Page 33 of Crushing Clover

After an afternoon of shopping for paint for Lucky’s room and wandering around Home Depot with him, I was glad to be back at the restaurant so I could sit down.

Had he originally chosen the darkest shade of black for his bedroom? Yes. Had he been willing to consider other colors, and eventually agreed a more restful, sage green went better with the colors I’d painted the rest of the house? No.

I’d noticed the way the cashier had glanced from the paint color, to his piercings and mohawk, to the tattoos on his neck and face.

She’d grimaced, and I’d grabbed his hand, glaring at her and half-wishing she’d say something to give me a fucking reason.

I wasn’t normally a violent person, but Lucky was Lucky.

He’d been amused by the whole thing, since I was pretty sure he’d never cared what people thought about him a day in his life.

I’d barely settled on the office couch when Saint strode into the room with Lucky following. There hadn’t even been time for me to decide between novels yet.

“No warning?” Saint asked him.

“No. He took off without a word.”

“What the fuck?” Saint slammed his still-full takeout coffee cup on his desk. Some of the contents sloshed onto a neat stack of papers. “Where the hell are we supposed to find a server at such short notice?”

“I can cover for tonight,” Lucky assured him.

“No. That won’t work.”

“I’d do it, but we both need to be in the kitchen,” Rush grumbled. I hadn’t even heard him come in. “It’s Nathan’s day off.”

The frustration rolling off Saint John had the small office brimming with combustible tension.

“I could do it.” I enjoyed spending most evenings crocheting, napping, or reading, but there was no reason I couldn’t help.

All three of them laughed, and I found myself bristling with indignance.

“I have experience.”

“We know that,” Saint scoffed, turning my statement into a double-entendre.

“I used to serve drinks and food at the club I worked at sometimes when the other girls were out sick.”

“This isn’t exactly the same clientele.”

“I’m sure I can figure it out. Most people tend to like me, believe it or not, and I’m not dumb.”

Saint made a rude noise.

“Or I can sit here and chill while you three run your asses off trying to cover.”

“We appreciate the offer,” Rush said smoothly, “but you don’t have the right look.”

I snorted derisively. “Because I’m not all edgy and tattooed like you guys? What was I thinking?”

“Stop being a brat,” Saint snapped.

“Our servers have to fit the aesthetic. It’s nothing personal,” Lucky explained. “You’re too wholesome looking.”

“We appreciate the offer,” Rush said, “but the vibe is almost as important as the food.”

“So, you only hire hot alternative people to be servers here?” I asked. “Do the patrons shove their tips directly into their…Doc Martens?”

“No!” The three of them replied in unison, in various levels of consternation. Lucky, for one, seemed amused. Saint looked like he could cheerfully strangle me.

“So, dress me up. No one needs to know I’m not edgy.”

“Ha!” Saint John retorted. He paced the room. “We’ll have to shut down Marty’s section, at least for tonight.”

“Suit yourself.” I leaned back against the couch and fanned myself with the paperback I was a quarter of the way through. “Sounds like you’re burning money.”

Lucky chewed his lip ring. “I doubt a change of clothes will do the trick. You’re too sweet.”

The three of them stared at me.

“She’d need a complete makeover,” Rush mused.

“Even if Lucky could make her look the part, she doesn’t know enough about serving.”

“We’ll try it and see,” Rush said firmly. “It’s better than cancelling that many reservations last-minute.”

Saint John grumbled something but didn’t come back with another objection—at least not out loud.

Lucky grinned. “I think my mom still has my high school stuff.”

“Your high school stuff might be too short for Clover.” Saint snickered and Lucky rolled his eyes.

“It’s funny how those jokes don’t bother me anymore.”

“Yeah. You got rolled around in enough beds that you stretched like a piece of clay,” Rush said, his smirk evil.

“One of those beds was yours, so as much as you like making fun of how short I used to be, you didn’t seem to mind at the time.”

“I never could resist our little pocket-sized slut.” Rush pulled him in for a kiss, and it was hard not to sigh. There was nothing like watching two hot guys make out, even if they had their clothes on.

“Enough of that, you two. The dinner rush is going to start in about an hour and a half, and if this is going to work, she can’t look like a cute little snack.” He circled his finger in my general direction, sneering faintly.

Did Saint just say I look like a snack?

Ugh! Why did I care?

I willed away my blush, even though I was pretty sure it didn’t work like that.

Lucky beckoned to me, and I dropped the paperback on the end table next to the couch.

“Where are you taking her?” Saint demanded.

“She’s going to have to try things on.”

“You’re bringing her to your parents’ house?” Saint put his hands on his hips, looking extra grouchy.

“What’s the big deal?”

“We can’t let your mom meet her.”

Lucky blew a raspberry. Very mature. “Even if she’s working from home today, I’m sure she won’t start talking to her.”

“True. She never did like Arabella.” Rush grimaced. “They were like oil and water.”

“I’m not going to try to pass her off as Arabella.”

“Why not? It would be the perfect cover.”

“The last thing Arabella needs is for the rumor to get around that she’s seeing us behind her husband’s back. As upset as we all were with her when she ended things, she has a family now. I’m not willing to fuck with that.”

“Rumors are fuck all.” Saint waved a dismissive hand. “She should be grateful I haven’t slashed her tires lately.”

“Maybe enough is enough.” Lucky’s tone had lost its careful neutrality. “Maybe we need to grow up and leave her alone.”

“She ruined our lives. I didn’t think there was a statute of limitations on getting even for that.”

Lucky grumbled something, then grabbed my wrist and pulled me from the room before I even realized we were leaving.

“Are you really taking me to meet your parents?” I asked as we hit the afternoon heat of the parking lot. My feet already felt like they were baking through my sandals.

Lucky helped me into the passenger seat of his truck. “Don’t expect to get my grandmother’s engagement ring or anything. We’re raiding my old closet and leaving again.”