I knew what Jamie was getting at. And even though I could’ve let his question and the implication he was making by asking it anger me, I didn’t.
I still kinda felt like I owed him. He smoked because of me. Also, he seemed to just be asking out of curiosity.
“I worked at the corporate office for two months after I graduated,” I informed him, keeping my attitude out of it. “It wasn’t working out, so I quit and moved here.”
“It wasn’t working out.” He stated this in disbelief.
“Yeah, that’s what I said.”
“Explain that.”
“Explain what?”
“Why you chose shitty tips over working with your family.”
I shook my head, then I looked behind the bar. He wasn’t getting that. I’d shared enough.
“Legs.”
I turned my head and met his eyes, and instead of telling him what he wanted to hear, I shared what he needed to hear.
“I’m a waitress because I want to be a waitress, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting that,” I started. “I like my job. No. I love my job. I love every part of it. The people, both coming in to eat and the ones I work with. The location. The hours. The shitty tips, which are never shitty because I’m good at what I do, just so you know. I even love rolling silverware and filling salt shakers. I’m that crazy about it. Yes, I’m not gonna lie, it started out as something temporary and I wasn’t planning on falling in love with Whitecaps the way I did, but it happened. And when I fell in love with it, I stopped looking at that job as temporary and started looking at it as something I could see myself doing for years, as long as I stayed happy. And that’s what I am. I am happy, Jamie. Happier than I’ve ever been at any other job, including the one I had with my family, and I think being happy is more important than a lot of things. In fact, it might be the most important. I’m choosing to be happy. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk shit about something that means a great deal to me.”
“Wasn’t talkin’ shit,” he immediately shot back. “Just curious why you were doin’ what you were doin’, babe, when you got opportunities elsewhere. Relax. I get you wantin’ to be happy. And I get you wantin’ to stay somewhere that makes you happy. Who wouldn’t?”
I inhaled slowly through my nose, letting my nerves settle and tipping my chin up. “Good,” I said. “I’m glad you get that.”
The next breath I pulled in was sharp because Jamie leaned in and he did it quickly, letting his arm slide down the bar and crowding me on my stool. He looked deep into my eyes, lowered his voice, and continued on to say, “And whatever your reason for not stayin’ on with your family and movin’ to Dogwood, I’m gonna get that, too, just so you know, when you give it up.”
“I’m not giving it up,” I shared.
“You’ll give it up.”
“That’s never happening, Jamie.”
“It’s happening, babe.”
“No.” I moved in, putting us even closer. “It isn’t,” I snapped. “That’s mine. And you’re not getting it.”
“I’m gettin’ it.”
My lips curled against my teeth.
God, he was seriously annoying.
Jamie smiled, watching this happen, then he leaned away and reached for his beer, telling me, “Just like the bet. You’ll give it up, Legs. Watch.”
The bet.
Damn it.
My scowl was starting to form and it was going to be a scary one, until I remembered what I was capable of, what I was wearing, and more specifically, what I wasn’t wearing underneath.
The bet.
Hell yeah. I had this in the bag.
I stood and I did it quickly, needing to play up the effect I was going for and figuring a little dizziness would help.
I was right.
“Whoa,” I moaned, wincing. I held on to the bar and blinked Jamie into focus. “Can you help me to the bathroom? I’m feeling wobbly.”
I was lying. Big-time. But Jamie didn’t know that.
“You serious?” he asked, watching the display I was putting on.
I swayed and grabbed my head. This was all an act, too.
“Jesus, Legs. You barely made a dent in your second beer,” he said, coming to his feet. He slid his arm around my waist, gripping me and taking my weight when I leaned into him, playing the part, then he started walking me toward the bathrooms, which were tucked back in this small, narrow hallway next to the stage, away from the crowd.
Away from everyone.
No one was about to see what I had planned, which was the reason I was going through with this.
The hallway was dark and concealed, and when Jamie stopped at the door decorated with a bikini top, fitting, indicating the women’s room, he muttered a “there you go” under his breath and released me so I could enter.
Only, I didn’t enter. Going to the bathroom wasn’t part of the plan.
I righted myself, allowing my tipsy façade to fade away. Then I took a step back, turned, and blocked Jamie’s path out of this perfectly hidden hallway. I looked him square in the eyes, gave myself a second to enjoy the baffled look in his, which I enjoyed immensely, he really did look confused, before telling him, “You’re not the only one who never loses.”
I was referring to my pageant days.
And then, I flashed him.
I totally flashed him.
Never before in my life had I done anything like this, but a bet was a bet. And I was winning this one.