One of his brows rises. “Are you sure?”
I nod.
This is my job, not his.
My mistake.
And one thing I promised myself in addition to the no tears was that I would own my mistakes and live with the consequences of them, no matter what they might be, not push them off on others. Not even if they are willing.
I mop, feeling his eyes on me every moment until the floor is completely clean, then I dump out the dirty water in the storage room sink, wash my hands, and return to the main diner area.
A few more tables have filled since I’ve been gone, and I quickly make my way over to them and get their drink and food orders before I head to Liam, giving myself more time to appear unaffected by his presence. “What can I get for you tonight?”
“I’ll have the chicken soup and a Coke.”
“You got it.” I start to leave the table, but despite how uncomfortable it might be, I can’t walk away without acknowledging what he did for me. “And thank you. For your help.”
He grins at me, relaxing back into the faux leather booth. “No need to thank me. I don’t mind. Really.”
And that’s exactly the problem.
Nice men don’t exist, at least not in my world. Men like Liam McBride are fairy tale heroes relegated to the pages of childhood books, not flesh and blood and sitting right in front of me, giving me a sexy grin that is downright dangerous.
The only thing that draws my attention away from it is the diner door opening and that sound tinkling out through the space.
I drag my gaze from Liam in time to see two men walk in—one incredibly tall and muscular with a scruffy beard and long, sandy blond hair that hangs past his shoulders who would look like he stepped off the cover of GQ Magazine if he weren’t in the flannel shirt and ripped jeans, and the other with dark hair and even darker eyes but the same imposing build and commanding presence.
They both scan the diner and wave to a few people as they beeline directly for Liam and me, offering him a nod.
Some of the tension in my shoulders relaxes.
They aren’t strangers.
He knows them.
And for some reason, that makes me feel better. A little less like I have to watch their every move. But I still keep an eye on them as I put in his and the other tables’ orders and grab those ready to be brought out.
Liam’s eyes follow me the entire time, heating my skin, and I do my best not to peek over at him. But that’s impossible when I know he’s watching me. It’s like my body can feel his gaze like a fluid caress, and each time I move, that touch moves with me.
Somehow, I manage to serve both tables without spilling anything, and when Matt hits the tiny little bell on the top of the window that goes into the kitchen to let me know that Liam’s order is ready, I snag it and hustle over to his table.
“Here you go.” I slide his plate in front of him and set down his drink. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
He glances down at it, then smiles at me. “Nope. This looks great.”
I turn to the other men who have joined him at the table. “Anything for you two?”
They watch me curiously.
The one with dark hair raises a brow.
The blond’s mouth tilts in a half smirk, and he shakes his head. “We’re good. I think we have everything we need.”
The way he says it makes my skin tingle, and I step back and disappear into the kitchen as quickly as I can, anxious to find somewhere to cool off.
LIAM
Killian drags his gaze away from Lucky once she finally disappears into the back and focuses on my plate, and I know, before he even opens his damn mouth, what he’s about to say. “I know, for a fact, you did not order meatloaf, Liam. You fucking hate meatloaf.”
