she isn't dropping people's order. I'm happy for her.

In the back, I hear no complaints from Frank. Not yet anyways.

Halfway through the game, a fight breaks out between an Eagles and Steelers fan (no surprise there) and our security guard, Dale, breaks them up and drags them out without knocking anyone over. For once, I start to think tonight will go well, but God knows I'm wrong.

When orders get overwhelming for the girls, I leave Jonathan behind the bar and start waitressing. I'm delivering a plate of wings and fries to a table of widely known douche bags. As I'm setting their food down, I feel a hand slide up my upper thigh. "Take a seat, you look like you need a break."

"Why don't you get your hands off me?" I try to pull away, but he tightens his grip.

"Oh, come on, I know you like the attention you get. I see the way you walk around here, showing off all this skin." 

"No thanks."

"You really are turning me down?"

"I am not interested in you."

"How do you know that?"

"She said no." A stern voice said behind me. I looked back and see an older guy is staring down at me.

"Are you okay?"

Just as I want to say something snappy, my words get lost in his eyes.

"I'm fine," I mumbled as I grabbed the tray off of the table. "I should get back to work. Um, thank you."

"No problem."

Getting back to my shift, I don't have time to think about the handsome man I had just walked away from. I needed to focus on solely my job. Period.

By the time 3 a.m. rolls around, my feet are aching, and I haven't had a break. However, as I'm counting my tips from the night, I made over five hundred dollars.

"Thank God," I mumble, grabbing the hand cloth so I can finish cleaning up. Everyone has left except me and Frank and he's in the back doing late night inventory for shipments this weekend.

Behind the bar, I noticed a blazer hung over on a stool and I grabbed it, putting it in the lost and found box we have kept near the entrance. It was not the first time that I had to retrieve some item that a customer left behind. "Excuse me, miss."

I looked at the familiar stranger from earlier, a small smirk on his face. "What are you doing here? We're closed."

"I'm sorry. I just came back, because I left my blazer here earlier."

"Is it dark grey?"

"Yes."

I nodded towards the black box. "It's in there."

"Thank you for keeping an eye on it, I would hate for it to get ruined. My clothes are far too expensive to see that happen."

Looking at the freshly pressed grey slacks he wore and the gold Rolex on his wrist surely showed rich.

"So, I never got your caught your name. I am Ryder, what is yours?"

"Tally."

"Tally what?"

"I..." Before I could tell him that it was none of his business, Frank appeared from the kitchen, a towel in his hand, scowling at the man. 

"We're closed, pal."

"It's okay, Frank. He left his jacket. He was just leaving."

Ryder smiled and nods. "Yes. Thank you for returning it. I guess I'll see you around."

I shrugged and sighed. "Sure."

Once he's gone, I help Frank finish closing and we both leave.