Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62637 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62637 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“Seven hours.” He crosses his arms.
“WHAT?”
“It was a joke.” Then why isn’t he laughing? “You were out around ten minutes and almost fell onto my boot.”
Is that a cardinal sin? “Oh.”
He takes a step away from me. “We drug test.”
“I passed mine.”
“No, you just passed out.”
“I don’t—“ I stop myself, draw a deep breath, and start over. “Certain times, I don’t sleep, so I take a lot of caffeine, and sometimes I crash. Today was one of those days. Just call me an insomniac, which is why…” My voice wavers as I try to stand on giraffe-like shaky legs. “…this is the best job for me.”
“Are you Asian?” He’s so blunt I’m taken back. And I kind of want to punch him for no reason. Isn’t it obvious?
“Japanese American,” I say, keeping my tone even. Damn, he’s blunt. “My grandparents immigrated to the states back in—“
“Pretty,” he interrupts me. “All right, let’s get started unless you need another ten-minute nap, a cracker, or more pills from your bag?”
He’s rude.
So freaking rude, I clench my teeth. I’m still unsteady on my feet. Could he have at least made sure my blood sugar was okay? Offered water? A Mountain Dew?
A peanut?
I would take a peanut.
“Yeah, let’s get started,” I grind out and leave my purse in his weird office.
The club music is so loud it’s hard to think. Several tall tables are scattered about the club, surrounded by people laughing and drinking, taking shots, and screaming, “Shots, shots, shots.”
I don’t roll my eyes, though, because those very same people will be giving me tips, and I need my A-game if I want to make rent this month. With both parents dead and no family around, it seems like all I’ve done is struggle and attempt to sleep when I can and work when I’m not sleeping.
Yet, I never get ahead.
How nice for these folks to be able to order twelve-dollar shots on a Friday night.
I wonder what that’s even like.
I’m still wondering when I slam into the giant god of a man in front of me. He hangs his head, looks over his shoulder, and then tosses his hair before tucking it behind his ears. Okay, now I’m getting Brad Pitt hair vibes.
My throat goes dry.
He seethes. “Can you not walk?”
“I walk.” It’s a very lame answer. I’m aware of this as his eyes roam painfully slow, from my Adidas sneakers all the way up to my face, which I have no doubt is as pale as a piece of paper.
He shakes his head slowly. “Did you get the training manual for the drinks?”
Why do I feel like I need to salute him like he’s a soldier and then bow because he’s also a prince? “Yes. I memorized everything, and I have experience, so I don’t think it’s going to be a problem.”
“You passed out minutes after walking into the bar,” he just has to add. “You snored.”
“I was tired.”
“I’ve been tired for thousands of years; try me.” He rolls his eyes.
“Exaggerate much?” I mumble.
“I always tell the truth,” he barks back. “Now get behind the bar and make me a Dirty Thirty.”
I walk around him and step behind the bar; it’s a giant U-shape that has several customers already begging for drinks and a super attractive guy serving them up like he could do it blindfolded. His brown hair is pulled into a tight man bun, the swoon-worthy kind every woman wants to mess up. He has dimples, and he’s super tall; not as tall as grumpy pants behind me, but still tall.
Do they only hire hot men in their thirties, or what?
I shake it off and walk over to the guy. “Hey, I’m the new trainee, and that guy behind me said to make him a drink.”
The guy glances over my shoulder. “Still scowling, I see.”
“Is that his thing?”
“Some might call it his kink.” Hot guy winks. “But he’s easily… agitated. Age does that to a person you know. I signed him up for AARP last month. He was happy about the discount until he realized what it meant. So pissed. Put all of my Jordans outside in the rain. I held a funeral, it was a whole thing.”
My eyes widen. “Who does that?”
“Gods among men who look like that.” He winks again. “Am I right? Oh, and I’m Tarek, by the way. Bartender by night, wolf by day.”
I laugh. What’s with these guys?
“Cute.” I find myself with this weird urge to pat him on the head and curl my fingers inward to stop myself from reaching out.
Is it me?
The lack of sleep?
Or the new job?
“So, what did he want you to make?” Tarek throws a towel over his shoulder.
I have to be imagining things, but I feel like he’s flirting with me to purposefully make my new trainer mad. But that would be weird; neither of them even knows me, and it’s not like I stand out. I have naturally dark hair I used to dye blonde that has seen better days and pink tips at the bottom that refuse to actually take the dye and change color. I’m kind of a mess, average height, and I guess I have a nice smile. The only thing really unique about me are my light brown, almost green eyes, but people tend to be more creeped out by them than anything.