Page 8 of Claimed By the Bikers

Ember nods thoughtfully. “And you think I’ll last longer?”

“Hard to say. You seem steadier than the others, but this place isn’t for everyone.” I gesture toward the dining area. “Let me show you where we keep the supplies. Order pads are behind the register, and extra menus are in this drawer here. The ice machine is in the back corner, and the coffee station stays stocked throughout the shift.”

She follows me around the bar area, paying attention as I point out the essentials. “Kitchen window is where you pick up food. Don’t let plates sit under the heat lamps too long or he’ll have your head.”

“Got it. What about drink orders?”

“Beer taps are labeled, liquor bottles are organized by type. If someone orders something you don’t recognize, just ask. Better to look new than serve the wrong thing.”

A customer pushes through the front door. Carl from the auto shop, right on schedule.

“Over there, booth seven, that’s Carl from the auto shop. Decent tipper, orders the same thing every time. Burger, medium rare, extra pickles, and a Budweiser. He’ll try to talk your ear off about whatever car he’s working on, but he’s harmless.”

“Got it.” She turns to face me, and those green eyes of hers are close enough that I can see gold flecks around the pupils. “What about the bikers?”

“Depends on which ones. Most of them are regulars, members of the Black Wolves. They look rough, but they’re good men. Respect the badge, respect the territory, and they’ll respect you.” I run my hand through my hair, trying to think of something other than how her lips would taste. “It’s the outsiders you watch for. Truckers passing through, riders from other clubs. They don’t know the rules here.”

She absorbs every word like she’s studying for a test, and something about her focus makes my accent thicken. Happens when I’m trying to control myself, and right now I’m fighting the urge to back her against the nearest wall.

“Any other warnings I should know about?”

“Aye. Kitchen closes at eleven sharp, but Finn will keep making bar food until we close at two. Last call is one thirty, and we don’t serve anyone who’s already had too much. Atlas runs a tight ship, and he expects us to keep things civilized.”

“Understood.”

“Time for you to practice with Carl.”

She nods and approaches his table with a smile. “Hi there, I’m Ember. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

“Well now, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Carl grins up at her, but it’s friendly rather than leering. “You new here?”

“First night. What can I get started for you?”

“Burger, medium rare, extra pickles, and a beer.”

I catch her glance toward me, just a quick look, and I nod slightly. She’s paying attention, which is good. Too many servers try to wing it instead of learning the patterns.

“Coming right up,” she tells Carl, then heads to the register to input his order.

“Not bad,” I say when she returns to the bar area. “Most new servers would have asked how he wanted the burger cooked, what kind of beer he preferred. You listened when I told you what he orders.”

“Seemed like useful information.”

“It is. Regulars like feeling remembered. Makes them tip better and complain less.”

More customers filter in as the evening progresses. Ember handles each table with confidence, and never appears flustered.

“Garrett.” She appears at my elbow again, this time looking slightly uncertain. “Table four is asking about wine pairings with the rib eye. I’m not really sure what to recommend.”

“Smart to ask instead of guessing. Tell them the Cabernet Sauvignon, 2019 vintage. It’s got enough body to stand up to the meat without overpowering it.”

“Thank you.”

She turns to go, and I catch myself watching her walk away again. This is getting dangerous. Haven’t felt this kind of raw attraction since…well, since before everything went to hell with Sarah.

“Table nine needs more napkins,” Ember says when she returns, and this time I’m ready for the impact of those green eyes.

“Storage closet’s behind the kitchen. I’ll show you.”