Double Score

I study my menu like it’s the freaking Bible, reading it three times yet not remembering a damn thing because my mind is racing.

What do they want to talk to me about? Shit. This is probably the part of the weekend where they tell me they had fun and that maybe we can do it again sometime. I wonder if they do this with all the women they bring here because it’s clear they’ve been here before. Nothing says “thank you for the best night of my life” like a nice Italian dinner.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Get ahold of yourself, Emma.

“Will you be having your usual tonight?”

My eyes pop open, and I look up into the sparkling blue eyes of a gorgeous blonde. Her legs are a mile long, and she’s wearing a black pencil skirt and a black, button-down shirt with red stilettos. All I can think about is how she’s exactly Ryan’s and Grant’s type.

“I’ll have the spaghetti,” I blurt, closing my menu. “And a side salad with ranch.”

“What would you like to drink?”

“Diet Coke.”

She smiles and turns to Grant.

“I’ll have the same. Thank you, Lexi.” Grant smiles at the young woman then grabs my menu, stacks it on top of his, and hands it to her. And did he just call her by a nickname? Because I swear Carrie said our waitress’s name was Alex.

“What about you, Mr. Gallagher?”

“I’ll have the lasagna tonight. And ice water. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She winks at Ryan and then practically skips away. I need air. I need to get control of my thoughts and feelings before the guys have the talk with me.

“I need to use the ladies’ room.” I look at Ryan but he doesn’t move, so I turn toward Grant. “Can you let me out, please?”

Grant tilts his head to the side. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Why?”

Ryan’s hand finds mine under the table, and I look at him. “You’ve just seemed off since the shower.”

“I’m tired, that’s all.”

“Are you sure that’s it?”

I nod. “And I have to pee.”

“Of course.” Ryan slides out of the booth and offers me a hand.

A couple of women pass by me, smiling and giggling when they see Grant an

d Ryan, and I can’t blame them because the guys are fucking hot, but I still roll my eyes as I walk into the restroom.

Flicking on the water faucet, I wet my hands with cold water and dab them on my face. A minute later, the door to the bathroom opens, and our waitress, Alex—or Lexi as Grant likes to call her—walks in.

She gives me the same sweet smile she offered the guys and grabs a paper towel from the dispenser. “I was trying to eat in between running around and spilled some spaghetti down my shirt,” she says, dabbing lightly at the stain. “You’re here with Grant and Ryan, right? I’m Alex.”

“Emma. And if you can’t get that out later, try vinegar, it works like a charm.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” She tosses the paper towel into the trash and turns to me. “Is it noticeable?”

“Not bad.” I shake my head. “Your shirt is dark, so that helps.”

“Good.” She leans a hip against the counter. “So, you’re a friend of Grant’s and Ryan’s?”

I find it interesting that she calls them by their first names when talking to me, but she addressed then formally with their last names when she waited on us.