“Huh?”

Shay giggled, then reached out and took the pen out of my hand while her other slid the napkin away from me.

“He requested your section. Lucky girl. You’re in for a treat. He tips like he invented money or something.”

Shay began doodling on my napkin.

I looked across the room again and saw that Jamie was indeed sitting in my section, arm draped over the back of the booth, smiling and waiting to be served.

Well, this was just terrific. Now I had no choice but to look at him.

Whatever.

I had a job to do. I couldn’t just stand around and doodle.

“Right.” Straightening up and snapping into professional mode, I smoothed my apron, pulled out my ticket book, and leaning across the counter, snatched my pen away from Shay.

She smirked. “It’s cool. I’m gonna make sure Stitch didn’t hack off a finger.”

Shay moved around the bar to get to the kitchen window, hopped up on the edge of the counter, and sat there, swinging her feet and waiting for Stitch.

I took a deep breath and headed across the room, wetting my cherry-painted lips and stretching them into a friendly smile when I reached my destination.

He liked to tip? Awesome. I liked getting tips. Time to put on the charm.

“Good afternoon. My name is—”

“Fuck me, babe,” Jamie muttered through a thick, sex-soaked voice, cutting me off as his eyes skimmed up and down the length of me. “You make that ugly-ass uniform look fuckin’ good. No shit.”

My head jerked back. “Excuse me?” I asked, losing my smile. I glanced down at my uniform, which consisted of a white polo top, khaki pants, and a black apron tied around my waist. “These uniforms aren’t ugly,” I argued, lifting my head. “They’re cute and super comfy. Honestly, I’ve worn worse.”

“Legs, trust me, they’re nothin’ to look at,” he argued back, tipping his head. “But on you, yeah, different story. I’ll look all fuckin’ day.”

I blinked. “Legs? Did you just call me Legs?”

What in the … hell? Who calls someone that?

Half of Jamie’s mouth lifted, revealing one killer dimple.

“Fuck yeah, I did,” he answered, dropping his eyes to my limbs and lingering there. “Seen a lot of good ones. Had a lot of good ones wrapped around me, but yours? Babe, seriously.” He looked to me again. “Yours take the fuckin’ cake. I’d give my left nut for a feel. Straight up.”

I stared at him.

I was never a woman of few words. Never. Not even when I needed to be. In situations that didn’t warrant talking, I was still a talker. I got shushed at movie theaters because I felt the need to comment or ask questions regarding the plot line. I was that girl. Words never failed me.

Yet here I was, stripped of my vocabulary for the first time in my twenty-four years of life, all because a man wanted to chop off his left testicle to cop a feel.

Unbelievable.

Jamie laughed, low and rumbly in his throat, and hearing that, I broke out of my speechless haze.

“Do you offer up appendages to all the women you meet?” I asked.

“Why? Curious if anyone’s ever taken me up on it?” He gestured at his lap. “Go ahead and check. I’m down for a strip search if you wanna give it, Legs. Just know …” He bent his elbow on the table, leaned forward to get closer, held my eyes, and with a lowered voice, promised, “You touch me, and I am definitely putting my hands all over you.”

Breath caught in my throat as I quickly sucked in air.

I felt my cheeks warm, knew Jamie could see my reaction to what he’d just said, and further knew I needed to get far away from the topic of him putting his hands anywhere near my personal space.

I shouldn’t even be reacting at all. What was wrong with me?

Forcing focus, I clicked my pen open, poised it on my ticket book, and asked nonchalantly, “What can I get you started with?” as if Jamie hadn’t just painted a very descriptive picture in my head.

His smile was slow and satisfied as it moved across his face.

“I don’t know. You offerin’ yourself up?” Jamie smirked through his question as he sat tall in the booth, his one arm still stretched behind him and his other relaxed on the table next to the menu. “’Cause if that’s the case, I’ll take my order to go. Your legs would look unfuckingreal spread wide in my backseat.”

I sighed. Okay. This was getting ridiculous.

“I am not offering myself up. I have a boyfriend,” I told him with a little attitude, watching his face and waiting for the expected surrender and disappointment to shadow his arrogance.

It didn’t. I looked harder.

And still, nothing. Not one bit of change.

Jamie didn’t flinch. Didn’t lose the smirk he was wearing. Hell, it didn’t even falter.

I opened my mouth to repeat myself but he shut me up fast when he finally spoke.

“Not sure what that has to do with us,” he said, keeping the arrogance, keeping the smirk, and keeping at me like what I’d just shared meant nothing. He shrugged, then continued. “Affects him more than anything. Handle it now or wait, whatever. Just know, once we get started, you need to drop him, babe. I don’t share.”

My mouth fell open. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Once we get started?” I echoed, lowering my arms to my sides. “What makes you think—”

He cut me off quick.

“Guessin’ you don’t know who I am, considering I’ve never seen you around here, and trust me, I would’ve seen you, so let me fill you in.” Jamie’s face grew serious. “I want something? I get it, and I don’t fuckin’ lose. Ever. No shit. I’m not just blowin’ smoke up my own ass, babe. When I say I don’t fuckin’ lose, I mean, I do not fuckin’ lose. That applies to a lot of shit, Legs, and it sure as fuck applies to you. I won’t back down, boyfriend or not. You gotta know that.”

Something sick twisted deep in my stomach as I studied Jamie, at his eyes wild with promise, because I knew then exactly what kind of man he was and it had nothing to do with his surfing record or good looks or the money lining his wallet.

He was a loser. A player. A jerk. He didn’t respect me or the relationship I was in.

He didn’t respect love.

And that disgusted me.

“I am not interested in being gotten,” I snapped, nostrils flaring. “Like I said, I’m with someone. I’m happy. I’m taken. Maybe that doesn’t mean anything to you, but it sure as hell means everything to me. In terms of losing, you’ve already lost. I’m not available. So if that’s all you’re here for, you can go ahead and take your conceited ass right on back out into the storm. If it’s not, you’ve got five seconds to give me your order before I walk away for good. I like tips, but I don’t need yours. It won’t be any loss to me.”

“You ain’t taken, babe. And I did not fuckin’ lose,” he repeated, a little firmer this time.

Apparently those were the only parts of my speech he’d heard.

I brought my hand clutching the pen up to my hip and fisted it there, knowing if I didn’t, I’d probably end up throwing a punch, and if I did that, I’d be out of a job. For sure.