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flipped Oliver’s breaker back on. “I’ll take care of the dishes.”
    Oliver escaped while Angie was in the mood to let him, leaving her alone.
    First, dishes, then homework, and she absolutely would not fantasize about Luna’s hands, her laugh, or her long, long legs that started at the floor and went all the way up to her perfect, squeezable ass.

    Friday, July 17

    Every table in The Cadillac was full, and Angie barely had room to walk from the kitchen to the table of ten rowdy college boys clomping their forks against the table. She reminded herself to smile as she set a plate in front of the ringleader.
    “Keep your shorts on, boss. You always in this big a rush?” She channeled the spirit of the stereotypical dive truck-stop waitress. The Cadillac wasn’t a dive, but with its trendy use of neon and black light, Angie imagined that was only a few years away.
    “Feisty. I like that.” The young man reached out to slap Angie’s ass. She dodged and continued to place plates on the long table.
    “Careful, son, you put your hand where it doesn’t belong, it may come back altered.” Thankfully, being playfully snarky was part of the package her manager embraced. She could say almost anything—and had—as long as she kept smiling. So far, however, she hadn’t tried to break off roaming fingers. She doubted she could get away with that , no matter how big her smile.
    Angie finished serving the table, then grabbed a large piece of white butcher paper from behind the counter. She folded it into an impromptu chef’s hat and wrote I shave my balls on it with a thick black marker.
    Then she dropped it on the loud college boy’s head, kissed him on the cheek, and flipped off the camera his buddy produced. She walked away as the light from the flash dissipated. The table erupted in hoots. “I think she likes you.” “I knew you shaved, man.”
    Angie escaped into the kitchen and her smile dropped.
    “You sure it’s a good idea to wind them up like that?” Tori asked as she brushed by, balancing too many plates.
    “Tip.” Angie shrugged. She scooped half of Tori’s load out of her hands and followed her back into the mêlée, where she served Tori’s table, then made a much-needed dash to the ladies’ room.
    With her bladder no longer stretched beyond capacity, Angie exited the restroom and ran smack dab into Luna.
    “Whoa.” Luna placed a steadying hand on Angie’s elbow. “Careful there.”
    “Luna.” Angie should have apologized for almost knocking a customer flat. As it was, she barely managed the half-whispered acknowledgment of who stood before her.
    Luna’s face softened with recognition. “Angie.” She didn’t release her hold.
    They stared at each other for several moments. When Angie snapped out of Luna’s hypnotic hold on her, their faces were several inches closer. She stepped away from Luna. “How can I help you?”
    Luna’s hand fell to her side and she hesitated. “Perez sent me to pick up dinner.”
    “Perez?” Angie remembered Perez showing up a few nights ago in search of Tori. The two had been disgustingly flirty. Regardless, she needed to come up with more than a one-syllable answer. She took a breath and collected her thoughts. “I’ll get your food.” She ducked around Luna.
    “Wait.” Luna grabbed her arm a second time and the thrill shot through Angie. She couldn’t remember what she was supposed to be doing.
    Angie stepped backward and Luna advanced, her steady approach counterpoint to Angie’s faltering retreat. They continued like that, Luna stalking and Angie shrinking but wanting more, until Angie’s back hit the wall. With nowhere else to go, she squared her shoulders and held Luna’s half-lidded gaze.
    “Angie…” Luna cleared her throat, but her voice remained hoarse and low. “What are you doing Saturday?”
    The question caught Angie off guard. Her thoughts were focused on the nearness of Luna’s body, the whiskey-rough color of her voice, the