“Tables ten through twenty are yours tonight.”
“Ten tables at once?” I question. That’s a lot, especially on night one.
“You can handle it,” he tells me. “What do you guys want to eat tonight?”
“Wings,” the guys say.
“I’ll do wings too,” Kai seconds the order.
“Sure, wings,” Lea agrees.
“Talia?” Noa questions. Talia is the one who wants to eat my buns.
“Oh, she’s having my buns for dinner, remember?” I chime in. Talia throws her head back into the seat and covers her face. My job here is done. “Are tables ten through twenty in this section?” I wave at the surrounding tables, assuming this is my zone.
“Yeah, from that pillar over there to this table,” Noa confirms.
“On it, and I’ll be back with my buns on a platter for you, Talia.”
“So arrogant,” Kai mumbles.
I turn to her. “Sorry, did you say something?” I ask, cupping my hand around my ear.
Kai forces a fake smile, appearing as though she might be grinding her jaw. “I didn’t say anything,” she says, exasperated.
Noa stands up from the table and follows me toward the kitchen. “I’m so sorry, dude. I know I just threw you into this. Do you want to shadow someone tonight?”
“Nah,” I tell him. “I’ll be good.”
“You seem pretty ticked.”
I press my lips together, unsure how to respond to his statement. On the one hand, he was nice enough to offer me a well-paying job. On the other, this wasn’t on my agenda after serving in the military for eight years. “It’s a job. It’s money. I’ll be honest with you, though. I don’t want to end up screwing you over or anything, but I’m going to keep my eyes open for a nine to five. Nights are going to be hard with Aya, but until I find something else, I appreciate the work, and I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”
Once we enter the kitchen, Noa leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “I knew it wouldn’t be a permanent thing for you, but I needed the help, and you were looking for work. I didn’t tell you exactly what the job entailed because I figured you wouldn’t walk in, knowing what the job was.”
“Probably not,” I say, shaking my head. “So just run me through everything quickly.”
He pushes off the wall and walks ahead to one corner of the kitchen. “Here’s one of the registers. There’s also one in each section. The system is pretty simple, especially since our menu is small. I’ll just show you with the order from my VIP table. You type in your table number, the drinks, and orders. The system will do the rest for you. The chefs usually take about ten minutes to prepare food, and the bartender takes around five minutes for a drink order larger than three or four.”
“Got it,” I tell him.
“Oh, and one last thing.”
I close my eyes because I recall the mention of a mid-evening intermission show. “What’s that?”
“At eight, we play ‘Baby Got Back’ by Sir Mix-a-lot. Feel free to improvise if you don’t know the words. The chicks love it, and it breaks up the night a bit.”
“You’re kidding ...” I grumble.
Noa finishes punching in the order and turns to face me. “I believe it was 2008, and we were trapped in a mild sandstorm in the middle of Afghanistan. I was pissy; so was everyone else for that matter, but not Denver … not you. What were you doing?” He’s questioning me like I don’t remember exactly what I was doing.
“I was cheering all you pussies up,” I tell him.
“Singing what?”
“Please tell me I was not your inspiration for this establishment.”
“Your buns are hot and shit, but nah, I read an article, and one thing led to another, but the song—that inspiration was from you.”
