Table For Three

Check, Please!

Four pairs of eyes stare back at him.

Scott smiles widely. "Allison, Malia—it's good to see you guys." He wraps an arm around Stiles' shoulder. "It's too bad you came here on my bro's day off, you only get a sample of his service rather than his delicious food." God, he's good. "I'll leave you to it." Then he winks at Stiles and makes his way back into his office.

Maybe, just maybe, they won't remember him.

"Well, hello Stiles," Peter purrs.

Shit.

Stiles counts to three and then turns back towards the table. "Hi, can I get you started with something to drink? We have an excellent house red and—"

"You work here?" Chris chokes out. "You know Allison and Malia?"

Allison gives her father a weird look. "Dad, Stiles is Scott's best friend. His business partner. He doesn't just work here, he owns half of it. He's the head chef."

Stiles smiles uncomfortably. "Yes, um, Scott told me you guys are engaged. Congratulations!"

Malia grins wickedly—all of her smiles remind him of an animal baring its teeth for some reason—and places her hand on Allison's. "Thanks, Stiles. It's good to see you again—it's been a while."

"It sure has," he grits out.

"That's a rather impressive resume," Peter interrupts. "Might I ask why you're out here?" He glances down Stiles' lithe body. "Couldn't stay away from us, hm?"

Goosebumps form on his arms at the sound of Peter's velvety voice. "Erm, one of our servers called out sick and I was hanging around the kitchen anyway. Scott figured I might as well help out."

"That's a funny way to spend your day off," Chris remarks, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Oh Lord, his mouth.

Stiles chuckles a bit. "A chef's job is never done." He straightens his tie, noticing that both men are noticing him.

Yeah, they definitely remember him.

"We'll take a bottle of the Chardonnay," Allison interjects. She glances at her father with what the fuck? brows.

"Coming right up." He practically teleports to the bar.

Stiles takes a chilly bottle out of the refrigerator tucked under the tap. He wraps it in a white towel and cradles it in his hand, long fingers wrapping around the base deftly. He tucks an ice bucket under his other arm.

Carrying everything back swiftly, Stiles uncorks the bottle and fills up each of their glasses. When he leans over Chris' muscled shoulder, he can hear the man inhale deeply.

He rests the ice bucket on the end of the table, and Stiles buries the half-empty bottle in its depths. He looks up from his task, noting the smiles from the women and the heated gazes from the men.

Stiles gulps and then rattles of the night's specials. He finishes with a, "I'll let you guys have a little more time to look over the menu."

And then he busies himself with his other tables.

After a couple of minutes, he hides behind Fern the ficus (don't ask Stiles, Liam—one of their younger waiters—named it). Stiles fiddles with his phone and types out a quick text to Scott.

I hate u

He presses Send and then pats Fern. "You got this," he mutters to himself. "You totally got this."

Stiles makes it through taking their orders, skillfully navigating his way through the mine field that is Peter's silver tongue and Chris' penetrating gaze.

It somehow makes it worse that Allison and Malia continue to ooh and ahh over one another, completely oblivious to everything but their lovey-dovey selves.

The rest of the night goes relatively smoothly. Stiles waits tables and fields hungry looks from two very attractive men.

He also sports a semi the whole time, and it's just stupid how okay he's become with the situation. A few smoldering looks and lilting words from a couple of silver foxes is all it takes for Stiles to completely forget that this meal also doubles as a soap opera.

When Stiles sees empty plates and dry glasses, he makes his way over—schmoozing and insisting on dessert.

On the house.

Malia and Allison laugh when Stiles carries over a heart shaped chocolate cake, complete with a single sparkler fizzing away in the middle. He sets a plate of chocolate covered strawberries in front of Peter and a pomegranate crème brûlée in front of Chris.

"Enjoy." He gives the girls a soft smile. "And, again, congratulations to the both of you." Stiles winks as he walks away.

Thirty minutes later Peter signs his credit card receipt, looking intensely down at the little book as he writes.

He hands it to Stiles slowly, giving the exchange a touch of tension and Stiles attempts to take it from him.

"Thank you for another wonderful evening, Stiles. I hope to see you soon," Peter murmurs.

Stiles flushes and walks a bit unsteadily back into the kitchen. Stiles leans against the wall and idly flips open the book.

There's something other than a generous tip written on the receipt.

While the dessert was absolutely delicious, I'd rather you meet me around back in 10 minutes. See you soon, sweetheart

Stiles takes a deep breath in, and then lets it out.

His mind is telling him no, but his wicked heart and his dick are both saying yes, please.

He smiles, knowing exactly what's about to happen.

Stiles yanks at his tie, looping it around the handle of Scott's office door on his way out the back.