Look, I know, you shouldn’t call women bitches. But damn if they weren’t to us poor, less fortunate girls.
“One Cunty Tuna and two Bitchy Bacon, Lettuce, and Tomato, hold the mayo, Bexley ... on whole wheat, of course,” Milly called to me from the counter.
I was in the cold locker grabbing some more turkey bacon, the kind we referred to asBitchy Bacon,and without even looking up, I knew she was rolling her eyes. The women who ate this ridiculous bacon substitute were even bitchier due to caloric deprivation.
“God, don’t these women ever have fun? I’m going to dab a little mayo on her damn dry tuna and see if she notices,” I muttered to myself, slapping the bacon on my prep counter.
It was stifling in the small kitchen, and I swept a few stray damp hairs off my face with my forearm and set about making the sandwiches. Milly was busy taking an order. She was way better than me at the face-to-face thing, which was why she was stationed at the counter.
“Bex, double that order, but make the last Bitchy open-faced on rye.”
I rolled my eyes and yelled, “Okay.”
My lackluster dark blond hair was braided to the side, and I could feel it curling in the desert heat. It would be one hell of a mess to comb out later. Sweat dripped down my back and into my thong under my ridiculous polyester uniform.
After Marcus, the waiter, ran our latest sandwich rush out to the tables shaded by a sea of red-and-white-striped umbrellas, I called out to Milly, “I need a breather.” Blowing out a breath, I untied my apron and looked to see if she heard me.
Of course, Milly was hanging out of the window flirting with Mike Richards, so I didn’t wait for her to answer.
By the way, Mike was a major asshole, and I hated him for her.
“Yeah, go,” she finally hollered back as I elbowed the back door open.
I stepped out and took a long swig of my iced green tea before holding my face up to the sun. I let the vitamin D rain down on me and took slow breaths, thinking of how much money I was saving between tips and the cushy salary I was being paid. I was pretty sure the club didn’t want us going around and spilling their dirty little secrets, so they overcompensated in our paychecks.
What happened at Sun Rock Golf Club, stayed at Sun Rock Golf Club.
I was occupied with running the chilled bottle down my neck, allowing the condensation to drip down my clavicle into my cleavage, when a deep voice interrupted my moment of solitude.
“You cool?”
I opened my eyes and moved my face out of the sun. “Um, yeah, I’m cool. Can I help you? Milly’s around front taking orders,” I said, squinting in the bright sunlight.
When I finally took in the person behind the voice, my legs went weak—literally. Conflicted and embarrassed by the jolt I felt from looking at this dude, I swallowed my impure thoughts.
Yes, he was a pompous ass, but his eyes were perfectly blue (like the sky,of course), his skin golden from spending time in the sun, and his face was complemented by a mane of light blond waves.
“Nah, I’m not hungry. I saw you sneaking around back, and I came to introduce myself. Aston ... Aston Prescott.” He said it with authority like he was a senator or something, his voice deep and confident as he arrogantly extended his hand toward me.
“Oh,” was all I could croak out. Immediately, I cursed myself like in the movieDirty Dancing, when she carried a watermelon.
“And you are?” Aston asked, staring me down with his heavenly blues.
For the briefest of moments, I felt naked, laid bare in a way I’d never experienced before. I’d never understood what the expression meant, but I did now as I came undone under his gaze.
Feeling my heart in my throat, I swallowed it back down. “Bexley,” I said, practically whispering.
“Nice to meet you, Bexley ...?” His voice rose at the end as he stuck out his hand again.
I wasn’t sure what he wanted me to do. I was a poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks, not a socialite, not even middle class.
“Bexley, I’m waiting for you to shake my hand.”
His statement was borderline rude, again pompous, but it made my body quiver.
I stuck my smaller hand in his large mitt. His hands were soft, not a callus anywhere that I could tell, unlike any of the other hands I’d shaken before, which were usually rough and coarse.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, my hand still swallowed by his.
