“You could cover our table?” Logan suggests, and my eyes practically bug out of my skull.
“And offend Simone? Not on your life. She’s been here for years, and I’m still a relative newbie.” I rock back on my heels. “Relegated to the plebs, I’m afraid, but if you guys need anything and you can’t find Simone, feel free to come grab me.”
Let me tell you, it feels absolutely horrid walking away from Logan then. It’s like I can feel his attention on my back as I walk away, and there’s an invisible line I tug against with each step.
Things I’d rather do instead of leaving him:
1. Clean the rubbish bin down in the kitchens
2. Wash the mound of dirty clothes I’ve been ignoring all week
3. Go a week without having any sweets
Well…maybe not #3.
But a job is a job, and Logan isn’t going to pay my bills. I rush back to my tables, checking that everyone’s doing all right and refilling drinks for the next half hour before I finally get to take my break. I’m so, so tempted to run back up to VIP and squeeze into that booth beside Logan, but since that’s absolutely mad, I take my mobile out through the kitchen and to the back alley behind the bar. It sounds sketchy, but there are always people out here on break. Even now, there are two busboys smoking a fag a ways down. I wave and they nod back before I dial my mum’s number.
It’s late back home, but she’s always been a night owl. She’s a sucker for those infomercials that drone on at all hours of the night: baking tins that magically clean themselves, head massagers. Every time I talk to her, she’s buying something new that will ABSOLUTELY CHANGE HER LIFE.
The call connects, but for a few seconds, all I hear is the telly.
“Mum, you there?”
“Yes! Candace, hang on. Bloody remote’s gone down between the sofa cushions and I can’t get it.”
The telly blares louder, she huffs in anger, and then finally, the noise cuts off and she sighs in relief.
“There. Now, I can hear you. How are you, darling?”
“Good. Yeah, on break at the bar at the moment.”
“Busy night?”
“Not crazy, actually. Thank god. I might actually make it out of here at a decent hour. It was a bit mad a few weeks ago because of some football game. American football, I mean.”
“Oh, yes. I heard about it. A club from New York won, didn’t they? The Super Bowl?”
“Team, Mum, not club. They don’t call them that over here. And yes, the team from New York won, which is why the bar was absolutely crammed full. I didn’t get out till near three in the morning.”
“And you had to go into school the next day?”
I rub my eyes just thinking about it.
“Yeah, but I mean, I survived, didn’t I? And you got the money I sent back?”
I made a killing that night. It was well worth the lack of sleep.
“Yes, though I don’t know why you insist on doing that. I’ve told you we’re fine.”
My parents are not fine. My mum is an eternal optimist. Their house could be up in flames, burned to bits, and she’d say, Oh, not to worry. Let me just grab a bucket and fill it with the hose. I’ll have this put out in a jiffy. The truth is, my parents haven’t been fine since my dad had a bad fall last year, broke his leg, and had to quit his work at the shipyard. Mum’s cleaning job can’t cover all the bills, and I feel so guilty staying over here instead of rushing home to help them more. Part of the reason I didn’t is because Mum insisted I stay. “We know how much you love it there. Don’t come home on account of us. I’m taking care of Dad just fine.”
“I’ll try to send a bit more at the end of the month. It’ll depend on how well my shifts go this week. Speaking of, I’d better get back. I’ve got tons of tables and don’t want to keep any of them waiting.”
“Oh, right. Do be good and don’t worry about sending anything back for us. Dad’s physio is going well, and he swears he’ll be able to apply for a job soon enough.”
I don’t bother arguing. I’ll send the money home because it’s the only way I can stay in America without being eaten alive by guilt. Also, I know they really need it. They barely scraped by before with Dad employed. I know my mum’s insomnia doesn’t just stem from her love of cheap gadgets, but because sometimes it’s hard to sleep with all the stress she’s got to carry for the family. It’s why I have all the jobs, why I don’t have any glitzy dresses like the girls Logan was with. Can’t afford it. For now, I’ve got my District uniform, and that’s all right. It serves me well enough.
Chapter Three
Logan
I’m a real asshole the rest of the night. Sure, I sit in that booth, sip on my drink, and nod along with conversation, but I’m not really paying attention to any of them. I’m looking for Candace. I’m scanning the bar down below, hoping to catch another peek of her. I keep my eyes on that group of assholes who were taunting her before. I could hear them all the way up here in VIP, and it’s what first drew my attention.
Then I saw her there with them and I froze for a moment, wondering if I’d gone insane. Sure, I’ve thought about Candace some since we met at my nephew’s school. I thought of her in the weight room the next day and through a lunch with my agent that dragged on an hour too long.
She’s a puzzle to me, and I’ve tried to figure out what it is about her that keeps bringing her back to the forefront of my thoughts. She’s pretty, sure, but I’ve been around some drop-dead gorgeous women before, and it’s not as if she’s my type. I usually go for women who are more polished, women who know the game and how to play it.
Candace doesn’t just seem like a novice in regards to my world; she seems wholly oblivious to it.
When I told her I play professional football, she couldn’t have looked less impressed.
It threw me for a loop, especially because of the last few weeks. Ever since my team and I clinched the win in the Super Bowl, the attention from my fans has reached a whole new level. There’s not a person on the street who doesn’t know who I am. I can’t go to the grocery store or the bank, or hell, even out to my car without getting stopped and congratulated on my stellar performance.
Except for Candace. She didn’t congratulate me, and maybe that’s why she’s been stuck in my head.
Or maybe it’s because she’s British. Could be the accent paired with the sweet smile and the self-deprecating humor that forms a tantalizing combination of qualities I can’t help but notice.
I want to spend more time with her. I wanted to ask for her number when I picked Briggs up from school, but I didn’t because it seemed highly inappropriate. Instead, I’ve thought about her—so much so that for the first few seconds when I caught sight of her in District, I wasn’t 100% sure I hadn’t conjured her out of thin air.
Then I heard her speak and the accent thrust me into action. I pushed to my feet before I could stop myself. Melody shot out of the booth to let me pass, assuming I had to use the bathroom or something, and I didn’t correct her. I only had one thought: get to Candace and rip that asshole’s hand off hers.