Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Her eyes on me, the suggestive way she touches the corner of her own mouth with the very tip of her pink tongue, don’t foster the same reaction that Boomer’s eyes on my mouth garnered just minutes ago.
There’s something electric about him watching me that I’ve rarely ever experienced before.
“Just the Coke, whiskey, and lime for now,” the woman says, her tone dripping with sexual offering.
I wink at her before turning away to refresh her drink.
I cast my eyes in her direction first, grinning when her eyes drop to my ass, before looking at the mirror at the other side of the bar.
I’d taunted Boomer earlier about watching my ass when I turned around, but I don’t find his eyes locked on the tight denim, rather his eyes are locked on my own reflection in challenge.
There’s one very bad thing about wearing such tight pants, and it’s going to become obvious to everyone paying me any attention if that frustrating man doesn’t stop watching me.
I lose the challenge, pulling my eyes away first.
“Keep the change,” the woman tells me, sliding a twenty across the bar for her ten-dollar drink.
I give her another wink as I pull the bill from the bar top.
“Let me know when you need a refill,” I say before walking to the cash register.
I flirt to get tips but also to filter through those that think they can buy time with me. I’m much more receptive to those that tip the normal dollar or two per drink. I don’t perceive the ones that offer more than normal as being better. Those are the ones that are trouble. Those are the ones that think they own some part of you, like they spent the night making tiny down payments on a piece of you.
Boomer, on the other hand, drinks soda or water all night and leaves five bucks extra when he closes his tab.
I told him earlier I’d leave him alone, but the draw to him is just too much as I make my way down to his end of the bar.
“Another soda?”
He slides the glass toward me, quick to pull his hand back this time. Brushing his fingers twice in one night would probably send the man over the edge.
I make his drink, keeping my eyes on him the entire time. As if he refuses to back down to some unspoken challenge, he keeps his eyes on me. His gaze doesn’t drift down my neck. It doesn’t get lost in the tightness of my t-shirt or the way the fabric clings to my defined chest. He doesn’t glance at my belt or any area below it, but that still doesn’t stop me from feeling like the man knows every one of my secrets.
I know I shouldn’t flirt with him, but I think I’m half in love with the way his cheeks turn pink when I really get going. I wouldn’t bother him if he hated it. If I thought for a second he was a hundred percent straight, I’d leave him alone, but the off chance that one day he may take me up on one of my offers keeps me teasing him.
“Can I get straw?” he asks as I hand him over his drink.
“If you need something to wrap those pouty lips around…”
He blinks in my direction, seemingly unaffected by my words.
“Here,” I tell him, grabbing a straw from the bin behind the bar and handing it over to him.
He thanks me as he takes it from my fingers and it sounds more rote than from actual gratefulness.
Someone yells for me from down the bar, and I give them a quick glance before turning my attention back to Boomer.
His eyes are slow to lift to mine, and I have to wonder how often he watches my mouth when I’m distracted by other customers.
“All jokes aside,” I begin, suddenly a little shy for some reason. “What’s your name?”
He’s been coming here for months and all I’ve ever heard is people call him Boomer. He never even offered his road name up himself to me.
“Boomer,” he says flatly.
“Your real name,” I prod. “Your legal name.”
“They aren’t going to leave you a tip if you make them wait any longer,” he says, angling his head in the direction of the two guys that got my attention just a moment ago.
“Rochelle will help them,” I say, my eyes narrowing as I look around.
I haven’t seen my co-bartender for a while. She normally tells me when she’s going on break, but I’ve also been more distracted than normal tonight. It’s very possible she told me and I wasn’t paying her enough attention to retain the information.
“I get off in an hour,” I tell him. “I don’t have to close tonight.”
Technically, I’m only scheduled to close three of the five nights I work, but with my apartment right upstairs, I normally stay down here until the place clears out. It’s not like I could sleep with the jukebox blaring and people talking right below me. The apartment is a nice perk, but it’s not like it’s soundproofed up there.