For Us (The Girl I Loved Duet 2)

“I want to make up more very quickly, so let’s get out of here.”

Peter laughs. “As you wish.”

He grabs a paper towel and quickly scrubs the signs of my lips on his away, and for the second time tonight I redo my lipstick, fixing the smudges on my skin and re-applying.

I kind of like the smudged look, if only because right now I like that I look mussed and tousled and like I just had sex. If it weren’t you know…for my career, I’d leave it and wear it proudly. I’m not sure that my sober self would agree, but I don’t care.

When my lipstick is in the best shape I can get it, I toss my hair a couple times and leave the bathroom. I nearly run into Clay who’s dancing on the edge of the crowd. He smiles at me, and I hope he didn’t see Peter exit the bathroom only minutes before. I should be worried about that, or ashamed that I just had sex in a bathroom, but I’m not.

I give him a wave and a smile and weave my way through the crowd towards the door. I make it through the restaurant and onto the street just as the car Peter called is pulling up—neither of us are in any shape to drive. He opens the door and helps me inside, and I’m waiting for him to get in, but he doesn’t. He whispers. “Give him my address,” and I understand. There are paparazzi here, and we can’t be seen getting into a car together drunk. This photo is just him putting me into a cab, and it will never make the papers.

I nod, “I’ll see you soon.”

Peter shuts the door, and I give the driver his address, practically counting down the seconds until I get there.

13

Peter

Past

Restaurant work is the same everywhere. Customers want the same kind of perfect service, your cheeks still ache from smiling, and it’s just as utterly exhausting, even though this restaurant is in L.A. Somehow I thought that it might be different here, since this is the city of Angels and what I’ve wanted forever, I imagined being a waiter would be less of a slog. But it’s okay, because I’m here. Half of my tiny, crappy, apartment is still in boxes and I have basically no money and no idea what I’m doing, but I’m here.

It was actually easier to move after my mom robbed me. I had way less stuff to move, and after that I couldn’t stay. Aunt Lily was awesome and reached out to friends across the country to get me places to stay while I drove from coast to coast, everything I owned shoved into my car. She even gave me some money for the trip, though I told her that she didn’t have to do that.

I found an apartment online and I slept for fifteen hours once I crashed there. But once I woke up, I started looking for jobs. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that people want attractive waiters and I’m not stupid—I know I’m not ugly. So that’s why I’m waiting on tables right now, dead on my feet but with more tip money in my pocket than I ever had in Massachusetts. Even with the difference in cost of living, I’ll be able to feed myself for more than a week just on the tips. That’s good.

Walking back into the kitchen, I submit an order slip to the chef, and my manager comes out of her office and points. “You.”

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever tended bar?”

I shake my head. “No, I haven’t.”

“You want to learn?”

The pay for bartenders is way better, and the tips too, I imagine. “Sure.”

“Great,” she says. “Come here.”

I follow her into her office and she hands me some paperwork. “It’s dumb but you have to fill out the papers again for a different position. What’s your name again?”

“Peter.”

She calls out of her office door. “Jackson, cover Peter’s tables for a few minutes.” There’s a muffled response while I start filling out my information and my new address. “One of my bartenders just quit. I need a new one fast.”

“Are you sure about me?” I ask, kicking myself for doing so. “There are people higher than I am, who probably have more experience.”

“Most of my servers have been here long enough to like what they’re doing. We get a lot of regulars here, and they know what to do to get good tips with those people. Besides, it’s good to have both male and female bartenders. Joan is great, she’ll get your ass into shape, and a lot of women won’t notice that their drink isn’t perfect as long as you serve it with a smile on that pretty face.”

I laugh. “So you’re just using me for my body?”