KIRA
It's three in the morning, and the drunks are getting handsy.
Which isn't exactly a new experience. The graveyard shift waitressing at Amelio's 24/7 diner can get pretty dicey. Mostly, I make crappy coffee, tell the coked-up cook to fry more eggs, and try to keep the worst of the drunks from puking on the floor.
Mostly, I don't succeed.
Tonight's worse than usual for some reason. There's a table in the back with three wasted assholes who look like they came straight here from closing down the seediest dance club imaginable. They're dripping in chest hair, swagger, and cheap vodka. Every time I go over, all three stare at my chest, and the worst of the group keeps trying to smack my ass.
I'm quick, though. I can dodge his drunk advances. But they're loud and really starting to get on my nerves.
“You sure you don't want help?” Pam asks, frowning as the drunk asshole leader bangs on the table and calls for me.Kitchenwenchisn't exactly flattering. He's a big bald asshole with a crooked, dickish smirk.
“It's fine. If they cross the line, I'll ask Harry to kick them out.”
Pam wrinkles her nose and looks back at our enormous Hawaiian cook. His hairnet's too small, and he's got earbuds in. “Assuming he even hears you yelling for your life. Hey! Asshole!” She snaps her fingers at him, and he doesn't even react. “See, look at that.”
“Seriously, it'll be alright. I'm praying they're drunk enough to leave a huge tip by accident.”
“Don't get your hopes up, darling. It's South Philly in the middle of the night. People with money usually have more sense than to be around here.”
She's got a point. We're not exactly in a bad neighborhood, but we're on the wrong side of Broad for the actual rich folks. The real money's on the east side of Passyunk with all the fancy gastropubs and gentrified boutiques.
Still, the diner's close to the apartment building where I share a crappy little place with my younger sister, Gemma. Who should be blissfully asleep right now because she's got class in the morning. As I walk over to the drunk idiots, ignoring their chants ofkitchen wench, kitchen wench, I remind myself for the millionth time that I'm doing all this for her.
Gem's the one with talent. She's the one with a future.
While I'm just good for slinging hash browns and crappy eggs.
“What can I do for you boys?” I ask, keeping a decent distance away from the table so the grabby dickhead can't get at me.
“Need more coffee,” their leader says. He's got no hair, thick eyebrows, and a beard black enough to be made from shoe polish. “And your phone number.”
“Coffee's coming up. Number's definitely not.” I stalk off to grab the pot as the guy's friends howl. When I come back, his expression is noticeably more intense.
“You think we're hanging around this place for the food?” he asks and knocks a basket of fries onto the floor. They're soggy and not very good, but still. That's a waste of food. “I don't give a fuck about the coffee, babe. I want your number.”
I refill his mug and ignore him. “Anyone need anything else?”
The guy on the corner grins at me. “Blowjob, maybe?”
“Fuck off,” the bald asshole says, elbowing him hard. “She's mine.”
I stand back from the table, clutching the coffee pot hard and struggling with the intrusive urge to dump it over the bald guy’s head. I wonder what his skull would look like with second-degree burns. I purposefully keep the coffee very, very hot.
“Boys, I am not in the mood for this crap. Clean up these fries, pay your bill, and please get the fuck outta here. You got it?”
Normally, the strong, no-BS routine works.
But these three seem too wasted to notice or maybe they just don’t care.
“Don’t be a tease. I’ll take you somewhere nice. No kidding around.”
“No thanks. I’d rather choke.” I turn and start back to the counter.
“Damn, bro, you gonna let that bitch talk to you that way?” one of the bald guy’s friends says in a low murmur.
I get a few paces and catch Pam’s surprised look from across the room. There’s a moment of panic on her face and that’s all the warning I get before a hand grabs my arm from behind.
