Red lifted a shoulder as if to ask, So? “If I’ve never heard of you, you can’t make much money with the whole tennis thing.”
“Wanna see a tax return?” Kat snapped. She stood, brushing off the butt of her pants in case any dust had found her. “I’m going to get going. Please tell Sta— Sorry, Sissy, that I said bye, and I’ll catch her later.”
“Hold up.” Red stood, evaluating her once more with her eyes. It felt nearly as intrusive as a doctor’s exam. “Ever wait a table?”
“A little,” Kat said slowly. “Not recently.”
“It’s like a bicycle. Ever dealt with rowdy crowds?”
“Only every tournament.” Except they often weren’t rowdy for her but for the bigger names. But hey, a crowd was a crowd.
“Need some money?”
Kat opened her mouth, then closed it again. She was getting light in the bank accounts, she could admit it. Losing the sponsorships had meant she lost more than half her income. “I… wouldn’t say no to extra cash.”
“Good. You can start tonight. You can take Irish’s shift.” With that, Red dusted her hands off and leaned into the hallway. “Hey, Siss! Your friend here’s starting tonight. Get her started, would ya?”
Kat heard Stacy’s loud “Yes!” from down the hall, and she laughed.
“You got a job? What the hell do you mean you got a job?” Michael thundered.
“I mean, I work here now.” Kat looked around her at the patrons that were beginning to pour in and grinned.
“You went for a walk and became employed.” She was the most baffling person he’d ever met.
“It’s gonna be fun.”
“You’re a tennis player,” he said on a growl. “You don’t work in a bar.”
“I am an adult who needs money,” she corrected him, holding the bar door open for another server to walk through, carrying an empty tray. “I have expenses and a life to pay for, same as you. Except you,” she added as she walked down the bar, forcing him to trail after her, “get paid whether you win or lose.”
That much was true. He couldn’t argue there. And as he had no clue what the state of her finances were—and wouldn’t ask, not his business—he couldn’t really argue getting a job to supplement. It was better than going into debt. But still…
“I could help you find a job. Like, an office job. Or something.”
“I like working with people. Customer service isn’t bad. And I won’t lose my mind like I would sitting at a desk all day.” She held up a finger and turned her back to him, listening to whatever the server behind her had started to say. “Yeah, okay. Manny,” she said, turning back to him.
“Don’t call me that,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I’ve got a shift to work, and I’m still learning, so we’ll have to cut this short. If you don’t want to come back and get me after my shift, I’ll Uber home.”
“You think I’m leaving now?” He stared at her, jaw slack. She really didn’t get it. “I’m not leaving. The second you’re out of my eyesight, you get into trouble.”
“I hardly call getting a job ‘trouble.’” She propped her hands on her hips, which drew attention to the small inch of skin exposed between the pants she’d worn to the meeting hours ago and the bar’s polo shirt she’d slipped on since the last time he saw her. What the hell was with those shirts, were they designed to do that automatically? And why did he find that single inch of bare skin more erotic than if she’d flashed him?
“Sawyer’s not going to like this,” he warned, settling himself on the seat in front of her.
“Sawyer isn’t my boss. Red is,” she added with a smile, pointing her thumb to the left at the sexy redhead he’d seen on the bar the last time. “So do you want to pick me up?”
He wanted to do more than that. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder, drag her out to his car, speed back home at a reckless pace, haul her sweet ass upstairs to his apartment, and tie her to his bed for a week, where she couldn’t get into any trouble… unless it was with him.
Shifting uncomfortably on the stool, he just said, “I’m staying.”
“I don’t get off for five hours. That’s insane.”
“Insane feels about right,” he muttered. “Just bring me a water and something on draft.”
“You can’t park here all night,” she warned as she turned to the taps and started pulling the darkest beer. He grimaced but didn’t say anything. “They need money just like I do, and you can’t take a seat away from a paying customer.”
“I’ll tip well,” he growled as she set the glass down on a coaster in front of him.
“You better. I’ve got court time to pay for.” With that light warning, she moved a few spots down and greeted another customer—male, of course—with a genuine smile.
Six hours later—and thank God he only had walk-through practice tomorrow—Michael dragged his exhausted body to his apartment. “I can’t keep doing this.”