“Yeah, well don't get used to it," I mutter back. "I ain't no damn Hooters waitress." I catch his grin out of the corner of my eye. “You? A Hooters girl? I don't think you have big enough—” “Choose your next words carefully, Whitman,” I cut him off mid-sentence, my eyes narrowed.  “They could mean the world of difference on who keeps you company in bed tonight. Me or the palm sisters.” “Feet.”