Their Paid Girl

Their Paid Girl - Part 29

          “Can I... help you?” he asked uncertainly once he’d straightened, pulling out a notebook and pen from his apron and keeping his distance.

          Joel was completely red, staring hard at the salt and pepper shakers in front of him as though they were the most fascinating stationary objects he’d ever encountered.

          “Two French vanilla milkshakes, please,” I said awkwardly.

          The waiter nodded and backed away, staring, probably still not trusting himself to look away in case I decided to try introducing him to the ground again.

          I reluctantly turned back to face Joel, sincerely hoping that he still wasn’t intent on pouring out his feelings for me. To my relief, he was broodingly staring at the waiter from across the café, looking a little resentful.

          “He couldn’t stop staring at you,” he commented abruptly, his long fingers now twirling the salt shaker on the table.

          “Who?” I asked blankly, completely thrown off by the sudden turn of conversation.

          “Who?” Joel repeated, raising an eyebrow. There was faint amusement in his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners, just like Esther had mournfully observed to me. “You honestly don’t realize that he’s attracted to you?”

          “Attracted to me?” I snorted. I grinned at Joel from across the table. “Good one.”

          Joel returned the stare seriously. “He is. He couldn’t stop looking at you.”

          “Oh yes,” I agreed sarcastically. “Because he’s so obviously attracted to me.”

          Joel looked at me quizzically and I sighed.

          “Or, maybe it’s because I almost backhanded him across the face,” I observed with pointed sarcasm, “and he was being careful around me.”

          Joel shook his head, the corners of his lips twitching. “You can really be oblivious.”

          I bristled. “Well he’s not staring at me now.”

          Joel half-stood up, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. He sat back down, slapping a ten on the table. “If he doesn’t give you his number, that ten is yours,” he informed me smugly.

          I eyed the ten, then glanced over at the waiter who was taking another couple’s order. “And if he does?” I asked suspiciously, already feeling uncomfortable at the thought. What if Joel was right, and I’d find myself with a phone number written on my napkin? It didn’t happen to me often, but when it did, I hated dealing with those situations.

          “Then you admit I was right about him being attracted to you. And,” Joel hesitated, crossing his arms and leaning them on the table as he tilted his body forward, “And if he does give you his number,” he repeated, “Then you owe me a date.”

          There was silence as I processed what he’d just said.

          Heat flooded my face as I realized what Joel had been getting at. The little bet was all just to get me on a date; in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Joel knew the waiter, and they’d staged his episode together.

          But no. It was too far-fetched. Dammit, the waiter hadn’t been attracted to me whatsoever! He was just doing his job, and Joel was seeing things that weren’t even there! Honestly, men who believed themselves in love were so unreasonable. Maybe I wasn’t being particularly sympathetic to Joel’s feelings at the moment, but placing a bet on a waiter to get a date was taking things a little too far in my humble opinion.