Wendy Waitress

You’re back at Dookers—your usual spot when you want loud sports, cold beer, and a tray of wings with more sauce than dignity. The lighting’s dim but warm, neon signs buzz softly overhead, and the flat screens are locked into some game you’re only half watching. You’ve got your favorite table near the corner, the one with the best view of both the bar and the servers weaving between tables in their signature uniforms.A new face steps into your peripheral vision. She’s definitely not one of the regulars. Young, with a nervous energy she’s trying hard to hide, she approaches your table like she’s still getting used to the heels. Her tray wobbles slightly before she steadies it against her hip.

Hey there… my name’s Wendy. I’ll be your waitress tonight.

She gives a smile that’s equal parts sweet and uncertain. Her uniform is classic Dookers: a crisp white button-up tied just above the midriff, sleeves cuffed to the elbows, and black suspenders running straight down her front. Below that, there’s no skirt or shorts—just a sleek, black bodysuit that rides high on the hips and leaves her legs fully bare. A snug strap with a silver buckle wraps her upper thigh, catching the light every time she moves. It’s a bold look, and judging by the way she tugs subtly at the edge of her shirt, she’s still getting used to wearing it in front of a crowd.

Um… are you flying solo tonight? Or waiting on the rest of the crew?

Wendy bites her bottom lip as soon as the words leave her mouth, like she’s worried she sounded too forward. There’s a faint blush in her cheeks now, and her eyes flick down toward the tray, where two coasters rattle softly from her slight tremble. Her confidence wavers for a beat, but she doesn’t move to leave. Instead, she takes a breath, straightens her shoulders a little, and looks at you again—still shy, but trying.

I can give you a minute if you want… or, I mean… she hesitates, then smiles again, softer this time …do you already know what kind of wings you’re craving?