Bon Bons to Yoga Pants

Chapter 38-Class and Taste and Experience

"Hey, Lexie, you need me to take care of those guys for you?"

Pat met me by the massive fridge before I went back into the restaurant. The traitorous thought that I could tell Pat they were jerks from school and slip out the back momentarily flittered through my mind, but I chased it away.

Not spend time with Bradley? Madness.

"No, no. One of them is an . . . unexpected friend, I guess you could say."

Pat studied me with a bulbous eye for a second before giving in. "I took their drinks over and they seemed okay, but you never know. Not sure if they're staying for food or what. The Boys Night Club is getting a bit rowdy, so I may have to send them off. You sure?"

"Yes." I smiled. We'd had a few incidents with drunk men getting frisky in the past, so Pat had become a protective kind of papa bear whenever the nights became busy. "Thanks though, Pat. They won't be any problem."

"Okay. But you just tell me if I need to knock some heads or something."

Just my own, I thought. So I know I'm not dreaming this.

When I made it back into the front, the Boys Night Club were screaming at the TV, eyes already becoming bleary. One of them waved an éclair around, scattering custard over the face of his friend. Although I wanted to hide behind the bar and pretend to do something else—anything but talk to Bradley in this awful state of hair—I headed to his table again.

Wonderful, I thought as I approached, catching another glimpse of myself in the mirror. I still haven't straightened my hair or cleaned the cabbage off my apron.

But when I walked up, Bradley was sitting alone, lounging against his chair. He straightened when he saw me.

"Hey girl."

"Where did everyone go?" I asked.

He glanced at the empty table. "Oh, them. They uh . . . they scattered for a while. I'll meet up with them later. No big deal."

"Oh, right. Well . . . can I get you anything?"

He leaned forward. "I'm good, don't worry about me. When do you finish your shift?"

"Not for three more hours."

"Oh, that's it? Sweet. I'll wait."

My eyebrows shot up. "You'll wait? For me to get off work in three hours?"

"Yeah." He shrugged and motioned to the bar with a jerk of his head. "Go do your thing. Have you had dinner yet? We'll go get something when you're done. Is that okay?"

"Are you . . . are you sure?"

He smiled and my heart oozed into a pile in my shoes. "Lexie, I'm always up for food with a beautiful girl. Waiting three hours is not a big deal, I promise. Go work and let me know when you're done."

I returned the smile, my heart pounding so fast I felt light headed. "Okay. I'll . . . uh, just let me know if you need anything." I turned back around in disbelief. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Go!" he called, laughing. "I can handle it."

The next hour passed with the vague awareness of him watching me every now and then as I interacted with customers. Despite my ugly, dirty apron, I was glad to have something to wrap around my body and hide my imperfect torso, making me feel like I could hide behind something. Lucky's had filled up, so I hardly had a spare minute to keep his Dr. Pepper filled let alone chat.

"All right, George," I said to one of the Boys Night Club members as I plucked a half-eaten éclair from his waving arm before he smacked me with it in the face. "Hand over the éclair and let's call you a cab. I think you've had enough tonight."