The Girl He Needs Read Online Free PDF Page B

pokes out from a small knot she’s made. She stops to look at me when I deliver her dinner order, but I don’t think she sees me. She jolts out of her reverie before scanning the half-full restaurant. The dinner rush is over and the bar is in that state of rest as we wait for the families to leave and the partiers to arrive.
    “I think I blacked out and lost time,” she says as I slide the plate of fish and chips next to her ledger. “My only hope is that this accounting was masterfully completed while I was having my fugue. If not, there may be violence.”
    I shrug an apology because I’m one hundred percent certain the fugue state she thinks she experienced was just a small daydream. “If the guy at table three pinches my ass one more time when I pass to use the restroom, there’ll be violence,” I tell her. “Must be that kinda night.”
    She reaches over the top of the bar and pulls out a bottle of malt vinegar from the shelf below. After dousing her fish and chips, she shoves a handful of fries into her mouth then returns to beating her calculator to death with the eraser end of her pencil.
    “Buggering bloody bollocks. These numbers! They refuse to balance. If I can’t get this worked out I’ll commit an act of cruelty to my own person.” It’s hard gauging the severity of her words because she’s English and seriously, what sort of act would she commit? Their cops don’t even carry guns. She stabs at the calculator again and takes a long swig of her wine.
    The last few nights I’ve worked, Jayne’s been on the same stool, her business books spread before her. Try as I might to avoid developing anything further than a superficial friendship with her, as this tends to be the easiest for all parties, Jayne makes it hard. She’s warm and as welcoming as her parents, and even though she successfully runs her own clothing boutique, she can be found helping out when there’s a shortage, without complaint. She’s comfortable in her own skin and has a dry, self-deprecating sense of humor I understand. A large portion of my time at the bar is spent chatting with her, laughing about some of the patron’s antics, and discussing our common interest in Graham Norton, who we both binge watch whenever possible.
    Making friends with girls has always been difficult for me. Maybe because my only real friend was Will and perhaps because of that I relate better to guys. Either that or Jayne’s different.
    “Just a thought, but it might not be a numbers issue but more a you’ve-had-too-much-to-drink issue and this place is distracting. I can see from here that you’ve miscalculated column two.”
    She groans and stares at the numbers. I touch my finger to the set where she went awry.
    “It doesn’t help that you’ve been making eyes at tall, blond surfer over there.” I place a glass of water next to her wine.
    “You’re a buzz kill,” she says in a bang-on American accent. Usually so posh with her Oxford English, it cracks me up when she does her American speak. She pushes the water back toward me.
    “You should put this away and relax.” I tap her papers. “When do you do that? Relax?” She’s here every time I am and I imagine she’s here when I’m not.
    She purses her lips. “Quite right. I haven’t relaxed in a long time. A good shag would fix that right up.”
    I lean against the bar and rest my elbows on the top. “Is there a Mr. Jayne?” It’s my attempt at making casual girlfriend talk even though it feels intrusive.
    She snorts. “No boyfriend. I’ve been casually seeing this guy, Brad, who, it would seem, is really just a scheduled shag when he’s driving through town. Which is about every other week. Clearly, not enough.” She smirks and nods toward the blond surfer. “How about you? You’re fairly new here, and if you tell me you’ve got a steady I might simply lose it. Not that I don’t want you to have someone but the reflection back into my own wasteland of a sex