Smitten Kitten

chapter thirteen

MY LEGS ARE WOBBLING with all the grace of a newborn baby deer as I navigate about the restaurant, even more uncoordinated than usual and almost spilling hot coffee on not one but two unsuspecting old men. Thankfully both false alarms, since I have no doubt that most if not all the people who frequent Viva La Breakfast have brilliantly expensive lawyers on retainer, judging by the clear lack of attachment to their money.

Working for Christian still feels kind of Robin Hood-esque, and it's basically my moral right after years of down-on-my-luck fate to get some sort of compensation. I'm not doing this for me, but for all my fellow poor brethren out there.

Not that I'm sharing.

Although, I gave a rather gruff looking homeless man a dollar the other day, so, really. I've earned it.

As the clock finally strikes three and my shift draws to a close, a small sigh spills from my lips. All my muscles are burning from exertion, and as I stretch my arms high above my head, there's a delightful strain that brings a smile to my face. To be fair, though, it's not anything new.

I've been grinning like an idiot all day.

Nat notices, cocking a brow at me when I slide into the booth across from her and throw my apron on the table.

"What's got you in such a good mood? You think serving is ridiculously dull, it's been a week, but I know you're not that happy to see me," she says, eyes narrowed in suspicion, toying with the straw of her mint chocolate milkshake.

I give an innocent shrug and rummage through my pockets for my crumpled receipts, nonchalance betrayed by the grin that's plastered across my face. "Maybe I just had a good day? Now that I don't have to live off a diet of straight prison food."

She scoffs. "Are they serving Szechuan chicken in jail now?"

"Are you saying that all I eat is Chinese food? Racist, Nat. That's racist."

She rolls her eyes. "It's not racist if it's true. Now stop trying to change the topic- what are you so happy about? You fundamentally hate these people. You're never this happy unless there's trouble- and you're not getting out of this. Spill," she demands, a no-nonsense narrow of her eyes as she leans forward for intimidation factor.

I raise my brows, the picture of virtue as I smooth out receipts, pointedly avoiding her ruthless stare. "Am I not allowed to just be happy, Nat? Really?"

"No."

I snort, but as my mind inevitably trails back to dark eyes and thick-rimmed glasses, I can't help the unconscious curve of my lips. It's a silly habit that's been following me all day, and the bounce in my step is ridiculously high school of me, but I figure I'm not going to fight it. I shouldn't deny myself some sliver of happiness.

Although I reconsider when I meet Nat's eye.

"See!" she blurts out, pointing an accusing finger at me. "What is that? Vika, I swear, you better tell me or-"

"Promise me- promise you won't kill me, or else I won't tell you," I interrupt her with a small, unsure smile. I even fold my hands in front of me for good measure.

There's a pause, and then Nat's face drops. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" I insist, throwing my hands up. "I promise, it's not as bad as you think. Just hear me out and don't stab me with your straw. It's... there's a man. A man who I have kissed." A pause. "Multiple times."

There's a beat, and then Nat's face immediately lights up, the sparkle in her green eyes instantly consuming all lingering suspicion. "What!" she gasps, reaching over the table and catching my wrist with a thwack, grinning all the while. "You've had a secret man this entire time and you haven't told me! Vika!"