He grabbed the coffee cups off the table, whistling low and easy. His hips were still sore from last night’s dancing, but it felt good, fine, a sweet burn.
Jennie popped his ass as she walked by. “You’re too cheerful for words, Matt-baby. You get laid last night?”
Matt shook his head, red curls falling into his eyes. “Just dancing, Miss Thing. Just boogying.”
She laughed and headed on, coffee pot held tight in her hand.
Two men came in together, one older, distinguished looking. Like a British butler, really. The other was tall, striking, with hair like a mane, dark gold surrounding a golden face and falling down the man’s back.
They sat at one of his tables.
He headed over, two menus in hand, telling his jumpy prick to behave. “Afternoon, guys. I’m Matt. Can I get you some coffee? Tea?”
“What about you?” asked the hot one.
Matt blinked, blushed dark, and then recovered with a grin. Flirting. He could do flirting. “I’m working and not on the menu, sadly enough.”
“I guess I shall have to settle for tea, then. I don’t suppose you have something wild and strong?”
“We’ve got a nice blackberry and black tea.” He craned his neck, looking at the specials board. “And another from South America that people seem to like.”
The man growled, actually growled, looking discontentedly at his companion.
“I would be happy to drive you home and serve you what you want, Master Drakon.”
The growling stopped, the hot guy’s mouth twitching into a half smile. “I am most certain that you would not, Wetthers, though you are right, we have better teas at home.”
“Master Drakon” turned back to him, and Matt realized that one of the man’s eyes was brown, the other blue. “How much are they paying you to serve here?”
“Excuse me?” He blinked again. What an odd man.
The man’s eyes narrowed and he asked the question again, enunciating each word very carefully. Matt noticed he had an accent, just barely there. “I asked you how much are they paying you to work here.”
“I heard you, sir. I was just making sure I heard you right.” Rude asshole. “I make minimum wage plus tips, same as every waiter in this town. Are you always this ill-mannered or am I just really lucky?”
To his surprise, the man laughed, the sound low and rich. “Oh, you are a feisty one. Go tell them you have been employed elsewhere and we will leave for my estate immediately. I shall double your salary and of course room and board shall be included. Wetthers will settle all the pesky details with you and the IRS as necessary.”
Matt looked over at the old guy. “Is he for real? I mean, dude, you need a waiter at home?”
The old man seemed quite unperturbed by the goings on. “Master Drakon has made you an offer, young man. If you wish to accept it, I can assure you that it is ‘for real.’”
“Look, I’m not an idiot or a whore. You come in and tell me to quit my job and come with you without so much as sharing names, or you knowing more than I can walk and read a chalkboard.” He shook his head, fingers moving to his side, his skin burning. “I’m flattered, but no, thank you.”
The hot one—Drakon—growled again and stood. “Well, if you change your mind and decide you want to know about the handprint on your ass, maybe I’ll be willing to see you.” Drakon patted his ass, but not right on, more to the side where his birthmark was. With that, the man walked out.
The man named Wetthers handed Matt a card with a stylized dragon on it and the words Drakon Estates. There was a number beneath it. “If you change your mind. Be very sure before you call.”
“Right. Thanks.” He watched the guy leave and shook his head. “Fucking weird. You see that, Jennie? That dude just propositioned me!”
“Weird.” Jennie shook her head. “Glad he left before your shift was up. I hate waiting on assholes.”
“Yeah.” He nodded and pushed the card into his pocket. Real weird.
Guess he’d have to go dancing tonight to work off the memory.
Whistling, he went back to doing his side work, mind filled with music.