Sasha’s POV
After that napkin, everything changed.
Jaxon started showing up earlier. Not three a.m. anymore. Midnight. Right when the dinner rush dies and the place turns into a ghost town. Just the hum of the fridge, the low crackle of the radio in the back, and me pretending I’m not counting the minutes until the door chimes.
I stopped wearing the baggy uniform top they give us. I switched to the smaller size I found in the storage room—the one that hugs my breasts so tight the buttons strain when I breathe deep. The skirt I rolled at the waist twice so the hem sits high on my thighs. Every time I bend to wipe a table or reach for a plate, it rides up just enough to show the curve where thigh meets ass. I know he sees it. I feel his stare like fingers dragging down my spine.
Tonight
