You Again My firecracker babysitter

Chapter 1

Sophia POV

"Hey, mother fucker, over here!" I tossed the towel at a male waiter, a sluggish and naive guy who had just started working a few hours ago. I snorted in disgust, thinking he was a jerk and a numb ass. I was arranging wine cups at the wine bar when a familiar voice caught my attention.

"Sophy Harvey, what's up?" I turned gracefully, knowing full well who would dare to call my name so boldly. Anger flashed across my face, but it quickly subsided as I took in the sight of a new face standing alongside him. I raised my chin stylishly, pointing at the young man. "Who's this dude with you, Teddy?" I asked, my tone laced with a mix of curiosity and wariness.

"A friend," Ted answered, his chair scraping against the floor as he stood up, the sound echoing through the night. I felt a surge of unease at the sudden noise. "Ted!" I sneered, but quickly composed myself.

Mr. Handsome's expression turned stern, and I apologized profusely, adding ice to the ice bucket as I struggled to regain my composure. "What a disgrace," I muttered under my breath, chastising myself for my foolish mistakes. "Silly me," I added, pinching myself for my carelessness.

"Do you care for a drink, Teddy?" I asked, trying to sound friendly despite my reservations about his request.

As I poured the liquor into the short glass cup, the glooping sound filled the air. This cup was reserved for our VIP customers, and I was proud to be one of the professional bartenders who got to serve them. I focused intently on the pour, making sure not to spill a single drop.

"Here you go, Teddy," I said with a smile, handing him the glass. "Enjoy your drink."

"Je vous remercie, ma très chère Sophy," he said with a charming smile, thanking me in French, a language I usually find irritating when used to express gratitude.

But I played along, responding with a formal "You're welcome, sir" as I carefully balanced the tray of expertly mixed potato liquor glasses. My steps were slow and deliberate as I catwalked down the three steep stairs that led to the exclusive VIP section.

The glasses clinked softly on the tray, and the soft glow of the VIP area lights highlighted the delicate condensation on the glasses. I felt a sense of pride and professionalism as I made my way down, my eyes fixed on the waiting customers, and my gaze also drifted discreetly to Isla, who was sitting among them, looking stunning as always.

"Hey, Soph!" Isla's soprano voice cut through the thick atmosphere of cigarette and shisha smoke, which hung heavy like a fueling station, laced from person to person.

"Browny's not going to stop smoking, so get your slim-fitting body out of their mist, Isla," I said, French-accenting the heat, but not when you're with them, girlfriend. I advised, tilting my head to the side.

"I know, I know," she replied, picking up her bright orange purse-thank God it was orange-because Isla was notorious for her questionable fashion choices and matching outfits.