Angie/Peggy
“I hate the jerks you work with, English,” Angie complained, lowering herself onto the bench across the table from Peggy. “They don’t tip, they’re always puttin’ their hands on me…”
The sound of the door opening pulled both of their attention towards it. “Speak of the-” Angie slid back out of the booth, schooling her expression into one of friendly greeting as they helped themselves to a booth just a couple down from Peggy’s. “Hi.” She grabbed a couple of menus and took them over to the table. “Can I get ya anything to drink?”
“Coffee,” said one.
“Thanks, honey,” said the other. His expression as his eyes moved over her reminded her of the grease on the bottom of a pan of bacon. He didn’t touch her, though. At least not yet.
She gave Peggy a knowing look as she passed by for the coffee pot, and Peggy gave her a sympathetic smile in return.
Angie got them their coffee and took their order, and when she went back to drop the sandwiches off at the table, it happened. The skinnier one slid his hand over her hip to squeeze her backside. “Can you bring out some ketchup, baby doll?”
She stepped away, lips pressing into a thin line. I’ll get fired if I hit him, was her mantra as she went back into the kitchen . She barely glanced at Peggy as she passed that time, she didn’t want to show Peggy how much it bothered her.
She took some extra time in the kitchen. If he was going to be like that, he could fucking wait for his ketchup. By the time she came back out, bottle in her hand, the men were gone, and Angie could see the tip sitting on their table.
Crossing to Peggy’s booth again, she rested her hands on her hips. “You did it again, didn’t you?” She couldn’t help the smile, though.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, darling.” Peggy reached out and brushed a hand down her arm.
“Uh huh.” Angie glanced over at the vacated table. “Let me take you out for dinner tonight, I know you’re probably gettin’ tired of my cooking.”