CHAPTER FIVE

“Yo! Earth to the world’s worst waitress!” the Gamma says, breaking me out of my reverie. “Are you deaf? My boy said he wanted a veggie burger, sweet potato fries and a soy strawberry milkshake.”

“No, I’m not deaf,” I retort. “I’m just surprised one of you is ordering something besides a giant hunk of beef,” I say. “It’s refreshing to see someone in your pack is open to new things.”

I direct this second comment at James, hoping he’s smart enough to read between the lines. Please be open. Please accept me. Please don’t hate me just because I’m a rogue.

It’s pathetic, but I can’t help it.

“Anything else?” I ask.

“Yeah,” one of the fighters says. “You suck at your job.”

A small part of me hopes my mate will jump to my defense, but when I glance over at him, he’s still staring past me rather than at me, like I’m nothing to him, not worth a glance.

So much for being able to read my thoughts.

“Great. Thanks. Your criticism is greatly appreciated,” I say, forcing myself to maintain my happy waitress smile no matter how much I wish I could growl at the fighter instead.

I’m hurting as I walk away from the table, but luckily I’ve had a lifetime of practice in masking my pain, so I keep smiling, guessing that the paltry tip they normally leave for me will be non-existent today, and not caring.

The diner has gotten even louder in the minutes I was at the packs’ table, and the din is so dense it’s hard to make out actual conversations. Or it would be for a human. But for a wolf shifter with enhanced hearing, it’s easy to parse through the noise, and as I reach the kitchen, I hear one of the pack’s fighters mutter “God, she’s the worst. Why does she even work here?”

I let the comment roll of my back and stop at the hostess to store their menus. It’s as I’m bending down that I hear a new, unfamiliar voice say “Shut up, Tyler. Stop being such a dick.”

I gasp so loudly that the table next to me looks over at me with worry, and though I have enough self-awareness to explain away my gasp with a “sorry, thought I’d forgotten to add extra bacon to that last order,” inside my brain and heart are running wild.

He stood up for me. Maybe that means he cares, and what I thought was a rejection was just a misunderstanding.

That little spark of hope gets me going for the next hour as I wait on table after table and deliver platters of the meatloaf special.

“Izzy! Can you help me with Table 1? I’m totally swamped,” Sharon asks as I’m cashing out a table.

I walk toward Table 1 right at the front of the restaurant, my order pad and pen in hand and a cheerful smile on my face. I’ve just finished writing down their order when I smell the musk of the Gamma behind me, and I turn to see the pack leaving the restaurant. My mate still won’t meet my eyes, but he gives me the barest of nods toward the back of the restaurant. When I look back at his table, all I see is the usual detritus the pack makes every time they eat here: spilled ketchup, milkshake dregs, crumbled napkins and straw wrappers.

I want to run to the table to see what James was pointing at, but I know that will draw too much attention from the few diners that are left now that the lunch rush has passed. Instead I put the new order in and then grab a bin so I can bus the pack’s table and have a legitimate reason to linger over its every detail.

I find what James was pointing to easily; there’s a folded square of paper tucked under his plate. It reads: “Meet me at the edge of the woods at 6pm. We need to talk.” He hasn’t signed it, but it smells like him, that signature musk and smoky scent I caught last night right before I kicked him in the shin.

I’m still staring at the note when Clyde walks up behind me, and I frantically tuck it into my apron and start piling plates into the bin and scrubbing at the congealed milkshake on the Formica.

“How’d the drop go last night?” he asks, crossing his arms over his burly chest and leaning against the booth next to me.

“Fine. No issues,” I tell him. It’s not technically a lie. I did give the payment to the pack. I just got attacked and met my mate in the process.

“Good. I was worried you might have some trouble. Meant to warn you about it but I was so excited about the game that I forgot.”

“What trouble?”

“The pack just declared a new Beta, and it’s put everyone on edge. Most of the pack wanted a different member to be nominated, and it’s caused a lot of angst.”

“Why?”

“The Beta they picked wasn’t a popular choice. He’s a new addition to the pack; used to live about fifty miles south of here. Only came here a few months ago, and everyone thought the Alpha would choose someone more…seasoned to be his second in command.”

I should be angry at Clyde for not giving me this information before; after all, last night could have gone much worse. I could have been mortally wounded, but instead I ignore that and fixate on what he’s said about James.

He’s new. He’s not an entrenched member of the pack, which means he might not agree with all their ideas. Their prejudices.

Maybe there’s a chance for us after all. I guess I’ll find out tonight when I meet him.

“Just be careful out there, okay? Don’t walk near the woods alone if you can help it,” Clyde says.

I mutter “yeah, sure, of course” as I finish cleaning the table, but my mind has moved from Clyde back to James. Maybe after tonight I won’t have to worry about being alone anymore, because he’ll be by my side.

A rogue can dream.