Squeeze the Lime: Is the shot worth taking?

By Courtnie R Dunn

Twenty-seven-year-old Heidi Mitchell is a bubbly, curious waitress trying to find her place in this world. She was set in a simple routine of work, eat, sleep, and play, but she always knew that deep down she wanted more out of life. Just when she's focused on figuring out her own path, a new guy appears in her life, along with unexpected twist

• Language: English
• Publisher: Belle John
• Release date: Jul 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9780578723853

Book preview

Squeeze the Lime

Is the shot worth taking?

Written By:

Courtnie R. Dunn

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Acknowledgment:

About the Author:

Chapter One

I

t is 88 degrees outside, and it feels like 97. The humidity is not a laughing matter here in Nashville. Yet here I am again, spending another day trying to get a dollar, serving tables at the local Cracker Barrel. Serving someone’s Granny-Ann, and you can’t forget Mr. Charles, the Cracker Barrel regular that literally comes in every single day and orders the country dinner, grilled chicken, baby carrots, and don’t you dare forget the pinto beans including the onions and chow-chow. Unsweet tea on the side, with not one, but two lemons. Oh, damn it, of course the hostess sat him in my section. Why do I have to even ask what he wants? He literally gets the exact same thing every day.

Hey, Mr. Charles, what can I get to drink for you today?

Ehhh, get me my unsweet tea… he says.

With two lemon slices! I interrupt. He snarls at me, but I just put on a smile, then turn around and roll my eyes. Did he really just snarl at me? How can one snarl when you order the same thing every single day? As I’m waiting for him to tell me his usual order, I get lost in thought, thinking—here I am placing judgment on Mr. Charles, but I am Mr. Charles.

Every morning, I drink my coffee, and then I get ready to come here to work. Except on Fridays, when I work the night shift, but still—my life is pretty much a plate of grilled chicken tenders, baby carrots, and pinto beans. I don’t even have a little chow-chow in my life. Oh my god. How did I become this person? I’m twenty-seven years old, sharing sections with Virginia, who I might add has been here since 1969. In case you are wondering, that is the year Cracker Barrel opened, and it’s now 2020. Holy shit. I have got to get out of this simple routine. I want excitement and new in my life, possibly even romance. At the rate I am going, the most exciting thing I will be doing is learning to flip ten flapjacks in under five minutes.

Did you hear me?! Or do I need to repeat myself, little missy? Mr. Charles snarls at me again.

Sorry, Mr. Charles, what were you saying? Grilled chicken tenders, baby carrots, pinto beans with chow-chow and onions.

Actually, no…

Wait, did he say NO? I really wasn’t listening to him. Is today the day he really expands his taste buds?

No?

Hold the chow-chow.

The one thing Mr. Charles had in his life that I didn’t.

Okay, Mr. Charles, no spice.

I turn to my other table. Everything okay over here, sir? Another solo diner, probably in his early thirties, slim but muscular. He’s got dark black hair, with a hint of grey in his beard. He resembles the actor Michael B. Jordan. Very good looking. He also ordered grilled tenders and carrots but got green beans instead of pinto.

He’s sitting at the table, doing a crossword puzzle. How’s that crossword puzzle coming?

Just fine. He smiles. I’ll take that check when you get a chance.

I go to the back to ring up Mr. Charles’ order. My thoughts are taking over. I’ve got to get my shit together. I need to figure out what I am doing with my time. There is nothing wrong with working in the food industry, but this is just not what I had originally planned for myself. It is time to quit lollygagging and finish college. I want to make an impact on the world. Okay, maybe not the world, maybe just the animal kingdom, but I need to do something for…

GET OUT OF THE WAY!

What the? Virginia’s wide hip brushes by me. Brushes? More like bulldozes me, because this server aisle is only wide enough for three people to stand, and that would be a tight squeeze.

What gives, Virginia?

Virginia is one of the older servers. She has poofy white hair and likes to say that her hips are cornbread-fed. Her customers love how southern Virginia is, she’s quite popular here. I can never tell if her accent is just country enough for people to think she’s homegrown, or if she was really raised out in the boondocks. She literally puts the ass in sass, and in her mind, it was probably her idea to serve gravy with biscuits.

You! You’re just over there lollygagging, Heidi! The roosters don’t wake up just to stare at the sun, they wake up to get worms!

Are worms supposed to represent money in that statement? Where does she come up with this stuff?

HEIDI! Virginia screams so loud that I drop my tray.

Sorry Virginia, I’m just having an off day.

Mind your own biscuits, and everything will be gravy, she hollers.

She would say something like that. I look back at Mr. Charles, and he’s finishing up his food. He’ll leave me $1.75 for a tip, $2.50 on a good day. He sits at the same table every single time he comes in, and you bet your bottom dollar if that table is taken when he arrives, then he will wait. One time he waited for forty-seven minutes. There were plenty of other tables available, but he refused. He sat outside on one of the rocking chairs until he heard, Mr. Charles, party of one over the intercom. I don’t understand it, but whatever. We all get stuck in our own ways. He likes to sit at the same table with every visit, and I, for instance, always eat my food counterclockwise. It’s a weird habit that I cannot escape. I refuse to eat my green beans before I finish my mashed potatoes, and only once I finish the sides do I move on to the main course.

Mr. Charles, may I get you anything else? Wanna change things up, get some apple dumplin today?

NO.

Alrighty then. See you next time!

Mmm. $1.75. Not a good day, Mr. Charles. I look over at my second table, where the crossword puzzle guy left me ten bucks. That was more than his meal, but hey, I’ll take it.

After coming to the conclusion that we are not that much different, I can’t help but wonder what Mr. Charles does with his day.  He probably goes home after Cracker Barrel, like me, to kick back and relax. After about fifteen minutes of sitting down, he probably gets up, makes himself some unsweet tea, or in my case, sweet, then plops back on the couch to turn on his favorite show. In my case, Grey’s Anatomy, probably in his case, Three’s Company. No, not Three’s Company—it’s too funny and cute. He probably likes the Twilight Zone. I wonder if these teeny boppers even know what the Twilight Zone is. They’d probably assume it’s an area dedicated to Team Edward and Team Jacob fans.

Ugh, I need to get out of the house. I need to change up my life before I end up like Mr. Charles, doing the same thing day in and day out. Every day. Or worse…like Virginia.

↞↠

Y’all hear me? I reckon all y’alls’ eggs are cracked this morning! I need y’all to wake up and HATCH! I yell into my apartment. Oliver, my cat, just got startled by my Virginia impression, making me laugh out loud. Good ol’ Oliver, he’s been by my side for four years. I was shopping one day, and there was a woman outside her car in the parking lot holding a box with free kittens on it. At first, I hesitated, but then I walked over just to see what cute critters were in that box. There was my sweet Oliver, his little plump, bright orange striped self. He had take me home eyes, and well, I just couldn’t resist. For the record, I am not one of those crazy cat people who have everything cat merchandise. I think my cat is, in reality, a lazy asshole, and I don’t always get him a Christmas present. But I do love that shithead. My phone pings with an incoming text.

Bethany: What are you doing?

Bethany Morton has been my best friend since we were in middle school together. She is beautiful, she knows it, and so does everyone else. When Bethany walks into the room, people stare. Guys awe in her beauty, and women envy her confidence. She knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to go for it. 

Heidi: I’m wallowing in self-pity. What do you want?

Bethany: Heidi. Get your ass up. Let’s go out.

Heidi: …

Bethany sees that I am typing. I keep thinking of excuses to bail, but before I come up with something believable, she already sends me another text calling me out.

Bethany: And don’t you respond with some bullshit, I will be at your place in an hour. So, get ready, we are going out.

Heidi: Mehh okay.

I always give in to Bethany, because really, in most cases, whatever she says goes. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. I need to quit acting as though the tooth fairy didn’t leave money under my pillow. Grow up, Heidi. If you want something done, then only YOU can do something about it. And if you cannot, alcohol can definitely be a temporary solution.

Heidi: Bethany…

Bethany: Yes Heidi?

Heidi: Let’s do tequila shots tonight.

Bethany: Oh shit. Tequila? Are we celebrating or are we mourning?

Heidi: Definitely celebrating.

↞↠

Later that night, we ended up at a random bar on Broadway. Music City is full of honky-tonks, and there’s live music everywhere you look, so you can never go wrong by just picking a random bar. We walk in the building and head up to the rooftop. Bethany jets straight to the bar and comes back with two tequila shots.

In life, don’t be the lime! Be the tequila, always, she says. Translation: don’t be the chaser, but the one who gets chased. We shoot back our shots, and I practically inhale my lime. I close my eyes tight as the alcohol chills take over, and when I look up, I see someone staring right at me like he was staring into my soul.

He looks really familiar, but I just smile back. Bethany sees me smiling at someone, so she spins her head around trying to spot them, then shouts, Who the hell is that?

I don’t know. He was looking right at me, so I just smiled back, hell.

Let him come to you! Don’t be the lime!

I roll my eyes. You know, Bethany, it doesn’t really matter who chases who in the beginning, as long as it all works out in the end.

OKAYYYY PRINCESS, whatever you say. At least play hard to get. She rolls her eyes.

I’m not playing anything. I’m just enjoying myself. Besides, he’s gone anyway.

At some point during our banter, he had disappeared.

We take a couple more tequila shots and dance next to our table, then I tell Bethany that I’m going to get some water because my head is starting to spin a bit. I make my way over to the bar, sit down, and wait to be greeted. The bartender puts a tequila shot in front of me, with two limes on the side.

Oh no—I didn’t order this.

She looks at me and smiles. Yeah, I know. That gentleman right there did. She points in his direction.

I look over, and there he is—the guy who caught my eye when I took that first shot. I feel a stir in my stomach, and I can’t tell if it’s the tequila or the gorgeous man. He doesn’t look like your typical Nashville guy, who’s attire is typically cowboy boots and a plaid shirt. This man is clean-cut and very well dressed. He’s actually a little overdressed for this particular bar, where there is ax-throwing downstairs. Why does he look familiar to me, though? I turn back to the bartender and ask her if I may also have a glass of iced water. Once she hands it to me, I make my way over to tall, dark, and handsome. Bethany would shoot me dead if she saw me making my way over to the empty seat next to him because, according to her, this is the chase. He’s the tequila, and I’m the lime. Whatever. Plus, I have the liquid courage from those last shots Bethany and I took.

His suit is much nicer than I initially realized before. I can tell by the fabric that it’s one of the more expensive ones, but I am not up to date on name brands.  He has a really nice smile—well actually, smirk. I feel anxious as I approach him, but I bite the bullet and sit down next to him. I give him a smile and put my hand out to shake.

Heidi. Heidi Mitchell.

He looks me over once and puts his hand out to meet mine. Asher Campbell, ma’am.

Asher Campbell? Well, nice to meet you, Asher Campbell. I feel the tequila all over my body. I take a gulp of my water.

He smiles a big smile looking at me. Nice to meet you, Heidi. Would you like another drink?

I laugh. Oh, no, thank you, that last one did me in. Actually, I feel the tequila talking, and I can’t help but think you look really familiar?

He takes a sip of his drink, looks like Jack and Coke. Well, I did notice you earlier when you came in, when you were taking shots with your girlfriend over there. I take a quick glance over my shoulder to see Bethany is still occupied dancing, then I turn back to Asher Campbell.

Oh yes, but even then, I thought you looked familiar when I saw you.

He smiles and says, This morning when I woke up, I went to work, and long story short, I was having a terrible day. So when I left the office for lunch I wanted to go somewhere I wouldn’t run into anyone. Then this evening, when I was about to get well acquainted with my friend Jack here, my night suddenly turned around when I saw you—the pretty waitress from lunch.

My eyes get really big, and I feel a blush rise in my cheeks.

I gasp. That’s it! You’re the crossword puzzle guy!

Ha, yeah, that was me. He grins.

"Well, Mr. Campbell, you must have had quite the bad day to end up at the Barrel and to be out on a Thursday night."

Yeah, you could say that. He took another sip of his drink.

Well, let’s turn that frown upside down! I wave my hand in the air towards the bartender. My inner self is beaming with pride as I am confidently stepping out of my comfort zone. So I decide to have a mini celebration for myself. Hello there, ma ‘am, may I have another round, and one for my friend here, Mr. Campbell.

He looks at me funny. It’s my treat this time, I assure him.

He laughs. No, that’s not it. I thought you said that last one did you in, Heidi.

OH! Right! I gasp, then look at the bartender. Halfsies, please. I smile at her, and she nods her head, laughing.

What in the hell is a halfsies? He looks puzzled.

A halfsie is when you’re not all in, but just halfway.

He laughs. That’s cute.

I take a drink of my water to prepare my stomach for what’s coming. Okay, Campbell, let’s do this. Cheers me. We lift our shot glasses in the air. Tequila may not be the answer, but it’s worth a shot, I say. He smiles, and we take them back.

Oh hell. I felt that.

Suddenly, Bethany appears out of nowhere. And at the perfect time, I may add.

Hi! I’m Bethany. She puts her hand out to my new drinking buddy as she slides between us.

Bethany, Campbell. I point between them. Campbell, Bethany.

He shakes her offered hand. Asher.

Campbell Asher? Or Asher Campbell? Bethany looks at us both, confused.

He answers, The name is Asher Campbell.

Gotcha, she says, well, nice to meet you. How’s my friend Heidi doing?

It was hard to tell if she was asking him or me the question, so I responded, Hakuna matequila.

Asher looks between us with confusion on his face. Actually, I think that was Patron we just had.

Bethany knew precisely what I meant. It’s code for no more memories for the rest of the night, thanks to tequila. That last shot did me all the way in, even though it was only halfsies. I haven’t hit my breaking point, cue the vomiting, but ya girl is most definitely feeling it.

I look at Bethany, and I can tell by the look on her face that she is putting a plan in motion to get me out of here. I am not yet ready to leave—I want to embrace this side of me. Plus, I would regret not seeing where this evening could possibly go with this intriguing man.

Before Bethany can say anything, I rest my hand on her shoulder and say, You know, I think I am going to hang out a little longer.

She scowls at me and asks, Are you sure?

I glance over at Asher to get a glimpse of his reaction. His face becomes softer as his eyes appear to light up. He gives me a satisfying smile, waiting for my response to Bethany. I glance back at her, grinning ear to ear, and answer, Yeah, thank you, I’m good. 

She looks over Asher once, then goes back to where we were sitting before. I might not remember the rest of the night from here on out, but I am going to live in this moment, damn it.

Asher and I sat at the bar for the next few hours, while he ordered two more Jack and Cokes, and I had three more waters. We talked about his favorite sports team, and I told him my favorite local seafood restaurant, and that I’m a Nashville native. He mentioned how he had just recently moved here from Chicago due to a job promotion, but then quickly changed the subject off of him to learn more about me.

So, Heidi, how long have you been waitressing?

Buzzkill. I roll my eyes.

"Well, I don’t just waitress. I mean, I do currently, but I’m in the middle of figuring all that out. Trying to find my path in this world, while also trying not to have a Britney Spears 2007 level breakdown."

He looks at me and says, You know, if you did have a breakdown, it wouldn’t necessarily be the worst thing in the world.

Uh, how so? I do believe that would be awful, I exclaim.

His eyes have been so mysterious this whole time, and I haven’t quite been able to read him. Maybe the tequila is hindering me, but at this moment, his eyes are undeniably sad.

Well, he says, people are so quick to assume that breakdowns are the worst thing to happen to someone. But the truth is, sometimes that’s what people need. To fall apart and then put yourself back together, possibly even stronger than before you broke down. To let go and let God.

I stare at him, grasping at what he just said. I’ve never heard it from that perspective before.

Well, that was deep. And well said.

He laughs. "I’m just saying. Some people look at it as a breakdown, and yeah, that might be the case at that moment, but it might also be a breakthrough."

Have you had a breakthrough, Asher?

I will let you know, ma’am, he says coyly, so you better stay tuned. Then he winks at me. I take a deep breath and exhale. I am suddenly very aware of how I feel being around him. He is seductive without even really trying—he could whisper chocolate milk in my ear, and the hairs on my arm would raise. I have never had such a strong sensation towards a stranger before. I crack my knuckles as if that will help calm my nerves, but truthfully I like this feeling of lust between us.

I was doing well, but after that conversation, everything pretty much goes blank. I vaguely remember laughing at the bar and talking about nonsense. I know I felt comfortable with him, which is hard to believe considering we just met, but I was on a natural high being around him.

↞↠

The next thing I know, I’m waking up in a bedroom that’s not mine. I glance around, and nothing looks familiar at all.

Lord, Jesus. HEIDI MITCHELL. Where the hell is my phone? And where are my pants?!

I hear footsteps. My heart is pounding, and my natural reaction is to hide underneath the covers. Any murder mystery would still label Asher—if that is whose bed I’m in—as a stranger, considering we only met less than twenty-four hours ago. I can’t help but feel as if I am starring in an episode of Law and Order: SVU, and I hear my mother’s voice in my head, Now Heidi, what did I tell you about stranger danger?

Okay, stranger, whoever you are, just don’t be a murderer…and please have coffee for the random half-naked woman in your bed.

Why are you hiding under the sheets? says a deep male voice with a chuckle.

I uncover my eyes, relieved to see Asher Campbell standing there with coffee. Praise the Lord, you answered my prayers. Although just so we are clear, I am speaking for the coffee, not the gorgeous man holding heaven in a cup.

Ha, well, you see, I stutter. I thought you could have been a murderer, so my instincts were to hide. Now I realize my hiding spot wasn’t exactly well thought out, but in my defense, I do feel slightly hungover and by slightly…I mean a lot. I chuckle.

You don’t remember anything, do you? he says, smiling.

I smile really big, then facepalm. No, ugh. But thank you for the coffee, I say, taking the mug Asher offers me. Was it terrible?

Was what terrible? Oh, we didn’t do anything, Heidi. He sits at the end of the bed. You told your friend Beth— he begins to say.

Bethany, I interrupt.

Yes, Bethany, you told her that you were fine, and told her that you were being the lime. She was reluctant to let you go, and she actually made me swear that I wasn’t a murderer. Which I always find odd, because what person would actually admit that they are a murderer? Anyways, I called us an Uber. And I think it’s safe to say you know every single word to ‘I Wanna Dance with Somebody.’

OH NO! I interrupt again.

He laughs. "Oh yes. It was cute. The driver sang along with you. Then we came here to my house because you insisted you could make the best egg sandwich in all of Nashville. You told me to wait patiently, so I did. I waited for probably about half an hour on the couch, then when I looked down the hall, I didn’t see