Daring Devlin (Lost Boys #1) - Jessica Lemmon Page 0,2

owed Sonny feeling the slightest bit smug. Sal had addressed me as Mr. Calvary. Twenty-four years old and I garnered more respect than an orphaned kid from West End had ever dreamed.

This was the game. Thanks to Sonny, a game I’d mastered.

Rena

My fingers shook over the computer screen as my mind threw information at me at ninety miles a minute. I looked down at the scrap of paper where I’d written my table’s order, and suddenly, I couldn’t make out my own handwriting.

Is that an L or an R?

A server behind me huffed his frustration. I blew out a breath and closed my eyes, willing my pounding heart to calm.

You’ve been through worse traumas than the Thursday night rush at a restaurant.

So much worse.

Centered by that reality, I threw the guy behind me a smile. He shook his head. I was the new girl impeding his progress and he didn’t appreciate my learning on his time. After I’d keyed in the last dish, I realized I had no idea how to take an item off the baked potato. I practically felt the angry vibrations at my back as I navigated out of one menu and clicked on another.

Beside me, a few other servers blurred by, shouting to the guys on the line, filling baskets with warm bread, and calling “Corner!” as they rounded the blind-spot wall leading to the dining room.

It had to be here somewhere. Sour cream, sour cream…

“Come on!” the impatient server behind me shouted.

I flinched, backing out of the on-screen menu and preparing to let the server go ahead of me when a hand landed on the touch screen in front of my face. A wide hand with blunt nails, not perfectly manicured. I caught the flash of a black opal cuff link as the jacket slid away when he tapped the screen, selecting three buttons I couldn’t have told you the name of if you put a gun to my head.

I inhaled, the smell of soap obliterating the cacophony of food smells behind me. There was only the scent of clean man, only the feel of heat enveloping my body.

I peeked over and caught the sharp angle of Devlin’s jaw, full lips, and lashes shadowing his cheeks as he squinted in concentration. He flicked a look over to me, those summer-sky-blue eyes freezing me in place as I struggled to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. I’d been doing it since birth but somehow needed to remind my lungs how to pull in air.

With a blink, he turned back to the screen, punched the order in and brushed by, just a whisper of expensive suit against my restaurant-issued, dry-cleaned cotton shirt.

“Move!” came the server’s shout behind me.

I stepped aside, shakily closing my little black waitress book. I hazarded a glance to the side and saw Devlin’s tall form disappearing around the corner, and my heart leapt into my throat.

Devlin. Since I’d started working here last week, he’d been occupying my mind. Which might have explained why I still couldn’t navigate the touch screens. His medium-length black hair and contoured lips were distractions. Even if he hadn’t had a pair of cerulean blues or walked with a proud, straight back, his face set like steel, there was something about him I responded to. On a cellular level.

I’d gone home after my first shift wishing I could have met him at a bar instead of a restaurant where he was my boss, but then, I’d never have been as close to him in a bar as I had been a moment ago. Outside of this restaurant, his arms would be dripping with elegant women, and there was no way I’d be one of them.

Devlin Calvary was best left to the fantasies of my feeble mind, not the reality before me.

“Whose side work is butter?” The shout sliced through the kitchen and brought me out of my daydream.

“M–me.” I raised my hand as I turned toward the voice.

Melinda stood at the computer, hands on her hips, looking disappointed. Her brows slammed down and she banged an order into the touch screen with blurring speed.

“Remember your training?” she asked without looking at me. “You have to do your side work in between taking care of your tables.”

Heat reddened my face from a combination of anger and embarrassment, but I stayed silent.

She faced me, her full-frontal fury intimidating, but I straightened my shoulders, refusing to become her whipping girl because she’d been given an ounce of power. She lifted a small ramekin of whipped