Sookie Stackhouse Boxed Set (Books 1-8) - Charlaine Harris [876]
“I think I saw a vamp come in here, just like she had a right. And I think I saw a woman acting happy to walk out with her. I swear to God, I cannot believe it.” He looked at me as if I was sure to share his outrage. Jail Tat nodded vigorously.
“I’m sorry—you see two women walking out of a bar together, and that bothers you? I don’t understand your problem with that.” Of course I did, but you have to play it out sometimes.
“Sookie!” Sam was calling me.
“Can I get you gentlemen anything else?” I asked, since Sam was undoubtedly trying to call me back to my senses.
They were both looking at me oddly now, having correctly deduced that I was not exactly down with their program.
“I guess we’re ready to leave,” said Jail Tat, clearly hoping I’d be made to suffer for driving paying customers away. “You got our check ready?” I’d had their check ready, and I laid it down on the table in between them. They each glanced at it, slapped a ten on top, and shoved their chairs back.
“I’ll be back with your change in just a second,” I said, and turned.
“No change,” said Brown Hair, though his tone was surly and he didn’t seem genuinely thrilled with my service.
“Jerks,” I muttered as I went to the cash register at the bar.
Sam said, “Sookie, you have to suck it up.”
I was so surprised that I stared at Sam. We were both behind the bar, and Sam was mixing a vodka collins. Sam continued quietly, keeping his eyes on his hands, “You have to serve them like they were anybody else.”
It wasn’t too often that Sam treated me like an employee rather than a trusted associate. It hurt; the more so when I realized he was right. Though I’d been polite on the surface, I would have (and should have) swallowed their last remarks with no comment—if it hadn’t been for the FotS T-shirts. Merlotte’s wasn’t my business. It was Sam’s. If customers didn’t come back, he’d suffer the consequences. Eventually, if he had to let bar-maids go, I would, too.
“I’m sorry,” I said, though it wasn’t easy to manage saying it. I smiled brightly at Sam and went off to do an unnecessary round of my tables, one that probably crossed the line from attentive and into irritating. But if I went into the employees’ bathroom or the public ladies’ room, I’d end up crying, because it hurt to be admonished and it hurt to be wrong; but most of all, it hurt to be put in my place.
When we closed that night, I left as quickly and quietly as possible. I knew I was going to have to get over being hurt, but I preferred to do my healing in my own home. I didn’t want to have any “little talks” with Sam—or anyone else, for that matter. Holly was looking at me with way too much curiosity.
So I scooted out to the parking lot with my purse, my apron still on. Tray was leaning against my car. I jumped before I could stop myself.
“You running scared?” he asked.
“No, I’m running upset,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m going to follow you home,” he said. “Amelia there?”
“No, she’s out on a date.”
“Then I’m definitely checking out the house,” the big man said, and climbed into his truck to follow me out Hummingbird Road.
There wasn’t any reason to object that I could see. In fact, it made me feel good to have someone with me, someone I pretty much trusted.
My house was just as I’d left it, or rather, as Amelia had left it. The outside security lights had come on automatically, and she’d left the light over the sink on in the kitchen as well as the back porch light. Keys in hand, I crossed to the kitchen door.
Tray’s big hand gripped my arm when I started to twist the doorknob.
“There’s no one there,” I said, having checked in my own way. “And it’s warded by Amelia.”
“You stay here while I look around,” he said gently. I nodded and let him in. After a few seconds’ silence, he opened the door to tell me I could come into the kitchen. I was ready to follow him