Except in that very moment, I wanted to run.
Jericho swaggered through the door as a song by Audioslave cranked on the speakers. My heart galloped against my chest and I swallowed thickly, deciding I had no choice but to avoid him if I wanted to keep my job. I approached my table with a gracious smile. My shaky hand pressed the tip of my ink pen against the notepad.
“What can I get for you men?”
I hated calling the opposite sex “boys.” Shifters didn’t care much for that kind of talk, and yet I’d heard it too often in human bars.
The older one with the scruffy beard and black bandana wrapped over his head leaned forward and licked his lower lip. “How much for a shake?” he said with a dark chuckle.
“That comes free when I go to the bar and collect your drinks. So what’ll it be?”
A man with hairy arms chortled. “She’s a firecracker.”
The guy with the bandana leaned back in his chair, hooking one arm over the back. “It’s them green eyes. Those green-eyed girls are dragons.”
I smiled and cocked my hip. “I only breathe fire when I serve men who don’t know how to tip a lady. But I’m sure that won’t be a problem with any of you.”
Effortlessly, I laid down the challenge. The other three men looked amongst one another, as if silently agreeing they had no plan to look like cheapskates.
“How about I start you off with a round of beers? Then you can decide what you’re up for. I’m also going to bring out a plate of hot onion rings, because if you don’t get them now while they’re fresh and delicious, you’ll regret it later. Be right back,” I said with a coy smile, batting my eyelashes.
As I turned away, I rolled my eyes. I had a feeling they were going to be my difficult table for the evening.
My shoulders were killing me, and I knew it was because of nerves. I had a bad habit of hunching them when feeling tense. I sent the order for onion rings to the back.
“A round of beers,” I shouted at Denver.
He ignored me while salting the rim of a large glass. I rubbed my bare shoulder and worked my arm around in a circle. The sleeveless shirts were actually nice. At the last place I’d worked, the owner made us wear cutoff shirts that revealed our midriffs. I felt a little classier in my new work attire, albeit the shorts were a little snug, but it made a difference not to have my breasts hanging out of a low-cut blouse. Especially since mine weren’t as voluptuous as some. I had a soft, feminine curve that suited my slim physique.
“Denver, table twelve needs a round. Four beers, please.”
A pretty brunette was occupying his time, but she seemed disinterested in his advances. Denver was a handsome man who could easily be a male model. But some women preferred the rough-looking Shifters who gave off an air of authority. They equated that with men who had protective animals.
I tipped an empty glass over and spilled backwash onto the bar. It caught his attention and he cannibalized me with a hostile glare. He held up a finger at the brunette and breezed over with a clean rag.
“Do that again and I’ll—”
“Tattle? Don’t be one of those guys. Look, we have no choice about working together, so can we be civil? What happened between Jericho and me is not only personal, but it happened decades ago. It’s our personal business to resolve, but I’m still going to be here every night waiting tables. I need to know you’ll have my back if I’m in trouble. And each time drinks move out slowly because you’re in one of your moods, it not only affects my tips, but it hurts Jake. Truce?”
He polished the bar with his rag, causing the muscle in his bicep to flex. Denver wasn’t ripped, but just nicely defined. I could see a little of Jericho in him, but they were definitely two different personalities.
He bent forward on his elbows. “If you promise to stay away from Jericho and not mess with his head, I’ll cut you some slack.”
“No problem.”
His eyes flashed up. “I smell bullshit.”
I wasn’t a drama queen, and his implication that I had plans to become a train wreck in his brother’s life made me bristle. “Four drafts, please.”
Denver smoothed out all the rough edges in his expression and patted the bar with the palm of his hand before he turned to the object of his affection.
That’s all I needed. We were good.
“You two old lovers?” a woman sitting on the barstool to my right inquired. She had blond tresses dolled up in an old-fashioned style, like Marilyn Monroe. “I’m a Sensor. I don’t always have to touch things to pick up on emotions.”
“No, he’s just a brother of someone I used to know.”
“Ah,” she said in a husky voice. “One of those. For five hundred bucks, I can make your job a lot easier.” The woman absently ran her finger around the rim of her glass.