Sweet and Low

RONNIE

~“Hold me down, sweet and low, little girl,”~

~Hold me down, sweet and low, and I will carry you home,”~

~Hold me down, sweet and low, little girl,”~

~Hold me down, and I’ll carry you home…”~

~– Augustana~

***

Bernard’s was the last place I expected to hire me as a waitress. But after a mass exodus of staff, they were desperate. So, I took the job. I’d been there once and knew it was a high-end restaurant. The patrons were wealthy, which meant generous tips.

The owner, Tim Bernard, seemed like a decent guy. Plus, he was gay, which was a bonus.

The dress code was black jeans, a specially designed Bernard’s black tee, and makeup. So, on my first day, I wore my skinny black jeans, the tee Tim gave me, and applied some eyeliner, mascara, and lipstick.

When I arrived, I took a moment to admire my new workplace. The golden marble tiles, the beautifully painted ceiling, the curved, sunken walls, and the expensive chandeliers that sparkled like diamonds. And then there was the dance floor, where I’d danced and argued with both Oliver and Jax.

A waiter, dressed like me in black jeans and a tee, approached. He was cute, with curly brown hair and brown eyes.

“You must be the new girl,” he said, smiling. “I’m Jeff, the shift supervisor.”

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, returning his smile. “I’m Ronnie.”

He led me to the kitchen. “Do you have any waitressing experience, Ronnie?” Jeff asked.

“I was a waitress a few years ago,” I said, which was true. After dropping out of school, waitressing was my only option.

“Good,” he said, opening the kitchen door to reveal a chubby chef. “This is Marco, our chef.”

Marco waved at us, and Jeff led me to a secluded part of the restaurant.

“This is our hangout spot,” he explained, then called out, “Guys! Where are you?”

I thought it was odd that he was calling out to no one, but then two girls appeared. Jeff turned back to me. “Ronnie, meet today’s shift’s waitresses.”

The girls, Tara and Darcy, were cousins and both very pretty. They had the same slender figure, bleached blonde hair, and hazel eyes. They also both gave Jeff adoring looks when he wasn’t looking. Jeff, however, seemed oblivious to their affection.

After introductions, Jeff told us about today’s specials and what we should recommend.

Tara and Darcy were too busy swooning over Jeff to listen, but I paid attention.

Until ~he~ walked in.

While Jeff was explaining a pasta dish, two guys entered the room.

“Sorry we’re late,” said one, a good-looking guy with sandy-brown hair and bright green eyes. But it was the other guy who caught my attention.

Drake Adams looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He stopped in his tracks, and I stared back at him.

He looked even better than I remembered; his muscles were more defined, his auburn hair was wavier, his electric-blue eyes were brighter, and his skin was more tanned.

As I was checking him out, I noticed he was doing the same to me. His eyes lingered on my short hair, then my face, my body, and back to my eyes.

Jeff cleared his throat, and we both jumped and turned to look at him. Apparently, he wasn’t as oblivious as I thought.

“Ronnie,” Jeff said, glancing between Drake and me, “these are the other waiters for this shift; Bryan and Drake. Guys, this is Ronnie.”

Bryan winked at me.

“Pleasure to meet you, milady,” he said, flashing a charming smile.

I was immune to players, so I just smiled politely back, ignoring the questioning look Drake was giving me. “Nice to meet you too, Bryan.”

Drake stepped toward me. “What are you doing here, Veronica?” he asked.

I glared at him. “My name is Ronnie now.”

He looked more than just confused, but Jeff interrupted us.

“Let’s get to work, guys,” he said, “we have a restaurant to run.”

Jeff was right. I couldn’t let Drake’s presence distract me from my goal of redemption.

So, I turned to Drake and said, “If you want to talk, we’ll do it later.”

To my surprise, he looked angry.

“I don’t need your pity,” he said, irritated, “and I certainly don’t need your explanations.”

He brushed past me, not waiting for a response.

***

Throughout the shift, Drake avoided me. I chatted with Tara and Darcy, joked with Bryan and Jeff, but Drake and I didn’t exchange a word.

But for some reason, I found myself wanting to explain everything to him, to tell him why I pushed him away when all he was trying to do was be nice and supportive, even if he was a bit cheesy at times.

Because he was a good guy, and he deserved that much.

By the time my shift ended, I noticed him deep in conversation with Tara. I made my way over to them.

He looked up as I approached, ready to turn away and ignore Tara’s words. But I reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Drake,” I pleaded, my eyes begging him to stay. “Please wait.”

“Why should I?” he retorted, an eyebrow raised in challenge. “Last I checked, you wanted nothing to do with me.”

Sensing the tension between us, Tara quickly excused herself. “I’m going to go now…” she mumbled, leaving us alone.

“Can you please just come with me?” I asked, hoping he could see the sincerity in my eyes.

He shot me an annoyed glare.

“I don’t want to, Ver–Ronnie,” he corrected himself, clearly irritated. “So let go of me.”

“Not until you come with me,” I retorted, lifting my chin in defiance.

Seeing my determination, he let out a frustrated sigh.

“Fine, I’ll go with you,” he conceded, sounding like a man resigned to his fate. “Just let go of my hand.”

I released him, and we left the restaurant together. Once outside, I pointed to a nearby coffee shop. “Let’s talk there.”

Drake muttered something under his breath that I didn’t catch and followed me into the coffee shop. We found a secluded booth—at my request—and I ordered hot chocolate.

“Order something too,” I encouraged him, “I’m paying.”

He scowled at me.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he retorted, then turned to the waiter. “I’ll have a cappuccino, please.”

“No problem,” the waiter jotted down the order and left.

“I’ll pay,” I insisted. “It’s my treat, really.”

“No, it’s not,” he snapped back. “I’m man enough to pay for myself.”

For some reason, this conversation reminded me of a similar one I had with Frey a few days ago. I couldn’t help but smile, which seemed to surprise Drake, judging by his wide-eyed expression.

He quickly recovered, though, and demanded, “What do you want?”

Without hesitation, I replied, “To apologize.”

He didn’t see that coming. His eyes narrowed, suspicion replacing surprise. “For what?”

“You know what,” I admitted, suddenly finding it hard to meet his gaze. “I’ve been awful to you when you did nothing wrong. I was a bitch, and I shouldn’t have been. I’m sorry.”

He studied my face for a moment. “Why now?”

I focused on my hands, avoiding his gaze. “Because better late than never.”

“It’s been weeks,” he pointed out, irritation creeping back into his voice, “so now you apologize? I call bullshit.”

I looked up, shocked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re saying you’re sorry just to ease your own guilt,” he accused, his face hardening. “You don’t care about me. You’re just trying to make yourself feel better. Well, fuck you.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Drake,” I protested, taken aback. “I’m genuinely sorry. You’re a good guy and you didn’t deserve the way I treated you–”

“Damn right I didn’t,” he interrupted, anger flaring in his eyes. “I bought you roses, texted you, tried to get closer to you, even visited you in the hospital, and you pushed me away every time!”

“I know, and that’s why I’m apologizing!” I raised my voice before I could stop myself.

Regaining my composure, I lowered my voice to a hiss. “I was a bitch. I should’ve let you down gently, but I didn’t. Now I have a chance to make things right, so it won’t affect our work.”

Drake couldn’t argue with that. He looked at me coolly, thoughtfully, before finally making up his mind.

“Fine,” he spat out, “I accept your apology or whatever.”

“Thank you,” I replied, a wave of sadness washing over me.

I’d done this to myself. I’d made this good man feel worthless, like his kind gestures were stupid. I’d been a royal bitch, and it made me wonder why he even bothered.

“Why did you bother?” I found myself asking out loud.

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

The waiter returned with our drinks, placing them on the table before leaving.

I wrapped my hands around my hot chocolate and took a sip.

“Why did you keep trying, even after all the times I pushed you away?”

It was a question I’d been asking myself, not just about Drake, but also about Jax. Why couldn’t these two men stay away, even after I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with them?

Maybe Drake could give me the answer I was looking for.

Drake seemed amused by my question, judging by the bitter half-smile on his face. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I did,” I retorted, scowling.

He sighed and took a sip of his cappuccino.

“I can’t really put my finger on it,” he admitted after a moment, surprising me. I’d expected him to dodge the question, but I was relieved that he didn’t.

“You have something that attracts all kinds of men. It’s not just your looks, although you’re certainly not lacking in that department,” he added, his gaze briefly dropping to my body before meeting my eyes again.

“But there’s more to it. You seem like a good girl, but also not.”

“What does that mean?” I asked, intrigued by his perspective of me.

Drake leaned his head on his hand.

“When you smile, you look all sweet and innocent. But then there’s this wicked, dirty glint in your eyes that shows the woman behind the cute smile is actually a devil in disguise.”

“It’s like a magnet for every hot-blooded man out there.” He paused, seemed to mull over something, then let out a small smile. “It sure pulled me in when you first showed up at the frat house.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” I admitted.

“You’re like a mystery wrapped in a challenge,” he explained, “you promise steamy sex and hidden secrets that any guy would love to uncover. You’re captivating, and guys are easily captivated.”

“That doesn’t sound so great,” I pointed out, “it makes me sound like some wicked witch.”

“That’s because you are,” he said, raising an eyebrow as if daring me to argue.

“You’re a witch, and you’ve got the power to cast some potent love spells on unsuspecting men. You’re the kind of woman who can drive a guy to madness.”

His last statement brought back memories of Jax. I remembered how he looked unhinged in his bedroom. How he seemed so frustrated with me, how this need to claim me seemed to consume him.

“I see that now,” I said, my expression serious. “Some men find me intriguing and decide they have to have me.”

“I don’t know if ~have~ is the right word,” Drake said, “but that’s the gist of it.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” I said, letting out a sigh.

“You asked me to tell you why, and I did,” he said, showing no mercy. “If you want someone to sugarcoat things, you’re asking the wrong guy.”

For some reason, I found that hilarious. I let out a snort of laughter.

“I don’t need sugarcoating,” I told him, grinning.

“And there it is again,” Drake said, narrowing his eyes. “You see? That’s what I’m talking about. The sweet, innocent smile that steals hearts. And your eyes?”

“Still as seductive as ever, although…” he frowned now, “they’re not as wicked. You look more serious, more grown-up. Something happen?”

My smile faded.

“A lot of things happened,” I said quietly, taking a sip of my hot chocolate.

“Care to share?” he asked, sipping his cappuccino.

Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow at him. “Why should I?”

He rolled his eyes.

“I didn’t ask you to bare your soul, Ver–Ronnie.” He grimaced. “Why’d you change your name?”

“I didn’t, really,” I said, shrugging. “It’s the first nickname I ever had. I decided it’s better than my full name.”

It was also my new identity, in a way.

“Okay, so,” he said, studying my face, “since you dragged me all the way here and apologized and all, why don’t you tell me what’s been going on in your life?”

“And again, I ask, why should I?” I said, crossing my arms.

“Quid pro quo,” he said, his face dead-serious. “You tell me about yourself, I’ll tell you about me.”

What was he really after now? “I think I missed something here.”

“It means,” he said, “let’s be friends. We’re working at the same place now anyway. You apologized. I accepted. Let’s be friends.”

Friends…

“Are you sure we can?” I asked him because honestly, I wouldn’t mind having another friend. But if he still had issues with me…

“I can if you can,” he said, extending his hand and grinning a little. “Friends?”

Oh, why the hell not?

“Alright,” I said, shaking his hand and smiling a little. “Friends.”

After that, we hung out at the coffee shop for a couple of hours. During that time, I told Drake about my ectopic pregnancy, about Frey and Jax, about why I slit my wrists.

And in return, Drake told me about himself, how he was the son of happily married parents, had a younger brother named Declan, and had been playing football since he could walk.

He shared his rough times in high school, apparently, he’d been bullied too, even though he’d been one of the “popular” guys on the football team.

He talked about his various girlfriends and friends and so on. If we were to compare our lives, his would’ve seemed the better one, obviously.

But we didn’t, because each life is unique and different and can’t be compared, and so while I felt sad for his bad break-ups, he felt sad for my lost baby and near-rape experience.

Because despite the gap between his life and mine, we still found common ground, like any pair of friends.

And when I got back home after our chat, I felt good about having made a new friend.

I was doing well now, and I felt like I was starting a new life, a better life than before.