Two of my tables have customers, all regulars. That is nice, routine is good. I take their orders without incident. They are nice, and I give them a real smile, it doesn't hurt too bad. I grab the drinks and see the biker walk through the door with two other guys. They don't look like normal bikers, they are relatively clean but they do have lots of leather. They sit at one of my tables. Great, oh well, whatever.
I walk over to them and put the water glasses down. He is sitting on one side of the booth and his buddies on the other. I lean over to give the farthest one his water and I feel a touch on my left thigh. I tense up slightly but I refuse to react to him. I don't care if he wants to be touchy, what does it matter now? It does bring the memory rushing back to me. I stand back up and turn away to go back to the kitchen before he sees the tears.
