One Chance, Fancy (Bear Bottom Guardians MC 5)
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I wondered.
He opened his mouth, closed it, and then pursed his lips. “When you send food back, there’s a one in fifteen chance that they’re going to do something to it. I’d really like to not find a pubic hair in my mashed potatoes.”
I gagged. “That’s gross…and you made that statistic up. There’s no way in hell that’s true.”
He shifted in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “Believe me or not, but it’s true.”
I stuck my tongue out and made a gagging face at him. “I’m never sending my food back again…but, just sayin’? That woman totally has the hots for you. The only thing I think she might do to your food is give you extra just because you’re gorgeous.”
He blinked at me in confusion. “I’m what?”
“Gorgeous,” I repeated.
The tips of his ears turned pink. It was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.
“Um, no,” he disagreed. “I’m manly.”
I grinned unrepentantly. “Manly and gorgeous can happen at the same time.”
He opened his mouth to say something more when his food was placed in front of him.
He looked over at me expectantly. “And the lady’s food?”
The waitress frowned. “It’ll be about ten more minutes on hers. You just looked hungry so I brought yours out first.”
I started to laugh then. “Imagine that.”
“You can take this back,” Bayou said. “And bring our check, sans her food.”
The waitress frowned. “I’m sorry…but what?”
He repeated himself, word for word.
“But why?” she asked.
That was when Bayou went into a play by play of exactly what she’d done to annoy him, ending with the fact that she ‘couldn’t get a simple food order right.’
The waitress floundered for a few long seconds and then blushed profusely. “I’ll see if I can hurry them up on her food.”
“Or,” Bayou pushed. “You could bring me my check so we can leave.”
The waitress shook her head and hurried away, and Bayou flagged down another waitress, this one an old woman that looked like she’d seen how hard life could really be.
“I requested that our check be brought to us sans her food since the waitress is playing games with me,” Bayou said. “Could you make sure that she does?”
The older waitress nodded, not affected in the least by Bayou’s abruptness or glower.
Five minutes after that, our food was in to-go containers, and I was standing next to my truck with Bayou a few feet away from me, waiting for me to climb in my truck.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go anywhere else?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No reason to now. You have your food, and I have mine. We can go to our separate establishments and eat in peace.”
A bird crowed overhead, and his eyes went to the sky.
I lost him for a few long seconds as he studied the bird.
“What?” I asked him.
“Crow,” he answered. “American crow.”
I blinked. “There are different types of crows?”
He gestured to the crow with his head. “There are forty known species of crow.”
Huh. The things you learned.
“That’s cool,” I said. “How many live in the US?”
He went on to explain just how many lived in the US, then how many lived in other parts of the world.
“In Japan, carrion crows use cars and traffic signals to open their hard-shelled food they can’t crack on their own,” he said, still studying the bird. “They can read traffic signals. They wait until the lights turn red, then fly down and place their nuts on the ground. When the light turns green, the crow flies away to safety. It will wait until the light turns red again to fly down and get their cracked nuts.” He paused. “Though there have been reports of some American crows doing the same thing in California. However, I haven’t witnessed this.”
My mouth had fallen open at his words. “That’s actually the coolest thing I’ve ever heard. Resourceful little buggers.”
He nodded. “That’s why they frequent places like Walmart and fast food restaurants. People drop food there all the time.”
His every word was fascinating.
Who knew that I could like a crow?
I looked down at my wrist, at the second hummingbird tattoo that I’d gotten just because of him, and smiled.
“I guess I better go,” I admitted softly, dropping my wrist. “I’ll see you tomorrow at…what time?”
“Shift starts at seven. Me, personally, I’d get there at seven on the dot.” He paused. “But I like being on time for things. Being early means that my routine everywhere else has to be pushed back thirty minutes as well…and I like to sleep.”
I smiled. “I’ll be there at seven.”
His eyes finally moved from the crow to my face, his gaze holding mine for a few long seconds before nodding once.
“See you tomorrow.”
With that, he walked to his bike, and I finally got all the way into my truck.