“Yes, we need a table for four. Somewhere warm.”

 

“Did you skip me in the rotation? I only have one table, everyone else has three!”

 

“Table for two. Someplace quiet.”

 

“I can’t take anymore tables! Stop sitting me!”

 

“Um, is it possible to get that table over there?”

 

This is a typical Saturday night at Calvino’s Ristorante. The server’s are bustling back and forth from the kitchen to the dining area, the bartender is slinging drinks back behind the bar and the bus boys are scrambling to get the tables clean. There’s a steady stream of people coming through the front door, all wanting a table and that’s what you’re here for.

 

“Hi welcome to Calvino’s!” You say, smiling widely at the severe looking older woman in front of you.

 

“Hello,” she replies shortly. “Two.”

 

“Okay,” you say, grabbing two menus and consulting the table chart. “If you’ll follow me, please?”

 

You weave your way through mazes of tables, the woman and who you assume is her husband, dawdling far behind you. You stand next to a table and extend your arm, smiling at them as they catch up.

 

The woman wrinkles her nose. “Could we get somewhere that’s less in the middle of the room please?”

 

Your smile does not falter but you inwardly roll your eyes. It’s Nikki’s turn but the table the woman is making her way to is in Justin’s section. You know you’ll probably hear about it in a minute. But you seat them there anyway because the customer gets what the customer wants… and it gives you a chance to talk to Justin.

 

Justin, the owner’s son and the darling of the restaurant. Customers want him to wait on them and the servers wanted him to wait on them if you know what they mean. You are no exception but you’re just twenty-two and a hostess, barely a blip on his radar. You make your way back into the kitchen to the window where two girls and a guy are standing, waiting for their orders to come up.

 

“Where the hell is my Alforno!” the short blond exclaims and a man in a white chef’s jacket that’s splattered with marinara sauce peeks out at her.

 

“Calm the fuck down Mary, its right here,” Chris, the head chef and restaurant manager, sighs, setting the plate in the window and wiping his hands on his jacket.

 

“Well, my table has been waiting almost twenty minutes for their food,” Mary replies, snatching the plate from the window and setting it on her serving tray before storming out of the waiting area.

 

“Hey, you’re welcome!” Chris calls after Mary, muttering in Italian as he puts two more plates in the window. “Justin, your Chicken Parm and Nikki, your calamari.”

 

“I need the Chicken Parm for my table,” Nikki says, narrowing her eyes at Chris who throws his hands in the air and turns away disgusted.

 

“Look, Nik here, take the Chicken Parm, I’ll wait.”

 

Your eyes fall on Justin and so does Nikki’s, a slow smile pulling across her face. Justin gives her a closed lipped smile, setting the plate on her tray and she places a hand on his chest as she thanks him, picking up her tray and turning to leave.

 

“Justin,” you say and his eyes fall on you, lifting his head slightly in acknowledgement, “You have a table.”

 

Nikki, who had been walking away turned abruptly, nearly sending her food to the floor. “You just sat him three minutes ago.”

 

“I know,” you say slowly, your eyes flitting between the two. “They wanted to sit more to the side.”

 

Nikki rolls her eyes and walks away and you feel the flush you always feel when you’ve pissed off one of the servers. You bite your lip nervously, ringing your hands a little as you turn to leave and then you hear his voice, a shiver running through you.

 

“Thanks, Morgan,” Justin says, giving you an encouraging smile as Chris puts another plate in the window and he takes it.

 

You smile giddily to yourself, walking back out to the host station and find three people standing waiting. Things are really picking up and at this rate you’re going to have to start wait listing people. You look over at Eli behind the bar and find him pouring glasses of wine, Justin, standing in front of him, laughing and joking while waiting for his drinks. He really is too fucking sexy.

 

More and more people file in and soon there isn’t an open table in the house. Eli’s bitching at you for having to serve food at the bar, the servers are bitching that they can’t take any more tables, and the customer’s are bitching because they have to wait. You’re doing your best to remain calm and not let it get to you when you feel a warm hand settle on your lower back and Justin leans over you to set menus on the stand in front of you.

 

“Thanks,” you say weakly and he smiles warmly at you.

 

“No problem,” he says and his hand leaves your back. “You doin’ okay?” he asks, smiling at the people standing in front of your station.

 

“Oh yeah, just waiting for tables to clear off,” you say softly, smiling shyly up at him and he nods.

 

“Okay, well keep em coming,” he says, giving you a wink before turning to go back into the kitchen.

 

You watch him disappear and involuntarily run your tongue along your bottom lip, eyes traveling from the top of his curly head down the column of his neck, noticing how the white fabric of his dress shirt is stretched tight across his broad shoulders but becomes looser around his slim waist.

 

“Excuse me, you said it would be fifteen minutes and its been twenty,” a snobby voice breaks you from your reverie and you turn to find a young woman with a pinched face glaring annoyed at you.

 

“Um…” you say and you see that Eli has two places open at the bar. “If you wouldn’t mind sitting at the bar we have two spaces there.”

 

You smile, what you hope is sympathetically and the woman sighs, nodding in concession and you walk her and her friend over, handing them menus. As you’re walking back to your station you find Nikki standing there, surveying the seating chart.

 

“Why did you sit them at the bar? I have a table open!” Nikki says and you look out into the dining room and see that indeed one of her tables is open.

 

“I’m sorry,” you say and she sighs irritated. “I’ll seat you next. It will be your turn anyway.”

 

“Whatever,” Nikki replies, throwing her hands in the air and skulking back into the kitchen.

 

You turn to your sheet, that nervousness settling in you again as you call out the next party’s name. You walk them back through the restaurant, heading towards Nikki’s open table, feeling somewhat relieved because maybe this will appease her.

 

“Oh, is Justin working tonight?” the lady behind you exclaims and you turn to her.

 

“Um yes… he is,” you say, doing your best not to blush.

 

“Can you seat us in his section,” the woman asks and you see that one of the bussers is just resetting one of his tables now.

 

“Sure,” you say smiling at them and rerouting over to Justin’s section. So much for appeasing Nikki.

 

You hand them their menus and make your way back into the kitchen and find all three servers at the window. Your stomach tightens.

 

“Justin,” you say and all three look at you. “You have a table.”

 

You avoid Nikki’s gaze and turn to run back out but her voice causes you to freeze in your tracks.

 

“You said it was my turn!” she screeches, and you contemplate just leaving. But then you realize that this is ridiculous. It’s just a table.

 

“They requested Justin,” you say, turning and looking up into her angry face, trying to keep your voice even and firm. Nikki snorts.

 

“Look we all know you’re just trying to get Justin’s cock and that’s fine, but don’t fuck with my money to do it okay?” Nikki says, smiling smugly down at you.

 

You cannot move you’re so mortified. Mary is looking at you, a mixture of astonishment and pity on her face. Chris’s face peeks out through the window, watching you with interest and the other two cooks, Dom and Ben, are peering out as well. You don’t dare look at Justin, your gaze falling to the floor as tears prick at your lids.

 

“Nikki,” its Justin’s voice and your eyes close, wishing to just melt into the floor. “Why don’t you shut the fuck up? It’s not her fault the customers think you’re a bitch.”

 

Your eyes shoot up and find Nikki and Justin glaring at each other. Justin turns to the window and says something quickly in Italian and your heart flutters. You love it when he does that. Dom sets his food in the window and Justin snatches it, not even bothering with a tray.

 

“Put all my tables in her section. Skip me and give them all to her. I don’t fucking care,” he says gruffly, brushing past you and out into the dining room.

 

And you can’t take it anymore, tears spill over your lids and you turn away quickly, bolting from the kitchen and back towards the bathrooms. You just need a moment to pull yourself together. You cry when you get stressed, it’s a pathetic quirk in your character and it never fails to embarrass you.

 

The rest of the night is fairly uneventful. The rush eventually slows to a stop, the tables clearing out and remaining empty. Nikki doesn’t speak to you for the rest of the night and neither does Justin, except for small exchanges of politeness. Closing time comes and you’re washing the windows in the foyer as the servers check out and the bussers vacuum the dining area.

 

“Justin, don’t forget you have to set up for that party tomorrow,” Chris says, counting out Justin’s cash drop and Justin sighs. “Get one of these bagascia to help you,” he adds, his accent flaring over the Italian insult, as he gestures towards Nikki and Mary.

 

“Nah, Morgan will help me.”

 

Your head snaps up at the sound of your name on his lips and you turn to find him not even looking at you, just counting his tips. He pauses, his blue eyes meeting yours and you feel like a deer caught in the headlights.

 

“I mean if you’re not busy,” he adds and you shake your head, turning back to the windows as a giddy smile spreads across your face.

 

You take your time with the rest of the windows, waiting for some of the other workers to leave and by the time you’re finished its just Justin and Chris sitting at the bar, a near empty bottle of wine sitting between them, speaking in quick, clipped Italian. Justin has pulled the tails of his dress shirt from his pants and unbuttoned it, the thin cotton undershirt stretching tight across his chest and abdomen.

 

“There she is,” Chris says, his face red from the whine, grinning widely at you as your approach. “La mia bella!”

 

You smile a little, the same smile you always give when Chris speaks to you in Italian and you only have a small inkling of what he’s saying. Justin is regarding you interestedly from over the rim of his wine glass.

 

“Drink!” Chris exclaims, grabbing a wine glass from the rack over the bar and Justin gives you a look before setting his own glass down.

 

“Nah Christiano,” he says, letting an accent flair over the Italian name, sending a shiver down your spine. “We need to set up for that party. It’s already…” he pauses looking down at his watch, “…Whew…quarter to twelve.”

 

“Porca puttana!” Chris exclaims, jumping from his barstool. “My wife is gonna kill me!”

 

He pulls on his coat and you stiffen when he grabs your face, kissing both your cheeks. You grin at him as he pulls back. These Italian boys…

 

“Ciao bella,” he says and then clapping Justin on the shoulder. “And you! Vai a cagare.”

 

You’ve heard that enough times to know its meaning. Even the servers who spoke nothing but English had grown accustomed to saying “go fuck yourself” in Italian.

 

Justin snorts, calling over his shoulder. “Ciucciami il cazzo.”

 

You shiver because “suck my dick” is also a popular Italian phrase around the restaurant, but coming from his lips makes it sound less like an insult and more like something you wish was directed at you.

 

Chris throws his head back laughing and disappears back into the kitchen, going out the back.

 

And now you’re alone… with Justin. You shift uncomfortably, looking down at the floor, running your hands over the front of your little black dress, pretending to dust lint off your stomach. You feel his eyes crawling over you and you fight the urge to cross your arms over your chest.

 

“Chris is funny,” you say, and then you want to smack yourself.

 

“Yeah,” Justin replies, chuckling a little.

 

“You’ve known each other since you were kids right?” you ask and he nods.

 

“Yeah, our parents are friends… well… obviously,” he says gesturing to the restaurant around him. “They run this place together.”

 

“Is that how you learned Italian?” you find yourself asking and he nods once, smiling slightly.

 

“Well, lets get started,” he says with a sigh, hoisting himself off his barstool and you follow him out into the dining room.

 

“How big is the party?” you ask after a moment, just to break the silence.

 

“Forty,” he replies simply and you fall quiet, feeling that maybe this would be more of an awkward exchange than a sexy encounter.

 

You move the tables in silence, your eyes meeting every now and then and you look away quickly, busying yourself with the positions of chairs and smoothing of table cloths. You’re moving your last table when he sighs finally.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says. Your eyes snap to him across the table you are both moving. “About earlier,” he adds, his voice soft and you can feel your cheeks redden.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” you say quickly, smoothing your hands across the table cloth and turning away.

 

“No,” he calls as you make your way to your hostessing station. “Nikki is a bitch and she shouldn’t have said that to you and then I shouldn’t have been an asshole.” You turn and find him shifting uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

 

“Oh my god,” you breathe and turn away from him immediately, your face burning.

 

“Seriously,” he says and you feel his hand slide down your back. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Justin,” you sigh, turning to face him and you gasp when you see how close he is. “Its… its okay.”

 

He’s standing so close to you that you can feel the heat emanating from his body and he’s looking down at you in the strangest way, a way that you would call predatory and lustful if he hadn’t been looking at you.

 

“No,” he says, his voice soft, sliding his hands in his pockets. “your job is tough. You gotta deal with the servers bitching and the customers bitching. Seriously, if you hadn’t been here tonight we woulda been lost.”

 

You blush, looking away from him and biting your lip. You don’t take compliments well on any given day but from him… god you feel as if your face is on fire, and you know you must be blushing furiously.

 

“Nah,” you say, turning from him and leaning over with your forearms resting on the counter. “This is what I do most of the time.” You rest your chin on your hand and stare at the wall.

 

“Oh,” he chuckles, the deepness of his voice causing you to shiver. “Don’t I know it.”

 

You glance over your shoulder to find him looking down at your ass, his tongue snaking out to wet his bottom lip and you nearly gasp from the shock of it. He grins at you before mimicking your pose and you regard him curiously.

 

“Can I be completely honest with you?” he asks, his blue eyes wide and imploring and you are slightly speechless. You nod. “Sometimes, when I see you leaning over the counter like this” he says, his cheeks coloring slightly as he looks down and smudges the dry erase marks on the table chart with his finger. “I think about fucking you.”

 

Your jaw drops and he grins bashfully at you, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. Did he really just say that to you? You are utterly dumbfounded, so much so that you barely register that he’s leaning in. When his lips touch yours your eyes slide shut, and he’s slow and almost uncertain but fuck he’s kissing you.

 

And then its like something inside you snaps and you realize he’s kissing you! After all those nights of watching him, daydreaming about this, its finally happening and it’s so much better then you could have ever imagined. You reach out and clutch the open side of his dress shirt, the other hand going to the side of his face and you pull him closer.

 

His hands move to cup around your neck, his thumbs pressing into the sides of your face as he steadies you, holding you so he can ravage your mouth. Heat rushes through you and you moan when his lips leave yours, trailing kisses along your jaw as his hands smooth down your arms, his palms warm on your skin.

 

Your arms slide around his waist between his dress shirt and his undershirt and pull him close, crushing your chests together as he nibbles at your neck, his hands moving down to grab your ass. You claw at his back, slipping your leg between his and pressing your hip into him, his sweet exhalation of breath tickling your skin. His hands press you harder against him, pulling back to capture your mouth again, pressing you back against the counter and this is amazing. To finally be touching him, to have him touch you. You’ve wanted this ever since you took this job. To have him lift you up on this hostessing counter and fuck you senseless.

 

He’s inching the hem of your dress higher and higher, bunching the fabric in his hands and you are pushing his dress shirt from his shoulders, and he releases you to let it flutter to the floor. You can feel him solid against your hip and you reach between you to fumble with his belt, and undo his trousers. You slip your hand inside holding him in your hand and he hisses against you, pressing you harder back into the counter.

 

You stroke him slowly and he drops his forehead to your shoulder, bracing his hands against the counter on either side of your hips.

 

“Shit Morgan,” he moans, and his hands are bunching your dress up again and his hand slips between you legs, one long finger tracing over your underwear. “Is this okay,” he asks, his eyes searching yours, suddenly unsure.

 

You nod, pressing your forehead to his, your hand cupping around the back of his neck, pulling his face to yours. You’ve never wanted anything more in your entire life. You gasp when he pushes your panties aside, fingers pressing against your most sensitive flesh and you moan as he rubs your clit in slow circles. Your hand slows to a stop, just holding him now as your head falls back.

 

“You like that, baby?” he asks, slipping one long finger inside you and you need to grip his shoulders for support. “Ti piace?”

 

“Oh god,” you groan, grinding your hips into his hand, and he leans down, nipping at your collarbone, kissing the skin that’s exposed by your dress. “Please,” you pant, your mind slightly hazy from the pleasure he’s giving you. “Per piacere.”

 

He growls and you’re spinning suddenly, his hand on the back of your neck as he bends you over, your chest laying against the cool glass top of the counter. Your hands flatten against the counter top, feeling him bunch your dress up around your hips then tug your panties down. You press your cheek against the counter, moaning loudly when you feel him slide the smooth head of his dick against your entrance.

 

You hiss as he slides in slowly, a low grown pulling from his throat as he stretches you, touching all the right places. You’re panting, feeling his hands on your hips and he starts to move, dipping in and out slowly.

 

“Holy shit,” he groans and you look over your shoulder to find him hanging his head back, his hips twitching forward and back. “God, you feel amazing.”

 

You smile, panting hard, watching your breath fog the glass your cheek is resting against. Your eyes slide shut as he quickens his pace, the force of his thrusts causing you to rock against the table. He’s grunting, hands gripping and releasing your hips as he slams into you. You yelp, arching your back, feeling him slide deeper and he groans low, one hand reaching up grab your shoulder, pulling you back roughly against him.

 

You reach out, gripping the edge of the counter, letting him just pound into you. You can feel your body tightening, pleasure ripping through you as he hits that spot inside you that makes you scream.

 

“Oh god, JUSTIN!” you cry out, nearly sobbing from the pleasure of it. “Oh, right there. Please…”

 

“There?” he asks, his voice tight, the hand on your shoulder, squeezing. “Li?”

 

You pant, your mouth opening to respond but the only sound that comes out is a strangled whine as he pounds over and over into your spot. You call out to him, begging him not to stop and he doesn’t. He just leans over bracing both arms on the counter for leverage, his mouth right next to your ear, breathing phrases in Italian and English, moaning and panting along with you.

 

When one of his hands reaches down, sliding around your hip, fingers nestling in your folds you scream, your entire body convulsing around him. His hips twitch into yours hard one last time and he groans deep as he spills into you.

 

You stay like this for what seems like forever, his body bent over yours, hips crushed together, his cheek laying against the skin between your shoulder blades. He places a kiss on your spine before he pulls back from you slowly and you press against the counter to right yourself. You slide your dress back down to an appropriate length and turn to find him buckling his belt.

 

He grins at you, reaching down to retrieve your underwear from the floor and holds them out to you, dangling from one finger, wiggling his eyebrows a little. You snatch them away giving him an embarrassed smile and he chuckles softly. As it melts away a soft look comes into his eyes and he reaches out, placing a hand on your arm as he kisses you sweetly on the cheek.

 

“Grazie bella,” he whispers in your ear, and you grin, looking back at him shyly before replying:

“Prego.”