xii. unsettling events

Five to seven in the late afternoon is our busiest time on Saturdays at BWW. Us waitresses and waiters are rushing in and out of the kitchen with orders while expertly dodging each other.

Rush hour is no doubt my favorite part of the day. When I’d first started working here, I’d felt the opposite, but as I grew and became more confident in what I do, I found that I liked when there were more faces around.

I like meeting and interacting with new people. Me bursting out of my shell over the years and becoming a people person played a huge role in that.

“Hey, Kira, your usual is here,” says Ray, his tone sarcastic as he passes through the swing door with a tray of dirty plates.

I pause, shaking my head at his attitude. He didn’t even tell me what table it is!

Ray and I used to get along. I can even say we were friends, up until a few months ago when he’d asked me out. Ever since, I’ve been getting nothing but the cold shoulder, snide comments, and the ass end of his attitude.

I never saw him as anything but a coworker and someone I could talk to. There were no romantic feelings and I wasn’t going to force something that I didn’t feel. I’d told him this, been honest and polite about it, but his response had not been pretty.

Now, months later I’m still getting backlash. It was a wakeup call for me and I’ve been trying to stay out of his way to make it easier for both of us. He on the other hand doesn’t seem to want that.

Rolling my eyes, I decide to go check on my current table—A family of three, including an adorable little boy.

I’m tables away when there’s a upheaval that sounds like it’s coming from everywhere.

Cringing, I turn in the direction of the source. The group of guys wave me over, looking like it’s Christmas morning.

I don’t have to work too hard to smile at them genuinely. I make my way over, placing my finger on my lips, and watch them settle down.

*Such a bunch of man-babies.*

“Boys,” I drawl, finding it hard not to smile at their excitement.

There are four of them and are all on my school’s rival football team. We’re not friends, but I’ve been serving them food for almost two years now because they’d found out Kory and I are related. Apparently, he has a reputation at school. Then they found out I’m also related to the Davenport’s captain of the football team. It’s been eventful since then.

“Mira,” they say in unison and I narrow my eyes at them playfully.

“What brings you here?” I retort.

It’s a game we play. They come in, get rowdy, insist I serve them and never get my name right (on purpose). I ask them why they’re here. Then they say…

“What brings-” Ely, a brunette with shoulder-length wavy hair and stunning green eyes, stutters, before finishing with, “We’re starving, woman!”
My eyebrows raise and soon after, he’s smiling sheepishly with apology.

“Ignore him, baby girl, he’s stuck in old ways.” Despite being the quieter one of the group, Leon is an absolute sweet-talker if it’s not obvious.

“That’s not what I meant,” Ely complains but his friends don’t acknowledge him.

Oberie chips in next to throw dirt on his friend subtly. “Us modern men are here to be served food *only*,” he pauses to put emphasis on the word and leans forward, brown eyes smoldering, “by a modern woman as it pertains to her job description. And we appreciate it.”

My eyes avert and lips purse in effort not to smile and their teasing and smugness are almost suffocating.

Why I entertain them is a mystery to even myself. But it keeps them coming back and their tips are amazing.

Holding up my notepad, I press my pen to the slip of paper before looking at them again. “I’m guessing you’re all ready to order? Or would like drinks and appetizers first? You get rowdy when you’re hungry.”

I write down enough food to feed a family of grizzlies which takes me at least ten minutes.

“And will it be the usual for drinks or does anyone like to try something different today?”

They end up going for the same drinks after teasingly going through the menu and asking ridiculous questions about the choices then “settling” with the regular.

“How about you take a load off,” Leon says before I can leave, scooting over in the booth and patting the vacant spot. “You work too hard.”

My laughter bursts out of me and I have to struggle to contain it. “You guys understand that I’m working right?” I point at my shirt. “Like, I’m on the clock and I’m not just doing this for fun?”

“We do make it fun though, don’t we?” Darian who’s sitting in the center of the booth directly across from me leans forward to place his crossed arms on the dark wood.

I refrain from returning his flirty look or say something incriminating by smiling politely. “I’ll be back with your drinks shortly.”

Their catcalls and hoots sound like they’re echoing throughout the restaurant but that’s mostly my embarrassment making me paranoid when customers look at them, then at me.

I make sure to give them all a welcoming, innocent look and hope it’s enough for them to not think anything rash.

In the minutes that follow, I check on my favorite table—the one with the family, by the way—and get them anything they need. I bring the guys their drinks and appetizers, and not let them rope me into their flirty little conversations to make me slack off.

Knowing these guys for so long, I don’t mind the teasing. I look forward to seeing them at least the once a week they stop by. They’re fun and sometimes point out and make fun of Ray’s distant glares whenever I’m at their table.

After collecting payment from the nice family, I’m heading to the kitchen to check on how the food’s coming for the guys when Ray walks out with a large tray of orders.

Sometimes I think he plans our run-ins, because as he’s passing me, he rudely says, “Took you long enough. Table six needs a server.”

I almost throw my hands up in exhaust and irritation. The guy is relentless and such an asshole!

I work just as hard as anyone else here, and even more than some, and all I get from him is flack because I turned him down over *four months ago*. I’ve never seen anything more petty and sad in my life. If I weren’t on the clock I’d stop him and say something about it.

Breathing out slowly, I carry on with my journey, and once again, tell myself to drop it. He’s not worth the stress or my job.

I walk up to a different table of four with a wide smile and fixing the bun at the back of my head. I don’t pay much attention to faces as I’m doing my greeting, but I do give everyone a respectable amount of eye contact. That is until I meet a certain pair of eyes that make my smile freeze awkwardly on my face and my body suppresses a repulsed shudder.

Light brown eyes stare back at me, glinting with mirth.

Blinking rapidly, I turn my gaze to the rest of the table, my smile stretching into a forced, unnatural one. I feel how wrong it is but no matter how much I try, it stays painful on my face.

They tell me their drink choices and I write them down with a lot more vigor and concentration than needed but I can’t help it. My skin prickles in discomfort, my face and neck overheating, and I already feel sweat beading on my upper lip and forehead.

I might have been lying to myself for a while. When it comes to matters of the heart and the douches in my life, I chalked up the title for one person who really didn’t do anything to me when I think about it.

Reese is the only douche I see regularly, so he gets the full force of my loathing on bad days. It’s the ones who I try desperately not to remember or acknowledge who gets all my hate. So Reese has it easy if I’m being honest with myself.

I’ll take sitting in a room with Reese, Lorenxo, and Death himself before going anywhere within a mile of Calvin Clearmont. He’s only first on that list.

I tell myself, all I have to do is take their drink orders and appetizers. When I get back to the kitchen, I’ll ask someone to cover for me. My excuse is already lined up. I can get through this, it’s five minutes.

When Calvin doesn’t say anything following his peers and I already have their orders down, I turn my gaze to him. I smile again, but my entire body feels like it’s about to crack into a thousand pieces and combust.

“Kira Santiago,” he says, resting his forearms on the table and looking up at me like I’m every celestial being in the sky.

At one point it was heart-wrenching. In a good way. Now… now, it’s not the same. That look tells me something unpleasing is brewing in his quarter of a brain.

“What can I get you?” I ask again, stopping myself from flinching back.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He makes a show of acting astonished, but then his eyes follow the length of my body with heat that makes me want to upchuck my stomach onto the table. “How’s everything?”

My hands begin to shake and I grip my pen tighter against the violent urge to stab his eye out with it. Miraculously, I keep it together—thinking about my family, friends, and how atrocious I will look in any kind of prison clothes.

“Look, I’m working. I really don’t have time to catch up,” I say as politely as I can but I feel my eye twitch. “So if you can please tell me your order so your friends can get their food quicker and I can see to other tables.” I pour some sincerity into my smile at the three people I don’t know.

They look about my age and are friendly enough to smile back while still looking confused.

Calvin doesn’t look offended nor bothered by what I said, but responds with, “That’s not very hospitable.”

*You’re in a restaurant you fucking idiot!*

I force a laugh and tilt my head. “Well, I am trying to get you your orders as fast as I can. I don’t see where it gets better than that.”

His expression turns predatory. “I definitely can.”

I start to throw up—feeling the sting, acidic taste in the back of my throat—but hold my breath and swallow. The disgust I feel for myself, him, and the situation eats at me.

Seconds away from walking away without taking his order, I hear a voice fading into my focus.

It takes a moment for me to get my thoughts together and realize one of the guys at the table is pushing Calvin to order.

When he complies, the relief makes me sigh subtly.

I write down what he chooses, feeling lighter with each letter.

Smiling at all of them, and feeling ten times better about not coming back to this table—to stand in *his* face and smile—I promise to have their orders brought out in a little bit, then turn away.

A sharp sting to my backside has me spinning around, my hand flying to the spot as I take a step back.

The same time it takes for me to face the table again, there’s a disruptive ‘clang’ and the sound of cutlery tinkling in the air, then a grunt and curse.

Chatter seizes throughout the restaurant and I know all eyes are in this direction. Instead of facing the embarrassment of everyone having witnessed that, I keep my eyes glued on Calvin’s face pressed against the wooden table.

"Jamison, I swear to God, I’ll sue your ass so fast-” Calvin doesn’t get a chance to finish his grunted threat.

“You talk a big talk, Clearmont,” Reese says, his voice smooth and unwavering. “Let’s see you do it this time.”

“Get the fuck off me!” Calvin roars, pushing himself off the table only a few inches before Reese slams his face onto the surface again. The table shudders and out of my periphery, I see the others, who’re still sitting, jump back in their seats.

A round of gasps fill my ears, but I’m too stunned to even breathe.

Calvin groans, his eyes closing from obvious pain because Reese hadn’t been gentle and seem to be applying pressure with every passing second.

The scariest part of it is Reese’s lazy expression like he does this regularly. Lorenxo, I’d expect this from, but not him.

“You know why this is happening so I don’t need to tell you what you should be doing next.” His voice is like honey on a freshly paved road. He looks as interested in what he’s doing as I am listening to Kellan talk about football.

Calvin shifts, still trying to get free. Reese retaliates by twisting Calvin’s arm tighter behind his back, making the little shit let out a high-pitched sound, and begin to rotate awkwardly to ease the discomfort.

I hear some snickering and mockery but I don’t find it funny.

*He touched me.*

As if he has the right therfore he can. My face burns in anger and humiliation and I know I can stand here all night and watch him make all the funny noises in the world and never be satisfied.

“Sit. Down.”

I look away from the scene and see Lorenxo standing a foot away from Reese, pointing at something—*someone*—across the table. One of the girls at the table who’s halfway standing, lowers herself back into her chair slowly, keeping her eyes on Lorenxo as if he’s a robber with a gun.

Reflexively, I look at the other two. The other girl looks unnaturally pale and the guy is pushed back in his seat, also staring at Lorenxo.

Oddly, I think they know more about him than I do.

Another whining sound pierces the air, the same time I hear my manager, Henry, loudly questioning what’s going on from somewhere far behind me.

“Sorry!” Calvin exclaims, spit flying out of his mouth and his face already tinging blue. “Kira, I’m sorry! Fuck!” I nearly wince when it’s evident Reese is still twisting his arm.

Still, I don’t accept that apology.

“Somehow, I feel like he won’t learn unless you break it,” Lorenxo says.

I look at him for a moment, then at Reese.

His lips pull into a smile slightly at his friend’s words but his eyes are hidden from me by his blond hair.

“What in God’s name do you kids think you’re doing!” Henry finally joins the party, looking as appalled as he sounds.

I snap out of it, telling myself I should do something about this. If it’s up to me, Calvin’s getting his arm broken, but I don’t think that will sit well with Henry.

“All of you out!”

Reese doesn’t look up, but he lifts Calvin’s head voluntarily this time by the back of his neck.

It looks like he’s about to let him go, but not exactly.

Another loud ‘bang’ and Calvin’s head is resting peacefully on top of the table—unmoving, but he’s still breathing. That’s when Reese lets him go.

Henry’s still shouting like a mad man when Reese tries to explain the situation.

I don’t listen to any of it because I know what happened. I hear the words but don’t register them because my mind is louder and racing with questions.

I’ve been working here for the longest time and today’s the first I’ve seen him here. Reese is vegetarian so it’s easy to understand why. My other ‘why’ is, how come he’s here *today*?

When he looks at me, I’m sure I have the fish-out-of-water look mastered and waiting for my diploma. I feel my shoulders shake as I inhale and my body shudders when I let it out.

His version of asking me if I’m okay is, “Do you need anything?”

“I-” my voice breaks, forcing me to stop talking. “I need to go.” The words are frail and low, but he hears me.

“Then go,” he responds.

I’m fully aware that he’s not my boss at this moment, but I know my boss, who’s still here, won’t want me to have a breakdown in the middle of the restaurant and I’m seconds away from that.

Before rushing toward the kitchen, I shamefully choke on a, “Thank you.”