Page 4 of DadBod
ELIZABETH
“What was all that about,honey bun?”
Prepping the salad for the guy who ordered the special, I turn my head and look over at my best friend, Jeriann. “Huh?”
“Don’t play dumb. What was up dadbod’s ass just now?”
Jeriann has nicknames for everyone. I’m honey bun because when I work, I wear my hair in pigtails that I swirl around into little buns behind my ears. To her, they look like those honey-bun treats you can buy in a box at the grocery story.
She dubbed Rome “dadbod” the day he walked into the restaurant with his two kids in tow. Sure, I know that term usually refers to men, average-looking men, fathers, who have beer bellies, but Jeriann likes to mix things up sometimes, preferring to be ironic. Because I can say with 100 percent certainty––Rome does not have a beer belly.
“He was pissed I wouldn’t sell the special.” Jeriann snickers. I roll my eyes. “Don’t say it.”
“What?” She snickers again. “I wish the two of you would just do it and get it over with.”
“Jeri…” Like the ladies sitting at table fifteen, she seems to think Rome and I are destined to, well, to hook up. “That’s never going to happen.”
“Oh, it’ll happen. Just think of all of the times he snaps at you as foreplay.” She’s right about that. Not about the foreplay. The snapping. He seems to yell at me more than the others. I think I’m frustrating to him. More than anyone else because, while, yes, I’m introverted, I’m also extremely stubborn. Once I decide something, like with the special, there’s no going back for me.
“Mark my words, honey bun. Rome James has a hard-on for you. One of these days, he’s going to press you against a wall—”
“Stop,” I hiss. A giggle escapes too. “You read way too many romance novels.” I read the same books that she does, and she knows I’ve got a fantasy about a guy doing that. You know, pressing me against a door and kissing me senseless.
“Don’t play dumb with me, Beth. We’ve been friends long enough for me to know all your secrets.”
She’s probably right. We met when I first moved to the city. Jeriann Connolly is my next-door neighbor. We hit it off right away thanks to the things we have in common. We both grew up in tiny rural towns, and neither one of us went to college and probably never will. Sure, when I was young, maybe when I was in middle school, I dreamed of going to college. I wanted to be a teacher in the worst way. But that’s all gone and forgotten now.
Our personalities are what sets us apart from each other, though. She’s an extrovert of the highest order, and I’m not. I’d prefer to sit in the corner watching things happen, while she’s the person making shit happen.
Opposites attract, and Jeriann and I are the perfect example. She loves me in spite of my flaws. She appreciates me too. I got her the job here. Rome needed more waitstaff, and Jeri needed a job. She’s a great server. She gets amazing tips, probably due to the fact she’s outgoing, or maybe it’s because she’s so stinking cute with her naturally curly hair and the two dimples on her cheeks. People are suckers for dimples.
* * *
“Elizabeth!”
I hear his deep voice, and the only thing that goes through my head is, Geez. What now? I suddenly stop on my way from the dining room to the kitchen to pick up one of my orders, and spin on my Converse-clad feet as he stomps closer. “Yeah?”
“How many times do I need to tell you––don’t leave your fucking drink orders sitting at the bar.”
“I––”
“The ice is practically melted in the cosmo you ordered. Now I’ll have to waste that and make a new cocktail.”
“I––”
“You need to work on your timing. Your pacing.”
“My pacing?” I know what he’s talking about. Pacing is when you have more than one table, you go to your first table, get them water and their drink order, then move to your second table, and so on. I’m good at pacing, but when three tables out of six get seated at the exact same time, pacing goes out the window and it’s all about getting shit done as fast as you can and in the most efficient way possible. Sometimes, something has to give. In this case, a few drinks had to sit for a second.
“You’ve been here long enough, Elizabeth. I shouldn’t have to remind you how to do your job.”
“I know how to do my job.”
“Apparently, you don’t.”
I glare at my boss. I feel the heat rise from below the neck of my white dress shirt and onto my cheeks. “Rome––”
“Get your shit together, Elizabeth.” He’s got his hands on his narrow hips, and he’s leaning into my space for the second time. Not as close as he was before. Then he says words that make me angry, and I want to punch him in his pretty fucking face. “What are you doing just standing there? Get going.”