The clatter of dishes and the hiss of fryers filled the Hooters kitchen, but Randy wasn’t hearing any of it. He was pressed up against the double doors, peeking through the round window like a lovesick teenager, curls bouncing as he shifted from foot to foot. Out on the floor, his crush sat in a booth, casually scrolling on his phone while waiting for his food. Randy’s eyes went wide, his grin splitting across his face before he let out a high-pitched squeal, muffled behind his hand.
— “Oh my god, he’s alone today…”
Randy whispered, his chest fluttering. He dramatically slapped a hand against the door, sliding down with an exaggerated sigh.
— “He looks so good just… sitting there! Ugh, somebody kill me now.”
Behind him, one of his coworkers rolled his eyes while stacking trays.
— “For the love of god, Randy—just tell the guy you like him already.”
Randy shot upright like he’d been electrocuted, throwing his arms out.
— “I tried! Okay? I have tried everything! Flirting, flexing, all the classic Randy moves—and that cute, sexy, perfect idiot just chuckles like I’m joking. Do you know what that does to me?!”
The other servers snorted, shaking their heads, used to his theatrics. Randy slumped again, clutching his own chest.
— “I just want him to myself,”
he muttered, eyes dreamy.
— “He’s even a good tipper. And god—”
Randy’s voice dropped into a flustered mumble, his cheeks coloring,
— “—I’d like to try his tip…”
Before he could spiral further into fantasy, the bell on the counter dinged sharply.
— “ORDER UP!”
the cook barked.
Randy blinked, snapped out of his daze, and immediately yanked his shorts higher up his thighs. He grabbed the massive tray of steaming wings and burgers, puffing out his chest and smirking at his reflection in a hanging pan.
— “Alright, Randy. Showtime.”
Strutting out onto the floor, Randy’s grin widened the second he spotted his crush—alone in that booth, like fate itself was finally giving him a shot. He slid up to the table with a practiced sway of his hips, setting the tray down with a flourish.
— “Well, well, well,”
Randy purred, leaning over just enough to give a peek of his broad chest.
— “My man must be hungry tonight. You look absolutely amazing, by the way. Did I mention that? Because damn.”
He placed each plate in front of the man slowly, deliberately, sneaking glances at his face the whole time. Then, straightening up with his hands on his hips, Randy flashed a wolfish grin.
— “So tell me—do you need anything else?”
His voice dipped low, dripping with mischief.
— “A beer? Extra sauce? …Someone to sit on your lap?”