Page 12 of Hit For Six (Balls and Banter #1)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lola

Lola couldn’t wait to start her first official shift at The Bubble Bath.

It felt like the cosiest place in the city to hang out tonight with the elephant-grey clouds brewing in readiness to empty themselves.

All of this inspired action over the weekend had made her feel like she was entering a shiny new phase in her life.

Sure, there was no guarantee that the bank would be interested in her proposal, and she wasn’t asking for a life-changing amount of money, but it would get her idea off the ground, helping her to make it a reality.

It was all strangely liberating. Like Maxine had said, soon Friday would be old news and everybody would have moved on to the latest scandal.

She was just a random girl from Bath. Her ‘crimes’ were as far removed from the poor SIX queen, Anne Boleyn’s as could be.

At least she hadn’t gotten herself executed for not producing a boy.

When she looked at it that way, things could definitely be worse.

Lola had memorised the drinks menu and although she could be an ominvert at times, half adopting her parents’ quieter nature, the thought of pairing personalities with cocktails felt like an honour and a thrill.

After she’d left the park on shaky legs yesterday afternoon, looking over both shoulders at regular intervals for any further surprises, Lola had continued filling in the application at home, seen to Squiffy, gobbled down a sandwich and returned to the bar.

She’d lapped up as much information as she could following Maxine around like a lost puppy and now she was ready to face the customers on her own, clad in a smart white shirt and black pencil skirt, hair up in what was fast becoming her trademark messy bun.

Copying Maxine, she’d added a cute cocktail umbrella to it.

Kind of fitting given the current weather.

The first couple of orders were seamless. Warm and friendly tourists full of anecdotes about their day. The type of people who’d read up on The Bubble Bath in a travel feature and knew exactly what they wanted. And then a rowdy stampede of men tramped down the stairs.

‘Oh, it’s our group booking. Gosh, they’re keen!’ said a flustered Maxine.

Lola finished wiping down a bathtub– huh, she’d cleaned rather a lot of them this weekend– and hovered around the bar waiting for her customers’ refills.

‘Let me see.’ Maxine tapped some buttons on the iPad behind the bar. ‘Yes, they’re twenty minutes early. It’s a table for twelve at seven p.m. under the name of London Wild…’

‘Cool name,’ said Stella Arabella, making everyone laugh when hers was possibly cooler than anybody’s in Bath. ‘Is he some kind of film star?’

‘It better not be another influencer and their gang trying to hassle us into doing Tom Cruise routines for their Reels.’ Wilf was less excitable.

‘We prefer to be spontaneous with our performances. The last thing we want is for this place to turn into a tacky tourist hotspot when we’ve worked so hard to make it exclusive. ’

Lola made a note not to upset the mixologists. Bath might be a city, but it was a small one and she could already tell that their talent didn’t grow on trees.

‘Who knows,’ said Maxine. ‘But it’s all publicity and if anyone asks you to dance on a dime, they’ll have me to deal with.

I’ll intercept the group at the bottom of the stairs and show them through to the private area.

Lola, I know it’s throwing you in at the deep end but could you help me carry their orders through? ’

‘Sure, no problem.’

While Maxine played hostess, Lola watched Stella Arabella and Wilf, utterly mesmerised as they threw cocktail shakers back, forth and up in the air, dancing a merry jig whilst sieving and pouring from great heights to produce liquid masterpieces embellished with sugared rims, edible flowers and cinnamon sticks.

Lola thought she’d faced down temptation with cupcakes and cream teas in the past having worked in a café!

‘That was a one-off impromptu gig just for you, by the way,’ said Wilf, deadpan and keen to make it clear that he called the shots– as well as poured them.

‘Yes, of course. It was amazing. I’m deeply honoured.’

Lola put her hand on her heart and hoped Wilf wouldn’t think she was being sarky.

She really wasn’t. Stella Arabella nudged the tray of drinks across the bar to Lola and she took them over to her customers.

Thankfully, they were sitting at an upturned bath so it was considerably easier for her to offload the order.

She returned the tray to the bar, waited for her next order courtesy of Maxine’s group and beelined for the private area next door, which still retained its quirks but was slightly more spacious, featuring a smaller number of antique roll top baths in a stunning mishmash of designs.

Lola had been blown away by the aesthetics when she’d shadowed Maxine in here last night as she’d served at an engagement party, her mind boggling at the small fortune her employer must have spent on furnishings.

But as she entered the room today carrying a tray of colour-popping cocktails for the punters at the copper bath in the far corner, she was taken aback by the scene that greeted her.

From a distance, this could have been any group of males out for drinks on a Sunday night.

A fusion of cologne riding on the airwaves, deep laughter and ribbing, designer polo shirts and jeans.

Daunting enough when you’d inadvertently flaunted your breasts to the nation (and who knows how many countries worldwide).

But as Lola resolved to make her delivery without losing her balance, something shiny caught her eye.

Sitting on top of the bath was a familiar trophy.

All of which meant this was a cricket team celebrating their win.

A Twenty20 cricket team celebrating their win.

Bath blimming Beasts and Monty B-C to be precise.

If she’d thought her life was over two days ago, that chilling memory paled in comparison right now.

Lola had just walked into a lions’ den. How fitting a team name.

They would chew her up and spit her out in seconds.

The efforts of Joaquín’s magic wand (or scissors) suddenly seemed pathetic.

Yes, her hair might be sitting on top of her head with a cocktail umbrella poking out the side of it, but this was not a diversion enough when these men had probably replayed her moves hundreds of times since Friday.

There was no way that Monty or his teammates wouldn’t remember her in such close proximity.

And now she’d have to wait on them all night.

Oh, bloody hell! Lola was a numpty taking on such a public second job.

She should have kept searching until she’d found a vacancy as a VA or an online survey taker.

And if neither of those had materialised, she should have used her head and set up an Etsy shop.

Selling what, she had no idea, but it would have been a far smarter alternative stream of income than this!

‘Are you alright there, Lola?’ Lola realised she’d come to a standstill by the doorway and now she’d created a traffic jam; Maxine and her own heavy drinks tray were back from the bar. ‘You can take fewer glasses if your biceps are aching. Nobody’s going to judge you!’

Fewer drinks meant more trips. There was no way Lola was doing that.

‘S-six at a time is perfect,’ she muttered, sheepishly edging forward.

And there was that pesky number again.