“Does that mean I have a shot with you?” Tanner asked, the red now a muted pink.
“No,” Becca said in tandem with Linx. She grabbed her pen and paper from her apron, needing to scooch along to the next booth for orders. She pointed the end of her pen straight at Mach. “And don’t you ask, either.”
Mach raised his hands in surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Oh, well. Okay, then.
“Brek asked me to find out if you’re playing another set,” Becca said, nodding to the next table in recognition when the guy raised his empty whiskey tumbler.
“Sure,” Tanner said, his confidence fully restored with the conversation topic shifted back to the stage. Not even a tinge of pink.
“I’m in.” Mach gave a pointed glance at Linx.
“What the hell.” Linx raised his arms wide again. “Tell Brek he’s covering our tab.”
Becca smiled. “Will do.”
“And, Becca?” Linx asked.
“Yes?”
“Mind if I drive you home tonight?” he asked.
Oh, now he was all charm and requesting permission.
“I’d be grateful if you would.” Becca gave him her I’m-a-waitress-and-I-live-on-tips-so-I-have-to-be-perky smile.
“I’ll stick around, then.”
She rolled her bottom lip under her teeth. Cedric Lincoln was going to stick around and wait to drive her home.
“It won’t be late. I’m not closing tonight,” she said, as she started toward the next table. “Brek usually doesn’t make us close two nights in a row.”
“Even better,” Linx said.
“Oh God,” she said as she turned fully around.
Her girlfriends were asking Becca’s other assigned back booth to switch with one closer to the front. Cash seemed to exchange hands. But that wasn’t the part that made her heart beat like it was going to come straight through the wall of her chest.
No. That wasn’t it. Not even close.
Becca waited for her heart to seize as she watched them climb into the booth, all giggles and excited whispers.
They brought her mother.
“I’d liketo know your exact stance on the policy of waitresses drinking on the job.” Becca paced between the gas range and the refrigerator in the small commercial kitchen behind the bar where Brek worked with Marlee’s husband, Eli. Eli was a chef and sometimes stopped by to help Brek try out new recipes. His creativity was what made Eats Grill one of Denver’s best.
“I like my liquor license, so I’d say I’m a hard ass about that one,” he said.
“Damn.”
“What’s going on, Becca?” Eli asked. He was a mountain of a man who always seemed as grumpy as Gibson. Deep down, he was a sweetheart who adored his wife and son.
“Your wife.” She tossed her arms to the side. “And my friends.”
“Marlee’s here?” Eli asked, craning his neck to see out the little window above the door.
“She is.” Becca went back to pacing. “And she brought the rest of our friends. And. My. Mother. My mom, Eli. She brought my mom.”
