Chute Yeah (The Valentine Boys 3)

“Valentine party?” she chirped. “Follow me, sir.”

I would’ve followed as well since Amity said that we were close to each other’s table, but before I could do as I’d intended, a large bus boy pushing a dirty dish cart crossed between me and Banks.

By the time that I could pass, I had no clue which direction they’d gone.

And, since there were four corners and three dining areas on top of that, I didn’t want to wander around looking like an idiot, so I waited for her to return. Which took her a good ten minutes.

“Oh, sorry,” she lied. “We’re busy today.”

I refrained from calling bullshit and smiled at her. “I’m seated next to the Valentines. I’m with Amity and Mack Culpepper.”

The woman scowled. “You could’ve kept up.”

My brows rose. “I tried. I was cut off by a busboy who was pushing a stack of dishes a mile high. Excuse me.”

The woman looked put out as she led me to my table, and when she finally led me to the area where Amity and Mack were waiting, she looked like she’d rather tell me off than place me at the table.

My brows rose at her when she crossed her arms as if she was waiting to say something.

“I don’t like you.”

I blinked, surprised.

“You don’t?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. I don’t.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because people like you are always looking down on people like me,” she snapped. “So beautiful. Long, silky hair that cost a grand to make happen. Clothes that cost more than my car. A dismissive attitude that really hurts.”

That was when I realized that she was saying all of this stuff in the middle of a crowded dinner crowd.

When had I ever…

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not sure what I did to you, but I’m sorry. I literally never come here because I can’t afford it. My clothes came from the Goodwill and my shoes came from a consignment shop. My hair hasn’t been cut since last year. And I didn’t mean not to follow you back here. I’m sorry for inconveniencing you.”

The woman sniffed. “If I had my choice, liars like you wouldn’t be allowed here.”

“But you’re not the owner,” came a silky smooth, deep timber of a voice. “And you need to leave before I go find the owner and talk to her about how you’re being rude to guests.”

I looked over to find not Banks, but Ace Valentine, standing up and narrowing his eyes in the woman’s direction.

Oh shit, he looked pissed.

The woman blanched.

“Sorry,” she said. “Sorry.”

Then she was gone just as quickly as she’d arrived.

I flushed bright red when everyone’s attention stayed on me.

“What the hell was that?” Mack asked, voice rising.

Desi, who was partially shielded by Callum’s big body, held her hand up with chagrin written all over her face. “That would be my fault. I’m so sorry, Candy.”

I looked over at my business partner.

“What?” I asked. “How?”

She smiled sheepishly.

“That woman came into the shop and I might or might not have told her to go fuck herself when she complained about the long wait.” She shrugged. “You and Banks were in the back talking and she’d been out there waiting for a while.”

I winced.

“Now that you mention it, I left her at the counter when I had to run into the back. She was talking on the phone and I had to go grab something to eat. My blood sugar was dropping.” I sighed. “Shit.”

“Would y’all like to join our table for dinner?” Ace asked solicitously.

It would be rude to say no, but I couldn’t help but look over at Amity for her reaction.

She looked like she’d rather pull all of her eyelashes out than do it. But she swallowed hard and nodded her head. “Sure, we’d love to.”

Amity looked like she’d rather carve out her eyes with her butter knife, but Mack wrapped his arm around her and whispered into her ear, making her laugh.

Banks and Callum got up and scooted our table to theirs, and then remained standing until I was sitting in the only open spot available. The one directly across from Banks.

Yay.

When Banks, Callum and Ace regained their seat, Banks looked over at his brother who hadn’t stood and said, “You’re supposed to stand when a lady is standing.”

Darby rolled his eyes. “This is the twenty-first century. Women can and want to be the same as men.”

“Well,” Callum said. “In this household, we stand when they stand. We hold doors, and open doors for them as well. And they sure don’t pay for their own fuckin’ dinner.”

That last comment was aimed at Desi, who was busy rolling her eyes. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re annoying,” he countered right back. “We’re married. Married women don’t have separate accounts, either. They have joint accounts.”

“My account is a whole lot less padded than yours, and I don’t want to accidentally overdraft your account,” she explained.