Millionaire Best Friend: A Secret Baby Romance Page 8

  “That sounds nice, too,” I said.

  She nodded. “Oh, it definitely was. People love this place, and it’s where I grew up. But when I took over, I just felt like I should make it my own. People would always ask for more food options, so I started adding a couple of things here and there. Eventually, the menu grew, and now we’re actually a place people come on purpose to have dinner.”

  “You mentioned you were thinking about expanding to a restaurant,” I said.

  “That’s the vision. I’ve started renting the entire thing out to people who want to have special events here. If I expand out to a restaurant, it will have even more space for things like that, and I can offer more food options, too. Maybe even breakfast and lunch. Possibly a boxed lunch or custom small-scale catering so people could order dinners to pick up and bring home.”

  It sounded like the idea excited her, and I looked forward to the possibility of being a part of seeing that dream coming true for her.

  “How do you want me to get started?” I asked.

  “Well, you can help the line cooks do some of the basic prep. Fill condiment and ingredient containers, unload the food deliveries that are sitting in the coolers. That sort of thing. Then we’ll see from there. Welcome aboard,” she said.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate this.”

  “No problem. Let me know if you need anything,” she said.

  She left the kitchen, and I offered myself over to the line cook to get started. The rest of my first shift was a success. It was busy and tiring, but that’s exactly how I expected it to be. It was how I wanted it to be. I played busboy, keeping the tables turning over as fast as possible to accommodate all the people who wanted to come in. After cleaning off the tables, I helped with washing dishes.

  I even had a chance to be a back server and bring food out to a couple of tables when things got busy. I was constantly moving, constantly doing something with my eye on my next task. Lindsey watched me closely throughout the night. I noticed her nod every time I took on a new task or did something right.

  The validation felt good. I liked that I was doing well and proving to her that I could not only be an asset, but that I took the position she gave me seriously.

  I kept working until the bar closed and the last customer left. It was just after two in the morning when I finally took a breath and dropped down onto one of the stools at the bar. The servers came up, and I was surprised to see them empty out the pockets of their aprons onto the bar. The bartender did the same, and Lindsey emptied her own pockets into the pile.

  “Good tippers tonight,” a waitress named Daisy said.

  “Looks like it,” Lindsey said, scooping all the money together before counting it up.

  She jotted down the total amount on a small notebook she kept in her pocket, then started dividing it up into several small piles. I didn’t realize what she was doing until she offered one of them to me.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Tips for the night,” she said.

  “But those belong to the servers and bartenders,” I said.

  “We pool,” Daisy said. “Everybody here works hard. We shouldn’t be the only ones who get tips. At the end of the night, we add up everything we got and divide it up. Trust me, you deserve it. You were hopping all night. We appreciate what you do. Because you work as hard as you do, it lets us serve more customers, which gets us more tips. So, you deserve some of it.”

  I looked at Lindsey, who gave me a slight smile and nod. “Thanks.”

  I went home that night with more than $75 in tips and hoarding all the smiles I got from my new boss and coworkers.

  By the time I got back to the apartment, it was quiet and dark. I realized Greg was in bed and felt a flicker of sadness. The only downside to having this new job was that I was hardly ever going to be able to see him. Just like Lindsey said, the hours did kind of suck. I worked almost eleven hours that day, and she had mentioned that was not uncommon. I was scheduled for specific days and start times, but not end times.

  It was the unspoken expectation that I would keep working as long as I was needed each night. Sometimes that wouldn’t be as late because the night wasn’t as busy or there would be more staff members there. Other nights I would be there past closing to help wrap things up.

  I was fine with that. Every hour worked meant more money in my pocket and building more of my reputation. But it also meant I would come home from work when Greg was still sleeping, and he would go to work in the morning when I was in bed. We would only see each other on days off.

  I got Thursday night as my official day off, and Sunday when the bar was closed. Greg technically got the weekends off unless there was a race, but he had already told me it wasn’t an infrequent event for him to work through the weekend just as much as he did on the weekdays. It created somewhat of a lonely feeling in me, but at least I was there in the apartment. And at least I was in Charlotte.

  One of the perks of working at the bar was getting to bring home food at the end of the night. After running around so much, the sandwich and snacks Greg left for me seemed very far away, and I was starving by the time I dropped down onto the couch in the living room to eat.

  The chicken and dumplings I chose was delicious. Relaxing on the couch watching throwback TV shows while eating it straight out of the to-go container was strangely luxurious.

  I went to bed that night thinking about the money I’d rolled up into a sock and shoved in the top drawer of the dresser that came along with the bed in my bedroom set. For now, this would suffice for stashing tips, but I would need to start a bank account for my paychecks. With that added to my mental to-do list, I fell asleep.

  The sun was already high in the sky when I woke up the next morning. I padded into the kitchen to find something to eat and discovered another lunch packed for me in the refrigerator. It made me giggle, and I pulled out the ingredients to make a pan of pasta. It would be perfect for eating before work.

  It seemed like we were getting into the habit of leaving each other food every day, so I decided to lean into it. It was a nice way to continue to acknowledge each other even when we weren’t able to see one another. And every time he did something like that, it was a reminder of just how long it had been since I really felt like anybody took care of me.

  It felt good to be cared for. Even if it was just by my best friend whose life I pretty much crashed. But I figured there was nobody else I wanted taking care of me more.

  When the pasta was done and cooled, I put some on a plate with a foil-wrapped piece of garlic bread and a salad in a bowl beside it. I took the pink sticky notes I’d bought out of the junk drawer and made another heart, then stuck it to the plastic over the plate.

  Grabbing the lunch he packed for me, I headed to the bar, feeling oddly at peace.

  14

  Greg

  I found myself looking forward to Thursday all week. I knew that was her night off, which meant we might actually get a chance to see each other. I hadn’t even laid eyes on her awake since Monday when I left for work, and the days were stretching out long.

  On Thursday morning, I woke up at my usual time to get ready to go to work. She was still sleeping after not getting home from the bar until hours after I had gone to bed. I happened to wake up with the sound of her rummaging around in the kitchen and noticed it was almost 3:30 in the morning before dropping back to sleep, which meant she would probably stay in bed for a good while after I left for the compound.

  I knew she wasn’t going into work that day, but it didn’t stop me from putting together lunch for her. We had already established the rhythm, and I wasn’t going to break it, even if she didn’t have to go into the bar.

  It was even more important for me to spend extra time with Maya that day. On top of not seeing her for three days at that point, I would also be gone most of the weekend and might not get a chance to spend much time with her then.

  There was another race on Satu
rday, this time during the day rather than the evening, which means I would be heading out even earlier that morning. Depending on the turnout, we might end up at Lindsey’s that night, but that didn’t mean she was going to get to come out and hang out with us.

  The only other night of the week she got off was Sunday, but considering we would both be exhausted, it was entirely possible we’d end up sleeping the majority of the day. Then I would need to head to the compound to get everything broken down after the race.

  I was different than the other guys in that way. It was tradition to close down the compound the day after a successful race, and the family never went in on Sunday. But I hated going into the garage on Monday and finding lingering work from the week before. I’d rather start my week with as much of a clean slate as possible, which meant having to unload the equipment and at least clean my bike.

  Maybe I could convince Maya to come with me and hang out while I did all those things. I would probably feel guilty even asking her. After a long week of work, the last thing she probably wanted to do was sit around and watch me clean and repair a motorcycle.

  The day seemed especially long, even though I left well before I usually did. I got back to the apartment and found Maya in the kitchen cooking dinner. There was already a Post-it note with a heart on it stuck to the dining room table where I usually sat.

  It was one of those things I wanted to mention, but at the same time I felt like I shouldn’t. Like it was an unspoken secret that carried meaning we were supposed to feel but not discuss.

  “Something smells good,” I said instead.

  She looked over her shoulder at me and smiled. “Thank you. It’s amazing how much more elaborate a meal I can make when I actually have the entire evening to do it. I’m making pot roast tonight.”

  “Sounds amazing. It’s been years since I’ve had pot roast,” I said. “What about for dessert? Would I be getting too nostalgic to hope for apple pie?”

  My last food memory of having pot roast with Maya was when her mother had made it for us when we were small children. I didn’t remember why I was at her house having dinner, or if there was any specific occasion that inspired the pot roast and pie, but it was a good memory. Maya didn’t seem to feel the same way. She shook her head emphatically.

  “Absolutely not,” she said. “There will be no pie. I still haven’t come to the point where I’m ready to be friendly with pie.”

  “Fair enough,” I said.

  “But I did make homemade pudding,” she said.

  “Chocolate or vanilla?” I asked.

  “Butterscotch,” she answered.

  “The very best answer,” I said. I kissed her on the top of the head. “Alright, I’m going to go take a really quick shower because I got super grimy at work. I’ll be back in just a minute to help you in any way I can.”

  “Nothing for you to do,” she said. “But I will be ready to dig into this when you’re done.”

  I took a shower, and by the time I got out, she had already set the table and was serving up huge portions of the tender meat and delicious vegetables. She seemed to remember the carrots were my favorite part because she added a few extras to my plate before putting it at my spot.

  We sat down and talked about work and our lives over the last three days while we ate. When we were done, I helped her clear the table.

  “Are you ready for dessert?” she asked.

  “Not quite yet,” I said. “But I had an idea.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Why don’t we do all of these dishes, then go downstairs and take a swim.”

  “A swim?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “There’s a huge, beautiful pool at the clubhouse. You haven’t even been in it. It’s still hot out, so why don’t we go take a dip? The pool is open twenty-four hours a day, but nobody ever goes there in the dark. It would just be the two of us.”

  She thought about it for a few seconds, then nodded.

  “Okay, that actually sounds like fun.” she said.

  We finished cleaning up the kitchen and putting away all the leftovers, then went into our bedrooms to change into bathing suits. I realized then that I hadn’t even asked Maya if she had a bathing suit. I just assumed she did because she had what I figured was everything she owned with her.

  Sure enough, a couple minutes later, she walked out into the living room in a pair of shorts and an open button-up shirt over a simple black bathing suit. Her flip-flops showed off that her toenails were painted bright, glossy red, and for some reason that made me smile. I grabbed a couple of towels out of the linen closet and tossed one over to her.

  “Additional bonus for swimming at night rather than during the day, we don’t have to put on sunscreen,” I said.

  “How edgy of you,” she said, flipping the towel over her shoulder and walking over to the door with an overexaggerated swing of her hips.

  I laughed and followed her. We walked along the sidewalk to the pool, and I used the key card issued to all tenants to open the lock.

  “I need to talk to the landlord about getting one of these to you as soon as possible,” I said. “You have to use it to access the pool and the clubhouse, and to get your mail.”

  She kicked off her flip-flops and slipped the shirt back off her shoulders to put it on her chair. I tried hard not to ogle her when she took off her shorts and stood in front of me in only her bathing suit. She looked incredible. There was no need for an overtly sexy suit or even a two-piece. The simple black one-piece accentuated all of her curves and was unapologetically sultry.

  She walked over to the pool and dipped her toe into the sparkling water.

  “How is it?” I asked.

  “Chilly,” she said. “But it feels good.”

  Rather than walking down the steps, she walked a few feet down the edge of the pool and dove in. I laughed as she surfaced.

  “There’s the girl I remember,” I said. “No fear. No hesitation.”

  “Do things before I think them all the way through?” she asked.

  “Maybe sometimes,” I said. “But it’s good. People miss out on the best things in life because they think about it too much.”

  “How about you?” she asked. “Are you going to think too much?”

  The question had an unexpected effect on me. I forced myself to push away the reaction and took off running toward the edge of the pool. She screamed as my cannonball sent up a huge splash and a wave that nearly knocked her over.

  For the next hour, we swam and splashed, laughing and sliding through the water together. She got closer to me, and a few times I reached out just to brush the tips of my fingers against her to make sure she was really there. I thought I was doing a great job at not drooling over her, but my dedication to a purely friendly swim disappeared with the appearance of a group of guys I recognized from the first floor of our building.

  They walked through the gate with their eyes already locked on Maya. A couple of them made kissy sounds toward her, and I heard a few inappropriate comments they probably thought were muttered under their breaths. Or maybe they didn’t.

  These guys struck me as the type who would think she should be flattered to hear them talking about her like that.

  She wasn’t.

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t try to lay claim, even though that was what was boiling in my veins. It wasn’t my place to be jealous, but at the same time, I could see Maya’s discomfort when she looked over at me. My protectiveness surged up, and I got closer to her in the water.

  All that did was start them up with a whole new set of comments. Finally, Maya moved to the edge of the pool and started to get out. I positioned myself so they wouldn’t be able to look at her ass as she pulled herself up, then got out and followed her over to the chairs. She grabbed one of the towels and wrapped it around herself, and I sat down at the edge of the seat.

  As the guys kept talking, it seemed like Maya had enough. She dropped down to sit in my lap, wrapping her arms ar
ound my neck and nuzzling into it. I knew exactly what she was doing, but that didn’t stop my heart and body from responding. This was a serious problem.

  Fortunately, the guys got the picture and made their way out of the pool area. As soon as they were out of sight, Maya jumped up. I was glad she moved quick, otherwise the situation could have gotten very uncomfortable, very fast.

  We didn’t stay at the pool much longer. The group of guys had marred our simple fun, and neither of us felt like lingering around there any longer. We went back to the apartment, and she immediately got in the shower. I waited for her to get out and come talk to me, but she slipped into her bedroom and closed the door.

  I took a shower and got into bed but couldn’t fall asleep. I stared at the ceiling, thinking about the way I reacted to her at the pool, which was something I couldn’t let happen. Before closing my eyes to go to sleep, I promised myself I was going to get over it.

  15

  Maya

  For the second Saturday in a row, I woke up to an uncomfortable sensation. This week, it was my phone vibrating against the side of my head. Not quite as miserable and painful as my hangover the week before, but not fun, nonetheless.

  I had forgotten that I turned the ringer off before going to bed and had apparently fallen asleep while watching TV on the tiny screen. At some point during the night, it ended up being shoved under my pillow, which meant when the phone call came in while I was still deep in sleep, it jiggled against my skull like a tiny jackhammer.

  Dredging myself up into reluctant consciousness, I snatched the phone up and looked at the screen. My stomach sank when I saw it was Lindsey. Could I have possibly slept that late? I knew I was exhausted and wanted to get a little bit of extra rest on Saturday before the busy end of the week crowds came in, but I didn’t think I possibly could have slept long enough to be late to work.