I've been working here for the past three years. How many times have I waited on these hockey players? I think I can count the times on one hand. Laura and Emily claimed those guys long before I started waitressing. Whatever. Let them pine over guys that won't give them more than one date. I don't need attractive, strong hockey players when I have an unlimited supply of college boys who never leave their room because of the constant homework they are bombarded with by the Drexel professors. I don't know how I manage working and attending college full-time, but that's not the point of this story.
This story is about the guy at the end of the table that keeps looking over here.
I wouldn't say I'm anything spectacular to look at. I don't try to get a guy's attention, especially at work. I'm here for money. That's it. Okay, okay... so maybe I've been planning my schedule around the Flyers' home games recently...
That does not mean I'm falling head over heels for this guy that simply looked at me... but as a science major I'm used to experimenting, and this is just an experiment...
For the first time in months, Laura and Emily aren't working. Look's like I'm stuck waiting on these guys. I used to go to the games as a little kid with my family, but I hope they don't expect me to know their names...
To my surprise, they were less egotistic than the majority of people who I usually wait on. The guy who was doing most of the talking looked familiar but lacked the long curly hair that matches his face.
"Scott shut your mouth for five seconds so this girl can get a word in," said a man who appeared to be missing a tooth. Ah, so that must be Scott Hartnell.
"Sorry G," he replied. "And I'm sorry, miss, what is your name?"
I was used to interrupting conversations, so this didn't faze me. "My name is Kelsey, and I will be your server tonight. Can I start you guys off with anything to drink?"
I went down the table getting everyone's order, but the boy at the end who looked around my age seemed to have trouble getting his words out. The entire time he stared at me like a lost puppy. Feeling sorry for him, I told him what I recommend, and he nodded at one of the options and struggled to swallow his words.
I left the table to get their drinks and pay obligatory visits to my other tables, but as I was walking away I heard Scott's mouth going off again.
"Cat got your tongue, Schenners? You've never had this problem before at P.J.'s"
"Why don't we ever have her as our server?" Brayden asked.
Wayne Simmonds raised an eyebrow. "Oh so it's the girl, eh?" he questioned. "She's so plain compared to our usual waitresses. Oh well, I guess it's a matter of preference."
Brayden slouched down in his chair, trying and failing to hide his red face.
I returned to the table with a tray full of drinks, and I began to pass the out to each guy. I finally reached Brayden's seat, and as I was leaning past him to put his drink on the table he immediately stiffened. What is wrong with him? I took their food orders - which Brayden also struggled with - and made my way back to the kitchen.
I don't think Scott knows how loud he actually is because I could hear him yelling at Brayden to ask for my number from across the room. Not gonna lie, I smiled at that.
I wasn't about to be a one night stand, though. If he can build up the courage to say two words to me and get my number, I'm not going to be some easy catch.
After another awkward encounter with Brayden while I delivered his food, they all ate, paid, and left a very generous tip. Man, Laura and Emily should take off more often. I was stuffing the change into my apron when someone tapped on my shoulder. "Miss? Uh, Kelsey?"
I turned around to see Brayden looking down at me. "Hey, what can I do for ya?" I asked.
Once I made eye contact with the poor nervous wreck, he began to stare at his hands. He stuttered, "Um, well you see..."
"You want my number?" His eyes widened at my correct guess. He looked up slightly to meet my eyes and nodded ever so slightly. I smiled at him and wrote down my number on a piece of paper. I handed him the paper - making sure that my hand made contact with his. His palms were damp. Why was he so nervous talking to me? He read the number in his head, and I could see the corner of his mouth quirk up.
He said goodbye and I told him to have a good night.

I wasn't expecting a call any time soon.

Notes

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