When You're Ready (3 page)

“Drinks. Yes, yes, that’s it.” I sighed, thankful I remembered what the hell to do. “Can I start you off with a drink?”

“Sure. I’ll take a beer.”

“What kind? We have a pretty wide selection of imported and domestics. We also have a few craft beers and beer cocktails, and…” I rattled on “I mean,” I took a breath, “what kind of beer would you like?”

He stared at me and held his smile. “Surprise me.”

“Umm, okay,” I said, thrown for a loop. Usually male customers were particular about their beers, refusing to drink some brands or demanding others, but Scout didn’t seem to care at all. I watched him for a moment trying to figure him out, but nothing about him made sense.

Scout looked like a Calvin Klein model, with a tapered crew cut and sparkling chestnut eyes, but he didn’t act like it. No pretentious attitude, no you-know-you-want-me looks, no entitlement. He wasn’t an asshole even though everything about his appearance—his designer jeans, crisp button-down shirt, and gorgeous face—told me he should be.

“Have you had a chance to look at the menu? Can I get you started with an appetizer, or dinner?”

Scout’s eyes flickered under the dim lights, holding my gaze. I wanted to look away because I was certain my cheeks were flaming again, but I just couldn’t stop gazing into his eyes.

“Surprise me.”

“What? I don’t understand.” I cocked my head to the side.  “Do you just want a beer or do you want to eat as well because it’s still happy hour and we have some really good specials. We have nachos, really good hot wings, and, of course, tacos.” Oh no, I was blabbering again. “Any of those interests you?”

“Nola, you can bring me anything. Pick something, I trust your judgment.”

“Anything?” I was still confused. Who goes into a restaurant to order just
anything?

“Anything,” he said, unmoved.

“Okay, then, I’ll get started on that right away.” I turned on my heels and started walking away from Scout’s table, but then something hit me. “Wait,” I said, turning back, “do you have any allergies? Because I’d hate to pick something that’ll send you to the hospital. That happened to me once, you know. This guy didn’t tell me he was allergic to nuts and ordered the brownie and almost went into anaphylactic shock right at the table and—”

He chuckled, seemingly amused by my nervous chatter. “Nola.” He said my name with a smile in his voice and I stopped droning on. “Seriously, I trust you. Bring whatever you think I’d like.”

I considered his words for a moment. “Fish? Chicken? Beef? Anything?”

Scout chortled, shaking his head. “Anything.”

“Alright then. I’ll be right back with your drink.”

I walked to the computer to put in Scout’s order, but froze. What the hell was I going to choose? As I ran through the options, I scoured my brain for the perfect dish. Salads were out of the question. Scout didn’t appear to be one of those annoying vegans who only ate tofu, kale, and fake cheese. Even fully clothed you could tell he worked out a lot, and probably ate copious amounts of meat to keep his muscles rock-hard.

Then it hit me: lobster. Scout looked like a guy who had eaten a ton of lobsters, probably at his parents’ summer home on Martha’s Vineyard, or at cocktail parties like the one I’d worked, or afternoon teas with his upper crust friends. Of course, I’d never been to those types of events. While Scout had probably grown up with a silver spoon planted firmly between his teeth, my mother thought eating Thanksgiving dinner at the Sizzler was the height of sophistication.

I punched in Scout’s order, and then ran past the bar to grab a beer. I picked out a bottle of Day of the Dead, a quirky Mexican brand, and headed back to his table.

“Here you go,” I said, handing Scout the bottle, which had a skeleton couple on the label. He studied the macabre design, and I shrugged nervously. “I took a chance.”

Scout put the amber bottle to his lips and I watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he drank. For some inexplicable reason I wanted to plant my lips at the base of his neck, but forced my eyes back to his handsome face instead.

“Perfect,” he said, showing off his pearly whites.

“I’m glad you like it!” I stood for a few awkward beats suddenly unsure what I should do. Was I supposed to make small talk? Ask him why he came? Talk about his day? Most 20-year-old women knew how to talk to men, or at least pretended, but apparently I’d missed that little life lesson growing up.

Before I could think of something clever to say, Ross appeared at my back. “Nola? Can I speak with you for a second?”

“Uh, sure.” I turned my attention back to Scout and smiled. “Your food should be out shortly.”

He nodded and I trudged over to speak to Ross, already dreading whatever it was he had to say. It couldn’t possibly be good. His eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was drawn into a tight, rigid line.

“Hey Ross, what’s up?”

“Is this a single’s bar?” he asked, incredulous.

“What?”

“You and Romeo over there,” he gestured toward Scout, “knock it off.”

“Knock what off, Ross? I don’t understand.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re over there cheesing in Romeo’s face while your other customers are flagging down the other girls. Get it together, Nola. You’re already on thin ice.”

Ross stomped away and I glanced around the busy dining room. All of the waitresses were zipping about the room with heavy trays of food and drinks, looking completely harried. Had I left them hanging? For Scout?

I shook off the thought and told myself to get it together. I kinda hated Ross; he was a pompous asshole who thought he was better than the rest of us because he was the manager. But I loved most of my coworkers, who were a mix of students like me, or new grads just trying to make ends meet. Ross was right, lavishing attention on Scout wasn’t fair to the other girls. I had to stop.

My eyes, on the other hand, weren’t cooperating. I glanced at Scout’s table, and to my surprise, he was looking at me, his face a mixture of concern and something else. Pity? Did he feel sorry for me because I got chewed out or because I was a waitress? I hoped it wasn’t the latter because I refused to become anybody’s poor, lowly charity case—no matter how handsome they are.

I pushed thoughts of Scout to the back of my brain and threw myself into work, taking orders, clearing tables, and smiling wide. I couldn’t have Ross on my back for anything—being late
or
paying too much attention to Scout, so I stayed away from his table, which was way harder than I thought it would be.

The food runners delivered Scout’s lobster enchiladas, and I resigned myself to stolen glances while I served the rest of my customers. When he was almost done with his meal, I decided to stop by his table.

“Hey Scout, how’s everything?”

“It’s fine, except—“

“You don’t like the lobster enchiladas? It’s kind of a different taste, but I thought you might like it. Guess I was wrong,” I offered a sheepish smile.

“No, those were great actually. It’s just—“

“Oh shoot, another beer. I totally forgot to ask if you wanted another one. I got so swamped with the other customers and my boss was—“ I stopped rambling. “Would you like another beer?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not it either. I was—“

“Dessert! Would you like to look at our dessert menu? We’ve got some good ones. Fried ice cream, cheesecake—“

“Nola,” he said, his voice firm, but not angry or pushy. “The food was great, and I don’t want dessert.”

I scrunched up my face. “Then I don’t get it. What was wrong?”

“You.” He smiled.

“Me?” I was confused, what the hell was he talking about? I’d gone along with his crazy idea to choose a beer and pick his food, which he said he enjoyed, but
I
was somehow the problem? Seriously? “I…I don’t understand.”

I ran the events of the evening through my head and nothing seemed off, other than being yelled at by my boss for paying
too much
attention to Scout. Maybe he didn’t like it—or me—after all.

“I’m sorry you felt my service was inadequate,” I said, rattling off the company line. “Please let me know how I can make it up to you.”

“Have dinner with me, Nola.”

“Wait. What?” I eyed him suspiciously. Did he expect me to have dinner with him to make up for being a bad waitress? The customer was always right, but I wasn’t about to whore myself out just because I forgot to bring him another beer. “I don’t think that’s appropriate, Scout. I can comp your drink, or if you really didn’t enjoy your meal my manager can see to it that it’s free.”

Now Scout was the one who looked confused. “Free?”

“Yes, to make up for the subpar service.” I chewed my bottom lip trying not to show how badly my feelings were hurt by the sudden turn of events.

“No, you don’t understand. The service was great, as was the food.”

“But you said something was wrong?”

“Well, yeah. I barely got to see you.” Scout smiled a smile so magnificent it could’ve gotten any woman out of her clothes. Standing there, I even felt warm and overdressed.

“But I’m working, and I have other tables, and I can’t dote on you the whole time,” I said, “even if I wanted to.”

“I know, which is why I asked about dinner. How about Friday?”

I tried to process what he was saying. The food was good, the service was fine, but he didn’t see me enough?

Oh my God. Was he asking me out?
I laughed at the thought of it. Guys like him did not date girls like me, especially in L.A.

This was totally absurd, and even if he was serious about taking me out, I couldn’t chance getting involved with a player and messing up at work or school, or both. I needed to stay focused. I was so close to graduating and finally being everything my mother wasn’t.

Scout was handsome, and probably well off, and no doubt looking for a good time, but I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t let some beautiful man with beautiful promises come along and fuck up my life. I had already seen what happens when you do.

“I…I have to work on Friday.” It was true, I worked most weekends because it was when I made the most tips, but that’s not why I was turning him down. I was turning down the most gorgeous man who’d ever asked me out because I didn’t trust myself to keep my head screwed on tight.

“Okay then. Saturday?”

I shook my head. “Can’t. I work the weekends.”

“So when are you free, Nola? Because I’d like to see you again.” He offered a big, sincere smile and my resolved almost wavered. Almost.

“Scout, I…I don’t really have time to go out,” I admitted. “I work most nights, and when I’m not working I’m at school. I just don’t have a lot of free time.”

“That’s okay,” he said, still holding my gaze. “I’m flexible. I’ll work around your schedule.”

I laughed, this sounded absolutely nuts. Who worked around somebody’s schedule when they just met? I had to put an end to this; there was no way it would work anyway.

“Scout, I…” I glanced over his shoulder and spotted Ross giving me the evil eye. “I have to get back to work before my boss gets upset. Look, thanks for the offer, seriously, but really, I just don’t have the time.”

I slid the check across the table and hurried to my next customer. I didn’t dare look at Scout again for fear I would lose my nerve and give in to his offer. Truthfully, I would’ve loved to go out with him, but I couldn’t take the gamble. I couldn’t fathom ending up like my mother, derailed by a tantalizing man who promised more than he was willing to give. All I had to do was put my head down and keep trudging ahead. Fun, and freedom, and spontaneity would just have to wait.

I tried to evict Scout from my thoughts, but as I moved through the restaurant delivering food and checking on patrons, I couldn’t help but think about him. His eyes looked like two polished stones, his lips begged to be kissed, and his arms—good God, his arms—I couldn’t even bear to think about what they could do to me.

“Stop it, Nola,” I scolded myself for obsessing about a veritable stranger. I had turned down his dinner invitation and would never see him again; there was no use in torturing myself with the memory.

I circled back to Scout’s table and, like I predicted, he was long gone. I grabbed the leather book with his tab inside and braced myself to be stiffed. I mean, who leaves a tip for a girl who turned you down twice?

I walked to the register, cracked open the booklet, and gasped.

“What the hell?” I counted the bills twice, just to be sure. “A hundred dollars!”

Scout’s bill was less than 30 bucks, which meant he’d given me a more than a 300-percent tip. When I shuffled the bills again, I noticed a business card. It was Scout’s, and he had scribbled a message on the back.

Nola,

Give me a call. Whenever you’re free. Promise I don’t bite.

Scout.

I examined the card, trying to decide if I should toss it in the trash or keep it, just in case. Keeping it seemed stupid since I already told myself I didn’t have time to date, especially a guy like Scout who probably had enough women to satisfy 100 men. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.