A. Jackson - When We Met

“No flies on me,” I responded with my normal answer. Jimmy roared with laughter like it was the first time he’d ever heard me say it. At seventy-six years old, he should be sitting on a porch, people-watching or tinkering with some old car, but instead he was working at Gruby’s. He always said he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he sat at home all day. We were the lucky ones since he kept the kitchen lively and was a blast to have around. He had basically become an honorary grandpa to all the servers, allowing us to pour our college woes out to him. With more wisdom than all of us put together, he had an answer for every dilemma.

Any time the school’s basketball game was on TV, it meant Gruby’s would be packed, and tonight was no exception. Every TV in the restaurant was tuned to the same channel. You could barely hear yourself talk as loud, eager fans erupted in one fashion or another, depending on whether something good or something bad happened to the team.

I followed the game as best I could while I worked, managing to notice each time the announcer would mention number nineteen, which around here, unless you lived under a rock, you knew was Dalton. Judging by the constant mention of his name, it was obvious Dalton was having a great game. Rolling my eyes, I continued to take orders and hand out food. It seemed like there was no escaping Dalton Thompson as long as I was working at a sports bar. I guess I should have considered that when Amanda got me the job here. My old restaurant went belly-up right before the holidays. Nothing says merry Christmas like unemployment. Needless to say, I jumped at the chance to work at Gruby’s. Although right now the job had lost some of its luster.

As my rotten luck would have it, the waitressing gods not only screwed me over, but also kicked me in the teeth that night. Three hours into my shift and an hour after the game ended, the restaurant erupted into loud cheers when a handful of the players walked through the front door, including Dalton, who was leading the show. He grinned at everyone chanting his name and waved like he was the Prince of England or something.

Biting back a groan, I headed to the kitchen to avoid the spectacle.

“What’s going on out there? Did the president of the United States just walk in the door?” Jimmy asked, wiping his hands on the dish towel that was stuck in the waistband of his apron.

I snorted. “I’m not sure he would have gotten that kind of welcome. Some of the team just walked in. You know—the ones who feel they deserve to be worshipped.”

“Sweetheart, you might as well accept that basketball is sacred around here and those that do it well will be worshipped as gods,” Jimmy drawled, winking at me.

“You’re as bad as everyone else. So they can get an orange ball through a hoop, who cares? Let’s see them carry a tray with twelve drinks and two appetizers without dropping it and maybe then I’ll worship them,” I grumbled, grabbing table five’s order before heading back out. I shook my head when I saw that the players now inhabited table seven in my section. Several curse words silently tumbled from my mouth as I spotted the back of Dalton’s head. It was official. The waitressing gods hated me.

Dalton

Adrenaline coursed through my veins as the guys and I pushed our way through the double doors of Gruby’s. I owned that court tonight. I’d been in the fucking zone, and I was still completely pumped. At times like this I couldn’t help feeling invincible, which was why I talked the guys into hitting Gruby’s to celebrate. I’d been unable to get Courtney out of my mind all day. Knowing she was at work maybe watching each shot I nailed made me a beast on the court, getting me a triple double for my efforts.

This time when the hostess greeted us, I specifically requested Courtney’s zone. The guys tried to give me shit when I made the request, but I didn’t care. I was bound and determined to get her to acknowledge our past friendship.

She studied the seating chart before answering, “I hope you don’t mind waiting a few minutes.”

“Do what you have to do.”

People I didn’t know began coming over to shake our hands, congratulating us on the win tonight. It was a weird feeling at first, but after two years, I’d gotten used to it. Scanning the area, I smiled when I spotted Courtney on the other side of the restaurant. She was chatting with an older couple. Even with the distance separating us, I could tell her actions were animated and her eyes sparkled. She threw her head back, laughing at something the elderly gentleman said. Last night I’d thought she was pretty, but in a cute way. Seeing her so carefree, I realized she was downright beautiful. I didn’t remember her being this attractive back in school. I found myself envious of the older man. I wanted to be the one to make her laugh like that. I’d never had any trouble getting a girl I was interested in, but right now the only person I wanted was acting like I didn’t exist.

“Your table’s ready, guys,” the hostess said, approaching us.

“Bro, you were fucking insane tonight,” Chad said after we sat down. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re always a badass on the court, but tonight it was like you were channeling Kobe Bryant or something. What was up with that?”

I shrugged modestly. “I don’t know. I was in the zone, I guess.”

“No shit,” Collin agreed, looking up when Courtney approached our table. I flashed a smile, but she didn’t even bother to look at me.

“What can I get you guys?”

My eyes followed her hand that pulled a pad from her slinky apron. Her waist was tiny. I bet I could have circled it with both my hands. I considered trying, but I wasn’t overly convinced she wouldn’t stab me with a steak knife. I brought my eyes back up slowly. I’m not going to lie. They might have lingered on her breasts for a moment before finding her face. I could tell my appraisal hadn’t gone unnoticed. “What can I get you to drink?”

I shifted in my seat, tugging on my jeans that were becoming uncomfortable at the moment. Using my coat to cover the evidence, I willed my mind to think of anything that did not involve the luscious blonde in front of me. It took a second to make my body respond to the images of wrinkly old people in bathing suits. It was a trick I’d learned when I was fourteen and my parents took me to Daytona Beach. It was the only way I could keep from sporting a constant hard-on from all the chicks in bikinis walking around. Trust me, that is not something you want your mother to see.

“I’ll take a Coke,” Collin answered. He looked at me like I was nuts.

“Me, too,” Chad piped in.

“Me three.” I could have kicked my own ass. It sounded funny in my head, but I wished I could have taken it back the moment the words left my mouth.

“Got it. Do you guys know what you want to eat, or do you need a few minutes?”

“I know what I want,” Chad said as he began to rattle off his order.

“I need a few minutes.” I interrupted him before he could finish, picking up a menu that I probably could have recited with my eyes closed.

“Bro, are you kidding? Since when do you not know what you want?”

I kicked him hard in the shin under the table.

“What the fuck, dude?”

Courtney cut her eyes toward me, eyeing me suspiciously before shrugging. “Okay, then, I’ll go get your drinks while you make up your mind,” she said, pulling her eyes away.

“Why the hell did you kick me? You always get a burger,” Chad demanded once she walked away, reaching a hand down to rub his shin where I’d kicked him.

“Sorry, man. I felt like something different.” What was I going to do, admit it was all a lame ploy, an excuse to have her come back to our table? Maybe I could also hang a bitch sign around my neck for good measure. I didn’t know why I cared so much. If I was just looking to get laid, I could get that by standing up and proclaiming that I was looking for company. This was something else. Maybe I was feeling nostalgic about a time when everything didn’t revolve around basketball, and Dad wasn’t constantly breathing down my neck. When Courtney and I had been friends, everything just seemed so much easier.

Chad looked at me skeptically but refrained from saying anything else.

“Hey, am I the only one who thought those guys were about ready to bawl when you drained four three-pointers in a row?” Collin crowed, changing the subject. That was Collin. He was the peacekeeper.

“Couldn’t have done it unless you pulled down all those boards,” I pointed out, sharing the glory of the game. “I actually felt bad for them once we went up twenty-five points.”

“Not me. They can go back home and maybe take up knitting jockstraps or something,” Collin added.

Chad and I laughed. Collin was ruthless on the court. It was what made him a great player. You had to be aggressive to make plays, and he could be a game changer when he wanted to.

We were still trading insults about the other school when Courtney returned with our drinks. Our voices had gotten loud, and several tables around us had joined in on the roast. I was in the middle of laughing at an inappropriately mean comment about the only balls they should be dribbling when my eyes met Courtney’s. Her animosity was hard to miss. It was clear she was pissed. Maybe she had turned into some religious nut that was easily offended by swearing and harmless razzing.

The laughter dried up in my throat. I tried smiling to let her know we were kidding. She, of course, didn’t return it. This chick was seriously hard-core immune to flirting. Her nickname should be the Brick Wall.