“She heard me. Go on, get my order,” the guy says, clicking his fingers at me.
Chef puffs up and I know he’s about to go off, so I grab his bicep, trying to ignore how thick and hard it is, and pull him back. “It’s all good. I got this,” I murmur to him before smiling at the man behind him. “One Low and Slow coming right up.”
I hustle out the back, stopping Damian on the way. “I need a hand with something.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. I need pubes. Fast.”
Damian’s brows hit the top of his hairline, but it doesn't stop a grin from forming on his face before confusion sets in. “Wait, why don’t you use your own?”
I give him a bored look. When he still looks at me perplexed I raise my eyebrows and wave my hands around until realization dawns on his face.
“Oh Sage, you dirty little thing, mon cher.” I must have a look on my face because he holds his hands up. “Nah, I like ’em with a little bit of fur. Somethin’ to keep me warm when the sun go down, yeah?” He waggles his brows and I’m not sure whether to be grossed out or laugh.
I go with grossed out when Damian dives his hand into his jeans, rummages around then holds a hand up in the air, a small number of pubes pinched between his finger and thumb.
“Are we bonding? Cos it damn near feels like we are.”
“We’re doing something,” I mutter, waving him to follow me. “TumTum, I need a Low and Slow to go, stat.”
TumTum doesn't say a word, just boxes up a crap ton of brisket with the trimmings.
“And for the garnish, m’lady.” Damian snorts, sprinkling his offering over the top.
I mix it in with a plastic fork before grinning at Damian and heading back out front. Am I surprised to see the douche bag is now sporting a fat lip and Chef is glaring at him, arms crossed over his broad chest? No, I am not.
“Here you are sir,” I say with extra pep, cos why the hell not.
I hand over his box and he throws money in my direction before stalking off. Chef moves to stop him but I wave him off.
“Let him go. He’s got another surprise coming.”
Chef’s eyes narrow. “What did you do?”
“It’s not what I did, per se, but what Damian did.”
Chef’s eyes move over my shoulder, landing on Damian who gives him a finger wave, then stops to investigate his fingers.
“Dammit, I missed one!”
Chef’’s gaze meets mine and he raises a thick brow.
“You don’t wanna know,” I reply, glad that his earlier mood has lifted.
Not that it matters to me. We’re friends. His feelings have no bearing on my wanting to work, especially in a safe environment with men I know and trust with my life. I open my mouth to ask what he wants to order but my attention is snatched away by three blacked out SUVs as they pull into the parking lot, kicking up dust. Damian lets out a low whistle as he comes to stand beside me, and we watch as the occupants of the vehicles start to emerge.
“That’s them folk from the bar,” Damian mutters.
Before I know it, Chef is on my other side, and we watch as the group slowly walks to the counter. Each and every one of them is dressed the same. Khaki trousers, button up shirts, hair short and tidy.
“See? That’s the camel toe I was tellin’ you bout!” Damian says, not only out loud for the whole shack to hear, but also pointing with his big finger in the direction of the largest man camel toe I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Damn,” slips unbidden out of my mouth, but it is mesmerizing.
A flash and a quiet click sound goes off next to me and my gaze shoots to Damian. “What? I gotta show Justice.”
I think for a moment, before leaning into him. “And Chewy. She’ll love it.”
