Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I blow out an exasperated breath before turning for the door, and right as I’m about to walk out, he speaks again.
“Oh, and welcome to River’s Edge.”
I flip him the middle finger and push the door open. I’m supposed to go pick up the spare key Henry said he’d make for me, but I’m starting to think I might have to take him up on the offer to put me to work. I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to working with him, but it’s not looking good. I don’t want to feel like I owe him anything. I’m already staying at his house.
Just as the door is closing behind me, a girl stumbles out of the place next door, almost face-planting onto the sidewalk. I throw out my arms in a useless attempt to catch her before she goes down.
“Holy shit,” she breathes, catching her balance and smoothing out the mat in front of the door with her foot. I look up to see the sign that reads B.B.B. with Blackbear Bar written underneath—a silhouette of a bear behind it.
“Drunk already?” I laugh. “It’s like two in the afternoon. My kinda girl.”
“I wish,” she mumbles, leaning against the wall before opening a pack of cigarettes and bringing one to her lips. “I always trip over that damn mat. I keep telling my boss to get one that doesn’t bunch up. Want one?” she asks, holding out the gold and white pack as she takes a drag.
“Nah, I don’t smoke.” Pretty much everyone in my life does, but I’ve never seen the appeal. I can’t tell you how many times I was made fun of as a kid for smelling like cigarettes at school. I hated my mom for smoking inside—though that was nothing in comparison to her crack habit. But, in my selfish twelve-year-old mind, the drugs didn’t affect me, at least not my social life. The smell of smoke did. My hair, clothes, everything, always reeked. You spend money to kill yourself and smell like an ashtray in the meantime. No thanks.
“Yeah, I don’t usually, either. It’s one of those days.”
I nod. “I’ll take a job, though. Got one of those for me?” I’m half-joking, but if it works, it works.
She blows out a cloud of smoke and looks over at me, eyeing me up and down.
“What’s your name?”
“Logan,” I say, holding out my hand, and unlike the guy next door, she shakes it. “But everyone calls me Lo.”
“I’m Sutton. You new in town?” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. She’s gorgeous with straight jet-black hair that doesn’t quite hit her shoulders and is slightly longer in the front.
“Yep.”
“Are you here for good or just temporarily?”
“For good…ish,” I answer honestly. We’ll be here until summertime at the very least. Who knows what the future holds after Jess graduates. I don’t see us going back home anytime soon.
“We do need someone, but not if you’re going to bail in a couple weeks or a month. It’s slow now, but we’re about to hit our busy season, and we’ll need you till at least March.”
“Sold.”
“Do you have any experience bartending?”
“Bartending, serving, closing, opening, cooking, hosting, bussing…you name it, I’ve done it.”
“Can you work weekends?”
“I can work whenever you need me.”
“I’ll talk to my boss, but no objections to working weekends and a great rack to boot? Pretty sure you’re Jake’s dream employee. Got a number where I can reach you?”
Sutton puts out her half-smoked cigarette then holds out her phone. I program my number before she pockets it back into the tiny apron tied around her waist.
“Thanks. You’re the first nice person I’ve met here.”
“Don’t thank me yet. This is the calm before the storm.”
It’s meant to be a warning, but what she doesn’t know is that this job is already a million times better than anywhere I’ve ever worked. I can tell that much without even stepping foot inside. The uniforms aren’t skimpy, for one. Black leggings and a white tee with the Blackbear logo on the right breast. Beats the last bar I worked at that required me to have my tits and ass on display for every drunk asshole to grope. I can handle the long hours and tired feet.
“Challenge accepted.”
* * *
“I’VE GOTTA GET TO THE car shop before they close. You good to close tonight?” I ask Cordell, who’s finishing up on his client. It’s a weekday, so I usually stay until at least twelve. Sometimes as late as two a.m. on weekends to catch the crowds at closing time, but tonight, Cord is closing up shop for me.
“I got it.”
“Thanks, man.”
I pull my hood onto my head and step outside. It’s the end of October, which means two things. One, winter is coming. Two, tourists are coming. Well, it’s always tourist season here—with the lake and the river for the summer and the snow for winter sports—but December and January are notoriously brutal. Good for business. Bad for my whole not liking people thing.