The rich always tip best when I smile. They slip a twenty into my pocket when their partners aren’t looking. I’ll give them a playful wink, even if some aren’t carrying what I’m interested in. Tonight though, tips may be scarce because I have been proclaimed the babysitter.

“You’ve waited tables before, haven’t you?” I ask the newbie.

“I have not,” he replies.

Why Steven would get the help of someone without experience is beyond me. He has handed me a toddler in need of potty training on one of our busiest nights this year. A very last minute corporate meeting happened in the hotel’s ballroom. Now our attached restaurant is serving a sea of snobs without prior notice. Many of us are running around like chickens with their heads cut off. I don’t need this dude messing with my bag on a potentially very green evening.

“There’s nothing much to learn, Noah.”

“Nolen.”

“Right.” I grab a nearby menu to offer him. “Take their order, check in on them, and don’t fear a little flirtation. It’s good for you and your wallet.” I slap his shoulder prior to pushing him towards the floor. “Good luck.”

“That’s it?” Nolen asks, glancing over his shoulder. “Steven said you’re the best server here, but that’s all the advice you’re going to give?”

“Yep. With your looks, you don’t have to do much. Give them a smile and they’ll eat you up.”

Nolen’s symmetrical dark brows furrow. Even mildly irritated, he remains easy on the eyes. Tall, broad shoulders, slicked back black hair and a faint horizontal scar on his left cheek; Nolen has mastered the tall, dark, and handsome trope. If I didn’t have to babysit him, I would be pleased to have such a looker on the team. The last hot guy who worked here quit over a month ago, depriving me of my regular eye candy.

“Is that what you do? Smile and let your looks do the work."

“No. Sometimes I wink too.” I give him one of those winks, flustering him enough to reveal the faintest blush, then leave him to his fate.

If Steven honestly expects me, a man scraping by to survive in this economy, to babysit the newbie then he is sorely mistaken. I know why he’s doing this, getting all uppity because tonight is my last night. He’s getting revenge for losing his best server, but like hell I’d stay here.

This isn’t the job I hoped for after putting myself through college. Everyone went to school starry-eyed expecting hard work and education to grant them prosperity. A lie told to us from youth; reality hit us later. Every company wanted a worker with experience but were never willing to give them that experience. We worked hard, but apparently never hard enough and never the right kind of work. Then we have to accept we spent thousands of dollars at an institute that thrives off promising silly wishes to children who were raising their hands to go to the bathroom and struggling with how to talk to the cute neighbor a day before.

I never hated this job, but it has always been a far cry from a good life. I did what I could on the side; grabbing up freelance work designing business cards and family reunion t-shirts for years. The companies never cared, wouldn’t even look my way until a very dumb stroke of luck.

Returning from my reverie, I walk towards the kitchen to hand in my orders. Nolen stands outside the doors, admiring some cash in his hands. He flips through the bills then raises his eyes to meet mine.

“Looks like they’re tipping you well tonight,” I say.

“They are, thanks to your advice. They do like when I smile.” Nolen doesn’t smile at me though. He smirks. “I see now why you’re number one here. This really isn’t that hard.”

“Wha--hey!” I glare at Nolen’s retreating figure, heat simmering beneath my cheeks from what he implied.

That bastard doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I’d die on a hill screaming customer service jobs are by far the most frustrating field to be in. Besides that, I have been the best server here for three years. If he thinks getting early tips means he’s better, I’ll prove how much of a fool he is.

In kitchen, I rid myself of the stupid bowtie meant to be a part of our uniform. Margaret, a server two years younger than me with curls of auburn hair, giggles. I undo the top two buttons of my shirt; showing a little extra skin always earns more tips and I’ve never been the shy type. I’d let the old bitties cop a feel if they tipped me well enough for it.

“What are you up to?” Margaret asks, grabbing a few meals to put on a tray that she balances on one arm.

“Proving to the newbie that I can pull double--no, triple what he can make in a night."

“Is that really something to start a competition over?”

“Considering what he said implied I’m only number one here because the job is easy, absolutely.” I grab a tray to fill with food. “I will smite him like the righteous hand of an imaginary vengeful god.”

Pursing her lips, Margaret leaves, possibly in an attempt to avoid my murderous wrath. A wrath that leads me onto the floor where Nolen tends to a few customers. He pays me no mind until he catches an elderly couple leaving me a hefty tip. I ensure to show off the growing cash in Nolen’s direction, causing his right eyebrow to twitch.

The evening becomes one of wit and charm, competing to see who can make the most. Nolen is by no means a chatter-box. His answers are swift and to the point, but he dazzles customers with quick compliments followed by an alluring smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. In all honesty, I’d be dazzled too under different circumstances. He has the type of looks that’d make me approach him at a bar with less than proper thoughts in mind. However, there’s no time to admire him when I have a point to make.

I’m the opposite, offering friendly chatter to those who want it. I’ve come to recognize those open to conversation and those who want to be left relatively alone. Making a few customers laugh or swoon over my words results in a hefty chunk of change that Nolen and I show off in not-so-subtle manners. He’ll stand by the kitchen doors counting tips while I smack him in the face with mine. He bristles afterwards, as if he’s appalled to have money on his skin. Can’t say I relate.

Not everyone enjoys our competition though. The cook warns both of us that we’ll have a hot skillet shoved in an unpleasant place if we dare beckon him to work faster again. Our “petty competition” is our own, he claimed. I make a point not to argue with those skilled in using knives and scolding skillets, so Nolen and I wait patiently for the food to be prepared.

As the night goes on, a large group sits in Nolen’s section. He waltzes into the kitchen donning a proud smirk. That big of a group is more likely to leave a tip that may put a dent in what I’ve gathered so far.

“Don’t act smug. The night’s still young. I’m going to run you into the ground and you can let me know if there really is a hell deep below like my Granny always said,” I say when balancing a few trays on my arms.

Nolen snorts. “Saying that proves how nervous you are. If a newbie can keep up with you on their first night, it’s rather telling, don’t you think?”

He gathers drinks on a tray to balance on one arm and appetizers on the other. I’m tempted to remind him that he shouldn’t try that when he has never served before, but I rather watch him humiliate myself.

“Keep acting cocky and you’re going to find yourself in some serious trouble.” I grin at his exaggerated eye roll then brush past him to return to the floor.

My grin intensifies when I hear the inevitable crash. Wasting food and making a mess shouldn't bring me this much glee, but I can’t deny the warm tingling sensation in my gut upon seeing Nolen standing at the center of everyone’s attention. The trays he poorly balanced on his arms lay scattered; shattered glasses around him and clumped food on his shoes. Nolen catches my attention across the room. The bridge of his nose wrinkles with a snarl like a growling dog.

Steven comes running from the commotion. I return to work, eager to earn as much as I can to further rub Nolen’s nose in it. He loses more time from cleaning up the mess, although it’s strange that’s all that happened. Our manager isn’t the friendliest of men. He’s stressed as stressed can be. I thought Nolen would get sent home, but he continues serving for the remainder of the evening with a wee less bravado than we began with.

“Read ‘em and weep!” I declare at the end of the night. Nolen and I stand at a counter in the kitchens with our tips sprawled out. I didn’t make triple what he did, although I got very close after including tips left on credit cards.

“Congratulations,” he says, managing to keep annoyance out of his voice but not his twitching eyebrow.

“What was it you said earlier?” I ask, leaning over to adjust his bowtie. The heat of his glare intensifies when I pretend to dust off his shoulders. “It makes sense that I’m number one because the job isn’t that hard? And yet here we are; me winning and you embarrassing yourself.”

Without missing a beat, he demands, “Best two out of three.”

I laugh. “What?”

“You have the advantage here. I’ve never served before, so best two out of three.”

The adult in me says this is childish. The child in me says fuck that, this is fun.

“Okay, what do you propose?” I ask, grabbing the cash from the counter to slip into my wallet.

“We will do something to my advantage next. Do you run?”

“No, my idea of fun and strenuous activities lie elsewhere,” I say, smiling at his exaggerated eye roll. Maybe he doesn’t agree? Pity. I wouldn’t mind us partaking in said fun and strenuous activities.

“We’ll meet at Greensbury Park tomorrow in the parking lot at seven pm for a run. Should take twenty minutes,” he says. The mention of tomorrow makes my palms sweat.

“Alright,” I agree, confused when he presents his hands as one would when making a business deal. Snorting, I grasp his hand that’s more callous than expected.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.

Releasing my hand, Nolen pivots on his heel to head for the exit. What a weird guy, says the guy who agreed to two more competitions. I’d say I’ve got too much time on my hands, but I need this distraction. My phone has buzzed a few times tonight. I’ve managed to avoid the messages because I’ve been focused on beating Nolen. The challenge was oddly relieving.

The kitchen doors open, breaking me from my thoughts. Margaret enters pushing the mop bucket. I have to finish cleaning up the kitchen, which I thought Nolen would help with, but apparently, he was only here to help with serving. Lucky bastard.

“How did the competition go?” Margaret asks.

“I won, as expected.” I show her my tips that result in an approving nod. “But he challenged me to a run tomorrow since I had the advantage here.”

“Wow. Men and their competitions. You should just pull out your cocks and measure them to get this over with quickly.”

“I actually wouldn’t mind that and I hope things wouldn’t end so quickly.” I grin at her look of disgust. “What? He was hot. It’s just his personality that needs some work, but there’s no need for personality when sex is involved.”

“Ugh, you’re ridiculous,” she groans. “And I don’t want to hear that when you need to throw your whole personality away and buy whatever is on sale because it’s better than what you have.”

I playfully kick the back of her thigh.

“Speaking of better than what you have, are you ready for your big day tomorrow?” She asks while rummaging in the cupboard where she stores the mop.

“I’ve been ready,” I reply, wiping down the kitchen counters more enthusiastically than usual. “I’ve been waiting tables and scraping by long enough. If this new job somehow doesn’t work out, I’m taking it as a sign from the universe that I chose the wrong career path.”

“Kade.” Margaret laughs, hopping on the counter I just cleaned. She grins at my glare and slips off, allowing me to clean her ass imprint. “You got an amazing job at the Ackley Corporation. That is already proof that you have chosen the right career path.”

“Maybe, but somehow that makes me more nervous. They own, like, a third of the food products in every grocery store. Not to mention they have their toes dipped in this very hotel. They supply most of the food. Hell, they probably own it too.”

“Yep, and you,” she taps my nose. “Got in.”

“Out of sheer dumb luck,” I remind her, tossing my cleaning rag into the sink. “The only reason I got a chance is because of that stupid Manny’s Munchies competition that you read about on the back of a cereal box. I happened to design something suitable for a kid’s cereal compared to others who probably designed a hundred products more than me.”

She tilts her head. “It’s not like you to be this worked up about something, especially considering you already got the job.”

“Yeah, well, when you’re twenty-nine buried in college debt and no prospects, that overwhelming confidence starts to become a wee bit fragile. New job or not, I can lose it with one screw up.”

Among a few other current issues. I haven’t had the best month and the struggles are weighing on me.

“Hey,” she grabs my shoulders, forcing me to meet her firm gaze. “You are the most stubborn bastard I know and I say that with the utmost love. That stubborn nature, even the one you showed tonight, is going to make sure you keep this job. Whatever they throw at you, you’ll find a way to make it work.”

She sways us side to side, smiling until I smile too. “Thanks, Marge."

“No problem. Now, can you finish up? I wanna go home.” She hops towards the door, stopping to stare at something on the counter behind me. “Don’t forget your tips.”

“I have my tips.”

“Then whose are those?” She points at the counter. I follow her gaze to find Nolen didn’t take his money.

“Shit. That’s Nolen’s.” I grab the cash, following Margaret out. She locks up the kitchen and the restaurant.

“You said you’re meeting with him tomorrow, right?” She asks as we walk through the hotel lobby towards the exit. “Give it to him then.”

I slip the cash into my back pocket. “Yeah, I’ll let Steven know too in case Nolen calls in to ask about it.”

Margaret and I make it to the bus station in time for her to catch the bus. I sit on the bench waiting for mine when my phone buzzes. I’ve ignored the messages all night, but that’s harder to do when my mind is clear, when there’s nothing and no one here to distract me. Even when I know it’s a bad idea, I grab my phone.

Alex: Babe I’m sorry. I miss you. Can’t we talk?

Grinding my teeth, I click on his name. My finger hovers over the block button as it has done many times before, but then another message pops up.

Alex: Please. I love you. I love you so much. It won’t happen again. I was stupid and I’m sorry. Please just talk to me.

My chest aches with a familiar pain that I must be addicted to because I don’t block him. I shove my phone back in my pocket when the bus arrives. I don’t have time to be thinking about him right now. Tomorrow is important, life changing even. That’s what I need right now, something to change the shit trajectory of my life for good.