When You're Ready (2 page)

2
Scout

I walked into the restaurant feeling like a nerdy middle schooler hoping to land the cutest girl in school. It had been four days since I’d seen Nola standing in my backyard. Four days since she stumbled and I caught her by the waist. Four days since she made me laugh so hard I wiped tears from my eyes.

Four.

She was unlike any woman I’d ever met, and I couldn’t get her out of my mind.

That night, I stalked around my house, pissed off and annoyed I had to host yet another bullshit cocktail party for my company’s investors; I really wanted to be alone. When I ambled to the side of the house, hoping to get away from the noise and conversation, everything changed.

She was gazing down at the city lights, mesmerized, like she’d never seen anything like it before. I watched her wrap her arms around her body and immediately wanted go to her and offer up my own as a barrier against the cool air. It was like I had a piece of metal buried deep in my chest and she was a magnet pulling me closer. I had no choice but to relent.

I stood next to her for a long time, feeling a bit like I was infringing on her personal space even though we were at my home. Instead of speaking I took in her long golden legs, the curve of her hips, small waist, and the explosion of breasts that peaked above her sleek black dress. By the time I made my way to her heart-shaped face I knew I wanted to have her. I had been with a lot of beautiful women in my 25 years,
a lot
, but this girl was something else entirely. Nola was fucking gorgeous.

I stepped up behind her and inhaled. She even
smelled
amazing. Not girly like most of the women I’d been with who doused themselves with too much peach or mango body spray, but crisp and clean like she’d just gotten out of a hot bath.

I asked her for a light, already knowing she wouldn’t have one. Girls like Nola didn’t smoke. And judging by the way she looked out into the blackness all wide-eyed and innocent, I knew she was a long way from the party girls I usually bagged who dabbled in coke to stay thin and drank until they passed out.

Nola looked incredibly hot in the body-hugging black dress all the cocktail waitresses wore at the party, but there was something different about her. She wasn’t stuck up or conceited, and she didn’t even think twice about kicking off her heels and wiggling her toes in the grass.

I noticed the lavender polish on her toenails and all I could think about was taking her delicate toes in my mouth before I tasted the rest of her. I stared at her, committing every piece of her lovely body to memory, and before she even opened her mouth I knew she would be mine. There was simply no other option.

While I normally had my pick of dizzy college girls or wannabe actresses or just about any woman who came across my path, I knew girls like Nola probably didn’t get involved with guys like me. But I had to try.

I stood at the hostess desk scanning the dining room for Nola. I saw a handful of waitresses moving about the room and serving customers, but I didn’t see her. After seating the couple that walked in ahead of me, the hostess returned. She had a huge smile on her face and straightened her back to give me a better look at her perky tits. Normally I would have said something slick that would’ve made her want to drop her panties as soon as she got in my car, but I wasn’t here for that. I was looking for Nola.

“Table for one?” she asked, bending forward so I could get a closer look at her breasts.

“No, actually I’m looking for someone. She works here, her name is Nola.”

The redhead frowned. “Nola?”

“Yeah, she’s a waitress here. I’d like to sit in her section if I can.”

The girl smiled. “I’m kinda new and I don’t remember everybody’s name just yet, but I’m good with faces. What does she look like?”

Gorgeous, fucking gorgeous
, I wanted to say. “Medium height, golden skin, dark curly hair, almond-shaped eyes, and she looks like she could be,” I paused, remembering the way Nola smiled up at me before she left, “Spanish or Persian or Black, or maybe a White girl with a tan.” Fuck…I was rambling.

“So, she’s a pretty Black, Persian, Spanish, White girl with curly hair and almond eyes?” Hearing her say the words made me feel like an idiot. “Well, honey, that’s half of L.A.!”

I sighed, rethinking my plan. If Nola had given me her last name I could’ve looked her up, and….no, no, I clearly was not thinking straight.

I couldn’t just show up on her doorstep with a bouquet of flowers or a box of chocolates hoping she’d let me in. That would be creepy as hell, and I don’t buy girls flowers anyway.

“I know,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound completely psycho. “But she said she worked at Pink Taco, so I took a chance.”

The hostess stared at me for a moment, then her eyes went soft. “Let me go ask around.”

She disappeared into the dining room and I felt something I haven’t experienced in a long time: nervous.

I’m a pretty confident guy; some would even call me cocky, because I usually get what I want. Something about Nola told me things might not go my way this time. But damn if I wouldn’t try.

I saw the hostess walking back toward me, followed by a cute honey-colored girl who, ironically, could have been Persian, Spanish, or a White girl who spent a lot of time in the sun. But it didn’t matter how cute she was; she wasn’t Nola.

“Is this your Nola?” the hostess asked.

The dark-hared girl grinned, stared me up and down, and then licked her lips. “I certainly hope so,” she said a little too eager.

I’d seen that look a million times before. I could have had her if I wanted, but I didn’t—she wasn’t Nola.

I dug deep for my most charming smile, trying to let them both down easy. “I’m afraid not, but I certainly see why you thought so.” The girl blushed, but I was unmoved. “So…no Nola, huh?”

“You might want to try the other Pink Taco,” the cute girl said.

“The other Pink Taco?” I asked, puzzled.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I punched the name of the restaurant into my GPS and didn’t bother to see if there was more than one location.

“How many are there?” I asked, hoping there weren’t a million Pink Tacos scattered across L.A. But shit, I already knew I’d go to each one if I had to.

“Just two,” the hostess said. “This one, and the one in Century City.”

I let out a sigh of relief. Only two.

“Thanks ladies,” I winked, then hurried out the door on the way to the other Pink Taco to see my Nola.

And yes, she was already mine. I just had to let her know.

3
Nola

I raced into work hoping my boss wouldn’t notice I was a half hour late. The busses in L.A. were notoriously slow, and traffic was unpredictable, but Ross didn’t seem to care that it took me nearly an hour to get to work even though UCLA was just three miles away.

I ran through the door and to the back of the restaurant, threw my things in a locker, checked my assignment, and then hustled out onto the floor. Tara gave me a sympathetic wink. She’d been covering my section until I arrived, but after taking my first order Ross met me at the computer.

“Your shift started a half hour ago, Nola. You can’t keep coming late.”

“I left campus early, I swear. But traffic on Wilshire was insane. I think there was an accident.”

“This is L.A., there’s
always
traffic. If you can’t get here on time then I can’t keep you around.”

“But I need this job, Ross,” I pleaded, hoping he would notice how serious I was.

“Last time,” he boomed, unaffected by my puppy dog eyes. “Next time you’re late don’t even bother showing up.”

Ross stormed away and I fought back tears. I couldn’t cry at work, especially not where everyone would see me break down. I bit the inside of my cheek and focused on my breathing, trying to get my emotions under control.

If I lost my job, my life would seriously fall apart. I wouldn’t be able to pay my tuition and I couldn’t make my rent. I’d be out on the street with no degree, no job, and no future.

Just like my mother.

The thought sent a chill down my spine.

My mom had dropped out of college when she met my dad, dizzy with his promises to take care of her for the rest of her life. At the time, he was an up-and-coming soul singer who had just inked his first major record deal and was flush with cash. They met after one of his shows in Chicago, and according to my mother, had spent most of the late ‘80s and early ‘90s touring the world and burning through my father’s royalties. Even when she found out she was pregnant with me nothing changed.

“I refused to let you slow me down, Nola darling,” my mother had said plainly when I was seven. I was packing up my little suitcase for what felt like the millionth time and asked why we had to move
again
. “Your father and I have been on the road for the last decade, and we still have so much to see,” my mother said. Then, she broke out in song, snapping her pale fingers to the beat. “Ain’t no stopping us now! We’re on the move!”

She was right. The party carried on clear until I was ten, and only came to a screeching halt when my father got a bad batch of heroine and overdosed. After that, I thought we’d settle down somewhere nice and quiet, but my mother was restless. We moved from Chicago to Miami to New York, before shuffling around Texas where rents were cheap and the men seemed unable to resist my mother’s charms.

And I totally get it; my mother is a gorgeous woman. Despite her crazy partying, hard drinking, and a long line of paramours, most people mistake her for my older sister—only she’s porcelain-skinned and blonde, and I’m tanned with a mop of brunette curls. I may look like my mother’s raven-haired twin, but I told myself we couldn’t be more different.

Sandy Jane, my mother, was flighty, irresponsible, and a complete fuckup. I wasn’t. I colored within the lines, got good grades, and fought like hell to keep from falling down the same dark rabbit hole that swallowed both my parents.

I filled up my lungs with as much air as they could hold, and then slowly exhaled. “Get it together, Nola,” I told myself, trying to get my head in the game. I returned to the busy dining room intent on putting the last few minutes behind me and making enough tips to finally pay my cell phone bill.

As I walked toward my next customer, I manufactured a smile and tried to push Ross’ warning to the back of my brain. He couldn’t possibly be serious about firing me; I was one of the best waitresses at Pink Taco. The customers loved me, I rarely messed up orders, and I never complained. Ross wasn’t stupid enough to let me go. At least, I hoped he wasn’t. 

When I got to the table I smiled, but kept my eyes on my order pad. “Welcome to Pink Taco. What can I get for you this evening?”

“Hey, Nola.”

My head snapped up at the familiar sound of his voice.

“Scout? What are you—“

He cut me off. “Dreaming just wasn’t enough.”

He gave me a generous smile and the beating in my chest quickened. Was he here…for me? It had been four days since I saw him at the party, not that I was counting—
okay, maybe I was
. But as I watched Scout’s eyes snake their way up my body, pausing on my curvaceous hips and round breasts, I still wasn’t convinced he’d come to Pink Taco just for me.

I glanced at the empty seat across from him. “Are you waiting on someone?”

“No,” he grinned, “it’s just me.”

“Okay then.” I sighed and my lips curled into an instant smile. I was a little too happy he’d come to the restaurant alone, but why?

Sure Scout was handsome, but I’d met plenty of good-looking guys since I’d been in L.A. Most of them happened to be pretentious jerks who juggled more women than circus acts, but something about Scout felt different and familiar.

Usually, I was on autopilot at work, but he threw me off my game. I felt the overwhelming urge to slide into his booth and go swimming in his big brown eyes, but I couldn’t afford to give Ross any more reasons to fire me. Instead, I chewed my bottom lip and reminded myself to be professional.

“What can I get for you, Scout?”

He shrugged, and then beamed up at me. “What I want isn’t on the menu.”

“Oh, uh, how about you, umm,” I stammered, completely flustered by Scout’s intoxicating charm. He stared at me, seemingly amused and totally aware he was turning me into a blathering idiot. Still I kept talking. What else could I do?