Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Ten minutes later, Makena and I are back in the kitchen for the team meeting, looking like we escaped from a porno set in the late 1960s. But the rest of the cocktail staff is rocking the Playboy bunny look, too, and at least I don’t have to man the bar in this getup. Holly and Becky are likely to shake something loose making martinis in this shirt.
It is scandalously low in the front.
And yes, I look ridiculous, but it’s a sexy kind of ridiculous, and I need those tips too badly to be too precious about how I get them.
I just wish I knew which sports team we’re serving tonight.
Makena doesn’t know, and I haven’t had the chance to ask Charlotte. I just hope it’s not the NFL guys. I’ve heard some rumors about their current lineup treats women, and most of them weren’t pretty.
“And remember, if you encounter any problems, do not confront the client,” Charlotte says, the way she does at the end of every team meeting. “Excuse yourself, come to me, and let me be the bad guy. You’re here to serve drinks and food, not take abuse.” She pauses for a moment, making meaningful eye contact with the cocktail waitresses, one by one. “That goes double for the staff in uniform. If a single hand lands anywhere a hand shouldn’t be, tell me, and I’ll drop the hammer. These hockey players will keep their hands to themselves tonight or learn a lesson about how New Orleans’ women stand up for our own.”
“Hockey players,” I wheeze to Makena as my blood goes cold. No, it can’t be… I must have misheard. “She didn’t just say we—”
“Now, get out there and show the Voodoo how we really make magic in this city. Great wine and better food, baby!” Charlotte finishes, summoning a cheer from the staff.
There’s a reason full-time positions rarely open up at Gather and Grace Catering. Charlotte is a fantastic boss, but even she isn’t fantastic enough to excuse me from cocktail duty at the last minute.
How am I supposed to serve drinks now, knowing who I might run into?
He could be out there…
Grammercy Graves, my not-at-all-secret crush. The man I’ve gushed about on my podcast for at least three of the past five episodes. The man whose voice does things to me…
Wild things…
Naughty things…
Things I may have strongly hinted inspired me to have a battery-operated boyfriend break with that video of him reading in French the other day.
Gah! What if he heard it? What if he knows?
I mean, of course, he doesn’t, because I only have fifteen hundred subscribers, but still! This is mortifying. I’m not ready to see this man up close, especially not with my dirty hair in a twist and eyebrows in serious need of a tweeze.
“What’s wrong?” Makena hisses as we collect our drink trays. “You’re white as a sheet all of a sudden. Are you okay?”
No, Makena, I’m not okay.
I may need to run to the restroom and be violently ill because Grammercy Graves could walk into the next room any second.
Grammercy Graves.
Here.
In real life, and I have no idea how to process the intensity of that at this point and time.
But I can’t say any of that. Makena doesn’t know about my podcast. I keep Love on Ice completely to myself. It’s my guilty little hockey fangirl secret.
At least, I hope it is…
Because if Grammercy does know about the podcast and somehow connects my voice to Luvvy Puck’s, he’ll think I arranged to be here on purpose. He’ll never believe it was a coincidence. No, he’ll probably decide I’m an unhinged weirdo, here to take my online stalking into the real world.
He might even call the police! I could get arrested! And then Mimi will be put in foster care, just like I was, and I’ll never see her again.
This could be it!
The day I pay the ultimate price for crushing on a pro athlete in public like a teenage girl.
“Elly?” Makena says again, laying a hand on my arm. “Seriously, are you—”
“I’m fine. I just… Hockey players aren’t really my thing,” I force out.
Great, now I can add lying to a friend to my list of sins.
Makena frowns. “Really? Since when? I thought you were excited that we were getting a pro team?”
Well, I was, Mack, but that was before I suddenly woke up to the fact that being obsessed with a man I’ve never met is probably a form of mental illness.
Or at least a sign that I’m deeply immature and pathetic.
And embarrassing.
So, so embarrassing…
Aloud, I say, “I mean, sure, watching a game is cool, but in person, they seem so jocky. I don’t know,” I finish lamely. “But whatever. I’m sure they’ll tip well. See you out there!”
I grab my tray of red and white wine, leaving Makena the bubbly.