Page 11 of Racing Hearts
It’s Saturday, which means no classes, so I find myself walking in the park. I hold my camera, ready to capture any good shots. I need to build my portfolio, and I prefer to take pictures of people, but good models are hard to find. Either they are awkward in front of the camera or full of themselves. I prefer taking natural shots, capturing the essence of people. I smile as I take a photo of a man kneeling before his wife, tying her shoe as she blushes, and then there’s the one of a kid feeding a duck. I can’t stop snapping as the sun shines down, trying to capture the beauty in this world when there is so much darkness.
I lift my viewfinder, turning around to find a new subject, when a tattooed hand covers it. Dropping my camera, I stumble back when I see Alek Anders towering before me. “What the fuck?” I sigh. “Are you stalking me now?”
“Taking pictures of people without consent is illegal, you know.”
“As is stalking,” I retort.
“I wasn’t stalking you, rich boy. I was walking to work and saw you being a weirdo.” He crosses his arms, and I almost drool at the muscles bunching in his biceps. His eyes narrow when he sees me staring.
“You’re working on a Saturday?” I ask.
“Not everyone gets to play all weekend,” he snaps. “Some of us have bills to pay that our parents don’t cover.”
“Who said my parents cover my bills?” I ask, feeling annoyed. “You know nothing about me, Anders, so just head to work where I’m sure you terrify every single customer.”
“I’m nice to everyone else.” He smirks his lips tilting tauntingly, and I hate myself for wanting to taste them.
It really isn’t fair how attractive this man is without even trying. “Lucky me,” I mutter, and I walk away, lifting my camera to take pictures.
“I mean it, get consent,” he calls, always having to have the last word.
Lifting the viewfinder with a mischievous smirk, I take his picture as he walks away. He stills as a dog runs up to him, and despite his intimidating exterior and constant frown, he bends down to the fluffy ball of happiness, a rare smile on his lips as he pets it. I snap a picture. Like he feels it, he swings his gaze to me, and I quickly turn away.
I try to forget all about Alek Anders as I take pictures, but hours later, I give up and head to work. Despite what he thinks, I also have a job. My scholarship covers a lot, but I still need money to live on.
I haven’t been there long, and I don’t want to make a bad impression, so I arrive at the café early and change. I immediately loved this place. Deadly Sweet is totally my vibe, with art covering every wall. There is an internet side to the left where people game and compete, and to the right is a more traditional café, but it’s very modern, and pretty much every waiter here is an artist of some kind—oh, and male since it’s a hot waiter café. I straighten the frills on my shirt and tuck the back into my pants. Checking my hair, I smudge my eyeliner and head out to get started.
The customers are mostly college girls, which suits me just fine. I get paid to flirt for hours, and the tips are great.
Hours later, I’m bent over a table, clearing, when I feel someone behind me.
“Be right there,” I call since I’m also working the counter, but when I straighten and turn, I almost groan.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You are everywhere I turn,” snaps an angry voice.
Alek Anders.
“I work here, asshole. What about you? Didn’t know you were into hot waiters,” I snark.
“Wait, what?” He swings his gaze to his sister, who giggles at his side. “You said you knew a nice place.”
“I do, this one.” She grins at me. “Looking good, Evan. The frills really suit you.”
“So I’m told.” I smirk as I clear the table and step past him, looking him over. He looks so out of place and uncomfortable. “Find an empty table or leave like we both know you want to. Your fragile masculinity can’t handle it.”
I head to the back, cleaning the plates, and when I come out, I’m surprised to see him sitting stiffly at a table, his sister talking away. Leaning into the bar, I cover my smile with my hand as I watch him look around uncomfortably.
I don’t imagine this is his sort of place, not enough grease or cars or masked chicks and men talking shit, but he sure as fuck looks good in the lighting here. It caresses his curls, highlighting his tattoos and muscles, and I’m not the only one who notices.
“Damn, who’s that hottie?” Sang leans into my side, ogling Alek. His black hair is pushed back, and his pale skin glistens with the glitter he put on to get more tips. He’s bigger than me and muscular. He’s also hot as fuck, and if we weren’t such good friends, I would have hit that for sure.
“Alek Anders, not your type.” I laugh as I nudge him, turning to face him. “We both know you like them dainty and small so you can throw them around.”
“Very true.” He leans in. “Want to find out?” I laugh as I push him. Our flirting is just that—flirting. It’s something fun to pass the time, but when I turn and head over to the Anders’s table, I see Alek glaring at Sang, so I step in his path.
“Don’t like men flirting?” I taunt. “Then you should leave.”
“Is that your boyfriend?” he comments, sneering the word.