Free The Broken Sister (Sister #6) by Leanne Davis Page B

way to a lone businesswoman in her forties, and a couple in their fifties. She supplied menus, drinks, bread, refills and took orders. Then the handsome business guy’s drink was ready.
    She steeled her nerves, which were strumming oddly. Almost every night she worked, she served guys like the blond. Charming, handsome, successful, sophisticated. Why was this one getting her nervous? She didn’t think it was interest in hooking up with her. She wasn’t that girl here. Most looked over, under, and through her. Only in a party environment could she become that girl men might think about propositioning. But not here.
    “Here’s your drink. I checked on your entrée and it should be out in a few minutes. Is there anything else I can get you, sir?”
    He again lifted his gaze from his work and seemed to hold her suspended in his gaze. Wow, this guy had natural animal magnetism. He must not know what to do with that and it spilled out even when he hadn’t meant for it to, like with his local, friendly waitress. He took a long drink of the vodka tonic while watching her. His throat vibrated and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Her own mouth went dry. It was like the entire sip, swallow, and setting down of his glass happened in slow motion, when in reality it was seconds. She shook her head as if to wake herself from a trance.
    “Good drink. Thank you, Kylie.”
    His voice was deep with a kind of husky tone to it, like he was crooning when he said her name. Like it was an intimate secret between them. She stepped back. “Uh, sure. You’re welcome, sir. I’ll check back.”
    She whipped around before he could say anything so she didn’t embarrass herself by having to try and converse with him.
    Finally his entrée was up. She had just delivered a table of six’s orders and was relieved to carry his light single plate. She first dropped off a refill soda and then proceeded to his table. It was getting busy in the restaurant. The piano player had started playing. It crooned through the place. She set his plate before him. His eyes watched her as he pushed his computer out of his way. “What are you studying?”
    “What?” His question came as she was just retracting her hand from setting his plate down. She was bent over his table, her head now eye level with his. The candle between them flickered over his face. Her breath caught at the way his blond hair went honey and white.
    “School? What are you in school for?”
    She shook her head as if to get the cobwebs out. Of course; in their last little interaction, she told him she went to college. “Um, social services.”
    His gaze fixed on her face. His eyebrows shot up. “Social services? Is that sociology?”
    “A variation of. A sociology degree deals more with the study of human society and social behavior, whereas a social services degree, at least where I go to school, is supposed to be a more direct link to being a social worker.”
    He blinked. “Like welfare services? Child protective services? That kind of social services?”
    Kylie nodded, warming to the topic. It was the first thing at school that had finally sparked her interest. Last year she’d taken a general survey sociology class and it had entranced her. Her professor had been an older man in his seventies who was still absolutely inspiring with his enthusiasm towards the subject. His avidness had transferred over to Kylie. She had always felt huge amounts of empathy towards others and their differences. And in sociology, she found a formalized science that worked at studying the differences of peoples. In one of her professor’s rants, he emphasized that sociology was the study to help “us” as a whole understand not only our society but also others, their motives, aspirations, statuses, occupations, traditions, customs, and institutions. It was almost that exact sentence that caught Kylie’s interest and determined the course of not only her college studies but, she hoped, her