The Foster Girls #1: Harper

Chapter 7: I'm Wearing the Stupid Shirt

When I'd left the bar the previous evening, Track had handed me two more oversized shirts. "Each waitress gets three shirts. We replace them every three months. And what I told you about the skirt and heels, earlier? Forget it. Just keep wearing jeans."

"Do the other girls have to wear jeans, too?"

Track's face morphed into irritated. "Just wear jeans and these T-shirts. You don't worry about what the other girls are wearing."

"No, Track, I am worried about what the other girls wear. Why'd you hire me if I'm too fat to work here? I know I carry more weight than the other waitresses, but making me cover up like that and restricting what I wear isn't nice and I think I have a right to know if I'm eventually going to get fired once you can find a waitress with a decent body and a pretty face."

His face had morphed once again into an expression I couldn't read. "I will never understand bitches. Where the hell did you come up with that bullshit?"

Brandishing the XXL T-shirts, I said, "From the T-shirts that cover up me and only me?" I looked at him in frustration. "Whatever. I'll wear what I'm told and do the damn job until you find a girl that looks like the other waitresses. Sorry for putting you on the spot."

So now, in time for my shift, I put on the hated T-shirt, tied it at my hips, and pulled on a pair of jeans that I used to feel good wearing until I'd been told my body had to be covered up. I yanked on red chucks – because what better color is there when you're angry? – and then spent thirty minutes on my hair – big soft curls billowing down my back past my bra – and then did my makeup. With a last swipe of my lip gloss, I was good enough to go.

When I pulled into the back parking lot, I sat in my car for a minute giving myself a pep talk that basically went like this: Screw Dante. Screw what Dante thinks of you. Screw him.

So after a minute of that, I was sufficiently pumped and walked into the Lair ten minutes before my shift was supposed to start. Lex and Shara were working, with Mindy and another girl named Mel due to start in an hour.

After clocking in, I went to get my section assignment from Track who took one look at me and set his jaw. "Shit. You trying to get me killed?"

"What I'd do? I'm wearing the stupid shirt!"

He just rolled his eyes, didn't elaborate and told me what tables I was responsible for. My section tonight included the pool tables, which made me happy since I loved playing pool and watching good games.

Saturday proved to be busier and wilder than Friday night, probably due to a huge influx of bikers, all from Dragon's Inferno.

And every single biker I met was incredibly nice to me. Like, strangely nice, out of their way to be nice nice. This baffled me, but I went with it since they were excellent tippers. So they got happy, big smiling, laughing, smartass me. In the oversized shirt.

I was in the middle of taking orders from one table of bikers when I felt a body press up against my back, a hand curling around my waist.

"Princess, need a word."

"Here's a word: No."

From the dead silence around the table and the laser focus of every man's eye, you'd have thought I'd pulled a gun.

His hand pushed my hair off the left side of my neck and his lips whispered against my ear, making me shiver. "You wanna re-think that attitude and answer."

Without looking back at him, I cooed in a saccharine voice, "Sorry, I'm busy here, Rome. I have a break in another hour, so maybe we can talk then." My tone implied we absolutely would not be talking in an hour.