When The Sun Rises | ✔

.00 | No More Maybes

.00 | No More Maybes

• • •

        I roll my neck and peep over at the wall clock hanging near the entrance. One hour and seventeen minutes left. And it can't pass quick enough.

        The only thing getting me through today's shift is knowing that it's Thursday which means I have the next two days off. Every day since Sunday, we've been understaffed with only one or two servers covering the floor. Down from the four we usually have running around, I've been working overtime trying to juggle the extra section.

        "Scuse me! Scuse me, waiter," I hear over my shoulder, but I don't even have to look to know which table it is. It's the same set of dudes that have been calling me over every ten minutes since Rondo seated them.

        I top off a fresh glass of iced tea, grab a bottle of ketchup, and head in their direction. The one sitting at the edge of the booth watches me the whole way over, a sly smirk on his lips.

        "Here's your drink and your ketchup. You need anything else?"

        As I'm setting the cup on the table, he reaches out and grazes the back of my hand.

        "Just your number, Ma."

        I look down at his hand touching mine and pull away. In the hour I've been serving them, he has yet to waste an opportunity to shoot his shot. Every block and curve just fueling him to try harder.

        "Anything else?"

        He licks his lips with more tongue than necessary, rubbing his hands together like he's fucking Birdman, and it takes everything in me not to laugh in his face.

        "Come on, bae. Why you being like that? You got a man or something?"

        The hairs on my neck rise and I look to my left. Vino is standing on the wall beside the jukebox, arms crossed over his chest and eyes pinched. The tick in his jaw is visible from where I stand, twenty feet away. Salty ass.

        "Maybe," I say smartly and walk off towards the bar. I glance over at their table from behind the soda machine just as one of his boys is slapping him upside his head. Hopefully clowning him for being so goddamn corny.

        The little bar door swings open next to me and Vino leans against the counter, back facing the room.

        "Mm."

        I roll my eyes. I already know what type of time he's on. The more time we spend together, the less tolerance he has for the attention I sometimes get from customers, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't share the sentiment. Once I fully accepted how I felt about him, it seemed like women started going out of their way to be in his face. The desire in their eyes woke up a possessiveness in me that I never knew existed.

        "Mm, what Vino?"

        "Nothing, just curious about the answer you just gave."

        Laughing, I grab the tray of dirty plates and glasses I stashed before my last round and prop it on my hip. He walks ahead of me, holding the double doors open for me to step through to the kitchen.

        "Dang, long ass ears. You was listening that hard?"

        "When niggas start pressing you that hard, yeah," he says as if the answer should have been obvious.

        "Boy, gone."

        I drop my load off to Rashad and walk over to the area by the refrigerator – our unofficial, official meeting spot. He's right on my heels, easing around me to grab the stool from the corner. He slides it in place for me to sit.