“Night, Court,” they said in unison, which would have been nauseating coming from any other couple.

“Night, MD.” I could hear more face sucking as I headed wearily toward the bathroom. Hence the nickname. They were always attached at the hip anyway. Admittedly I felt a tad envious even though I had no energy for a boyfriend. The only thing on my agenda was a shower and bed. Not that thoughts of Dalton hadn’t crept into my head. I was sure tonight wouldn’t be the last time I saw him. I would do my best to avoid him from now on, and we could continue on the separate paths our lives had taken.

Early American history the next morning proved to be as boring as always. Taking endless notes on my iPad while Professor Zeal droned on about the first transcontinental railroad would have been interesting if he could have injected any kind of enthusiasm into his voice.

My afternoon was spent in the campus library working on a paper I had due the following week. I got so wrapped up in research I nearly forgot to head to work. Luckily I managed to make it through the front doors of Gruby’s at five o’clock on the nose, despite the snow flutters that had started midday.

“Wow, for a minute there I thought you were going to be late,” Jill, one of the hostesses, greeted me as I walked in shaking a light layer of snow off my jacket.

I grinned, knowing I had probably ruined a bet for someone. “I’m never late,” I said, draping my jacket over my arm and heading to the back room to stow my belongings.

“It could happen,” Jill called after me before turning to greet three middle-aged men dressed in business suits.

Her words cracked me up. The staff had a standing bet on when and if I’d ever show up late. In all the years that I had been out in the workforce, I’d never been late. Only once when I was a teenager and working at Denny’s had I ever called in, and that was because my mom was sick with pneumonia and refused to go see a doctor. I practically bullied her into going, and had to drive her there myself to be sure.

The kitchen was buzzing with activity as I walked through the swinging doors that separated the back from the dining area.

“Hey, girl, how they hanging?” Jimmy, one of the line cooks, called out.

“No flies on me,” I responded with my normal answer. Jimmy roared with laughter like it was the first time he’d ever heard me say it. At seventy-six years old, he should be sitting on a porch, people-watching or tinkering with some old car, but instead he was working at Gruby’s. He always said he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he sat at home all day. We were the lucky ones since he kept the kitchen lively and was a blast to have around. He had basically become an honorary grandpa to all the servers, allowing us to pour our college woes out to him. With more wisdom than all of us put together, he had an answer for every dilemma.

Any time the school’s basketball game was on TV, it meant Gruby’s would be packed, and tonight was no exception. Every TV in the restaurant was tuned to the same channel. You could barely hear yourself talk as loud, eager fans erupted in one fashion or another, depending on whether something good or something bad happened to the team.

I followed the game as best I could while I worked, managing to notice each time the announcer would mention number nineteen, which around here, unless you lived under a rock, you knew was Dalton. Judging by the constant mention of his name, it was obvious Dalton was having a great game. Rolling my eyes, I continued to take orders and hand out food. It seemed like there was no escaping Dalton Thompson as long as I was working at a sports bar. I guess I should have considered that when Amanda got me the job here. My old restaurant went belly-up right before the holidays. Nothing says merry Christmas like unemployment. Needless to say, I jumped at the chance to work at Gruby’s. Although right now the job had lost some of its luster.

As my rotten luck would have it, the waitressing gods not only screwed me over, but also kicked me in the teeth that night. Three hours into my shift and an hour after the game ended, the restaurant erupted into loud cheers when a handful of the players walked through the front door, including Dalton, who was leading the show. He grinned at everyone chanting his name and waved like he was the Prince of England or something.

Biting back a groan, I headed to the kitchen to avoid the spectacle.

“What’s going on out there? Did the president of the United States just walk in the door?” Jimmy asked, wiping his hands on the dish towel that was stuck in the waistband of his apron.

I snorted. “I’m not sure he would have gotten that kind of welcome. Some of the team just walked in. You know—the ones who feel they deserve to be worshipped.”

“Sweetheart, you might as well accept that basketball is sacred around here and those that do it well will be worshipped as gods,” Jimmy drawled, winking at me.

“You’re as bad as everyone else. So they can get an orange ball through a hoop, who cares? Let’s see them carry a tray with twelve drinks and two appetizers without dropping it and maybe then I’ll worship them,” I grumbled, grabbing table five’s order before heading back out. I shook my head when I saw that the players now inhabited table seven in my section. Several curse words silently tumbled from my mouth as I spotted the back of Dalton’s head. It was official. The waitressing gods hated me.

chapter four

Dalton

Adrenaline coursed through my veins as the guys and I pushed our way through the double doors of Gruby’s. I owned that court tonight. I’d been in the fucking zone, and I was still completely pumped. At times like this I couldn’t help feeling invincible, which was why I talked the guys into hitting Gruby’s to celebrate. I’d been unable to get Courtney out of my mind all day. Knowing she was at work maybe watching each shot I nailed made me a beast on the court, getting me a triple double for my efforts.

This time when the hostess greeted us, I specifically requested Courtney’s zone. The guys tried to give me shit when I made the request, but I didn’t care. I was bound and determined to get her to acknowledge our past friendship.

She studied the seating chart before answering, “I hope you don’t mind waiting a few minutes.”

“Do what you have to do.”

People I didn’t know began coming over to shake our hands, congratulating us on the win tonight. It was a weird feeling at first, but after two years, I’d gotten used to it. Scanning the area, I smiled when I spotted Courtney on the other side of the restaurant. She was chatting with an older couple. Even with the distance separating us, I could tell her actions were animated and her eyes sparkled. She threw her head back, laughing at something the elderly gentleman said. Last night I’d thought she was pretty, but in a cute way. Seeing her so carefree, I realized she was downright beautiful. I didn’t remember her being this attractive back in school. I found myself envious of the older man. I wanted to be the one to make her laugh like that. I’d never had any trouble getting a girl I was interested in, but right now the only person I wanted was acting like I didn’t exist.

“Your table’s ready, guys,” the hostess said, approaching us.

“Bro, you were fucking insane tonight,” Chad said after we sat down. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re always a badass on the court, but tonight it was like you were channeling Kobe Bryant or something. What was up with that?”

I shrugged modestly. “I don’t know. I was in the zone, I guess.”

“No shit,” Collin agreed, looking up when Courtney approached our table. I flashed a smile, but she didn’t even bother to look at me.

“What can I get you guys?”