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Catering Girl Ch. 01

Amateur

Dear Reader:

A big thank you to my intrepid beta readers, NellyMcBoatFace and Bookwormmom who provided some critical suggestions and hopefully made this a smoother read.

This is a slow burn story and takes a while to build up. I’ll understand if that is not your thing, and you move onto something else. There is an important character under the age of 18 in this story. It’s sort of hard to write a story about a young single mom and not have her munchkin in it. But don’t worry, when we do get to the adult play time in later chapters, the little one will be safely tucked into her bed while the grownups play. These are responsible adults after all.

This story is dedicated to all the single mom’s out there who struggle to take care of their babies. Please, if you know of one, give her a hug for me, will you? And if you can, help them take a step up?

Chapter 1

Whitney

What was I doing here? Grabbing my glass of wine, I slunk into my chair. Like my thoughts, the last of the red liquid swirled around the glass. I looked around the museum. Many of my coworkers were gazing at the various airplanes and other aviation memorabilia. For them it was just another company holiday party, but this was to be my last with this accounting firm. I had enjoyed working with most of the people of the firm, and some were literally family. I had put my notice in a few weeks back, although it had not been unexpected. I had planned out my long-term career path long ago, and this was just a steppingstone to my eventual destination. That adventure would start with the new year.

“Come on Whit, let’s get another drink and take a walk around.” Molly, my best friend from work, ok, my best friend anywhere, was tugging at my sleeve.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” I mumbled. I knew full well that if I didn’t, she would keep nagging me until I did. As I stood, I tugged at my little black dress, pulling it down. It was riding up above mid-thigh. Why did I wear this? Ugh, so stupid. It just attracts the wrong attention. At least it’s a long sleeve on a cold December’s evening.

Approaching the bar tender’s cart, I found Molly was there already and handed me another glass of red wine. My short friend gave me a once over.

“It is so not fair Whit, I am so envious of you.” Her hand was rubbing up and down my arm. I could feel her finger trace the floral lace pattern of the sleeve. “You can wear just about anything and make it look stunning.” Smirking, I nodded my head. Yeah, I knew that. I was blessed. My long legs, made even longer with my three-inch heels, were the best part in my book. Although I knew most guys noticed my chest first. Not that I wanted any attention from them. I’ve been fending them off since I was 16.

Molly hooked her arm in mine and pulled me towards some display. Pretending to read something about how Boeing and United Airlines were part of the same company in the 1920s. I sipped my wine. Not bad for a corporate gig. I had been to many dinners, conferences, and receptions in my five years with Mitchell I was anything but. How and why we gelled was beyond anyone’s guess. But there was no tearing us apart. We had been there for each other, through thick and thin. Through the exciting times such as career milestones and finding a new love, or the horrible moments when life kicked one of us in the teeth. I had been there when Michael dumped her for some softball player, and she had picked up the pieces when my Heather had suddenly left.

“So, Dylan over there does nothing for you?” She giggled as we watched one of guys from tax waving his arms around telling some story to his buddies. “You know he has the hots for you.”

“Nope, nothing.” I shrugged. “I can respect that he is attractive. I can see that. Fit, tall, well spoken, yadda, balıkesir escort yadda, yadda. But yeah, nothing in my panties. You two would actually go well together.”

“Um, maybe,” Her facial expression and twirling of her hair belied her true opinion. “So, what does it for you? See anything out there?” We were standing on an upper concourse of the museum, looking down at where all the tables had been set up for dinner. A small string ensemble was playing in the corner, providing some holiday ambiance to the otherwise technology-oriented aviation museum. I scanned around the room. Knowing that none of my coworkers did a thing for me, I focused on the catering staff, one of whom had caught my eye earlier.

“There,” spotting one of the catering staffers, a girl refilling waters at the table next to ours. “Look at her. The dirty blonde with a tight butt. Now that, I could take home.” A deft flick of her wrist tucked a wisp of her wavy blond locks behind her ear. Inside me, butterflies took flight.

“Really, Whit? You could do so much better than her. She’s just a catering staffer. Come on, your dad owns the best CPA firm in the Puget Sound and your mom, well, if there wasn’t a better power couple not in technology in this town, I don’t know who is.”

“Hey, you asked me what did it for me. As in physical. Yeah, she is the type. That little wave in the hair. Fuck, I’m getting turned on just thinking about her.”

“I’ll never understand you, Whit.” She put her arm around me and gave me a hug. Ok, the Catering Girl was the second-best person in the room. I knew Molly and I could never be a thing, and I wouldn’t push it. Her friendship meant too much to me. Physically, she wasn’t what I normally went for. Short and I guess you would say pudgy. I once punched a guy in a bar who called her dumpy. He might have been right, but you don’t say that about a lady. But she was my best friend, and I’ll defend her until the end. I let out a long sigh and had another sip of wine.

“Come on Molls, let’s head back to the table. I think it is about time for some food.” Meandering our way back, I stopped at the bar cart and got another refill on wine. The food was excellent, as usual, like the wine, courtesy of another client. Nothing like having a local high-end restaurant conglomerate in the portfolio. We always ate well at office functions. This year, the salmon and roast beast were excellent.

The Catering Girl came and cleared my plate, and I looked around the room. Figuring I had at least ten minutes before dad launched into his usual Holiday party speech, I slipped out and found the washroom.

CRASH

As I returned from the washroom, I watched as one of the partners from audit, totally engrossed on his phone, bumped into Catering Girl. Her tray of dirty plates went all over the place.

“Watch where you are going, will ya?” The contempt in his voice lingered long after the smell of his bad cologne dissipated. I’ve always hated him, never knowing how or why he made partner. Catering Girl let out a big sigh as she attempted to dissipate her frustration at my soon to be former colleague and set her tray on the floor to pick up the pieces. I bent down and helped her collect the dishes back on her tray. It was uncomfortable in these heels, but the smile I got back when our eyes met, was reward enough.

“Thanks, you didn’t have to help, but I appreciate it.” Fuck, that smile made me all gooey inside. It’s been a long time since another woman did that to me so fast.

“Well, we’re not all assholes like him.” I pointed with my thumb over my shoulder in his general direction. Her giggle in response was sweet. I watched her pick the tray and sling it on her shoulder.

“Thanks again.” She headed off through balıkesir escort bayan a service hallway, back to where the catering crew was working. It was hard not to drool over her tight ass in those black jeans and black tee shirt. The only part of her outfit that was not all black was the white stripe on her Vans. Oh, how I would love to wrap my arms around that tonight and run my fingers through that blond shoulder length hair. But she appeared eager to get back to the kitchen, so I headed back to my chair.

Somehow Dylan had taken a seat at our table and was telling another one of his stories. I must admit, he was an excellent storyteller. It was hard to maintain an air of non-interest around him. To do anything less was to encourage the inevitable. His story wound down and someone else picked up the conversation on the other side of him. Next thing I knew, his hand was on my arm, trying to get my attention.

“So, Whitney, your last day is next week?”

“Yep, time for new opportunities. I’ll miss this place, but I know I will not be far from it. At least as long as dad is still a partner.”

“You know my offer still stands. Dinner with me anytime you want.” His white teeth almost illuminated his olive brown skin.

“Thanks, but no thanks, Dylan. You know you’re not my type, right?”

“And you know you’re my type, right?”

“Dylan, any woman is your type.”

“Guilty, but seriously Whitney, you’re an interesting person. I know you’re gay, but in case you ever change your mind or want to try the other side, I just want to be first in line. Hopefully, our paths will cross in the future. It’s been fun working with you these last few years. You’re a great person to work with.”

“Thanks, Dylan. The feeling is mutual. On the fun to work with side, that is. And if you want a fun straight girl to ask out, Molly over there is dying to go out to dinner sometime. I know her better than anyone and the two of you would be a good fit.”

“Really? I always thought she wasn’t interested in me,” he said.

“Have you ever asked her? I’ll bet you be pleased by her response.”

I could see he was pondering it, when we heard the PA system kick on and that static popping noise of a tech taping the mic. It was time for Dad’s annual speech and the “surprise,” of Christmas bonuses.

I finished my wine and grabbed my water glass so I would have something to do while I feigned interest. I had heard these speeches for years. Not just as an employee, but as an intern, and earlier as the mail girl in high school. Other than baby-sitting gigs in high school, Mitchell you just want grandchildren to spoil.” She gave me a hug.

“Yup. I know, you got to find someone first.”

At least she didn’t hound me about my orientation. Mom and dad were a bit shocked when I announced that Rachael and I were going to prom together my senior year. For a while it was a “phase” to them. But when I brought home a few girls in college and then later Heather, they accepted who I was. I think it still pains them a bit, but mainly it’s because of a strong desire for grandkids. Now instead of asking about boys, she just leaves various pamphlets for fertility clinics lying around when I come over. Nothing like a subtle hint.

“Can I have this dance, young lady?” A pleasant baritone voice was standing behind me. I felt his hand take mine.

“Don’t you think you should ask mom first?”

“Maybe I already did. Can’t I have a dance with my sweet pea?”

“Why do I let you get away with calling me that?”

“Cause you love it, and you know you will always be my sweet pea.” I walked to the floor with my dad and had a dance with him. He is the only man I would ever consider dancing with. As we danced, I caught a escort balıkesir glimpse of Catering Girl working to clear the carving station. She looked over at me and spun her head back to her work.

As the dance ended, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Mom’s turn,” I laughed as my dad dropped me like a hot potato and danced with his wife. They’re still cute after 35 years together, they still love each other like newlyweds. Plus, I think they still fucked like newlyweds as well. Maybe someday I could find someone like that to live my life with.

As I cleared the dance floor, I looked around for Catering Girl. Maybe I could rectify my mistake and try to get her number. But she was nowhere to be seen.

I hung around for a while, fended off a couple more of the young bucks, and had a couple of laughs with Molly and Dylan. Yeah, they were going to have a fun date tomorrow night. At one point Molly was looking away, and he mouthed “Thank you” to me. I gave him a thumbs up in reply. Eventually, I got bored and called an Uber to take me home.

As I walked in, Skipper, my tabby cat, was there to greet me. I picked her up after hanging up my coat and listened to my fur baby purr. More than once, she had listened to my sobs as I recovered from the Heather debacle.

I slipped out of my heels and climbed the stairs of my townhome to the master bedroom. I had gotten this place hoping that Heather and I could have many years together here. But instead, it was a big, lonely place for a girl and her cat. I put my shoes away in their place. Yeah, stereotypical accountant here, OCD central when it came to organizing things.

After taking care of the evening necessities, I slid my naked body under the sheets and tried to go to sleep. Skipper, for her part, was being as bossy and annoying as ever. I know what some of you are thinking, and yes, most tabbies are male, but a small percentage are female. Just like us lesbians being a small percentage of the population; sort of why I think I bonded with her. I fell in love with her at the shelter a few weeks after I couldn’t take being all alone in the townhouse, despite the fact they named her for Barbie’s sister.

I tossed and turned as I tried to settle down and go to sleep. But an image kept invading my mind. Catering Girl. Her smile, those dimples. My heart was going pitter patter just thinking about her. I could smell my arousal, and soon my hand was between my legs. It didn’t take long for my fingers to work their magic. Once again, I was happy to have a unit at the end of the row. And to have the master bedroom not share a wall with the neighbor’s place. Let’s just say quiet orgasms were not my thing. Satisfied, I drifted off to sleep.

Saturday found me in my normal routine for the most part. A run through the park, laundry, cleaning the house. As I was clearing my lunch dishes, I got a buzz on my phone. A picture from my uncle popped up in the text message window of his eldest son Nathan, working at the Christmas tree lot for his scout troop.

The note with the picture said Nathan would be working at the lot until the evening. I had been thinking about getting a small tree this year so no better time than the present.

Realizing that comfy yoga pants aren’t the smartest thing to get a tree in, I changed into some jeans and an old hoodie. Fortunately, the tree lot was nearby, in the parking lot of a local supermarket. The market donated the space for the tree lot, and the local Boy Scout troop Nathan was a part of staffed it as a fundraiser with the local food bank. 90% of the proceeds went to the food bank, and the rest went to the troop so they could send some less well-off kids to summer camp.

“Hi Whitney, would you like to buy a tree and support the food bank?” For a 13-year-old, he had the sales pitch down well. He proudly showed me around and help me settle on a five-foot Doug Fir and got it wrapped up and on the roof of my Jeep. I just hoped I could get it off on my own back at my place. I was talking with Nathan’s dad for a few minutes when I heard voices on the other side of the fence from the lot.

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