Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 94834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
I laugh, watching as the girls get straight back to work as though nothing ever happened. Heather runs a washcloth over the bar, cleaning up the spilled beer as Hannah ducks round to our side to quickly wash up the glasses and get them back under the bar to be used again. For the first time in so many years, I feel like I might’ve just found a place I can call home.
This bar is a complete dive, filled with the worst kind of people, but there’s something charming about the chaos. I can’t help but love it.
An hour passes, and I quickly learn that the more I smile and flirt with the customers, the bigger they tip, and for a while I even enjoy it, until a chill sweeps over my body. My brows furrow and I glance up to find the three guys from my apartment complex, each one of their stares already locked on me.
The two less creepy guys look vaguely interested, but the third guy, the one I’d first seen across from my apartment, looks as though he’s about ready to tear my head clean off my body. My heart races as I fumble with the glass I’m holding, spilling cheap beer up my arm. I’ve never felt fear like this in my life.
The way they look at me . . . it’s as though they want something from me, but I have no fucking clue what that could be. I only just moved back here, and I doubt I owed these guys something before I left. I was eight years old. Surely I couldn’t have racked up some kind of debt with them back then.
Hastily dropping my gaze, I get busy cleaning up the spill and making my customer a fresh beer, but my hands just keep shaking. The three guys don’t try to approach me, don’t even come up to the bar to ask for a drink, just simply hover in the darkest corner, keeping their lethal stares locked on me.
They murmur between themselves, and I’d give everything I have just to hear their conversation. I don’t even know these guys, don’t know anything about them, only that the dude holding the black snake likes to fuck. Though I know with complete certainty, whatever is being said over in that dark corner of the bar, it’s about me.
It chills me to the bone. What do they want with me?
My hands shake profusely, and I try to get back to work, tuning them out and focusing on what I’m doing. I concentrate on the cash handed to me, making sure I give my customer the correct change, but my mind is boggled, and as I glance back at the row of rowdy people before me, I can’t even figure out which one I was serving.
“Yo, what the fuck is this?” a man’s voice sounds across the bar.
My head snaps up, and I watch as the older gentleman narrows his gaze on me as he walks around the bar, the customers stepping out of his way as though he’s some kind of big deal around here. He’s gotta be in his mid-forties and looks like an exhausted version of Chris Hemsworth, only where there should be muscle, it’s nothing but skin and bone.
He makes his way right down to the side entrance of the bar and passes through the little gate.
I immediately offer him my hand, assuming this is Danny. I’ve got one shot to make a good impression, and despite the way my heart races, I won’t be fucking this up. “Hey, I’m Oakley,” I say, hoping I can be heard over the crowd. “Your new bartender.”
“I don’t need any more bartenders,” he says, disregarding my hand. “I’ve got plenty.”
“Sorry to break it to you, Danny,” Heather says, not letting our conversation keep her from doing her job. “But you don’t. Cat, Reb, and Jess were no-shows, and this girl is good. Give her a chance. She’s even been overcharging on beer. Made you a nice little profit. Plus, she’s hot and flirts with the customers. They’ve all been tipping well with her here.”
Oh fuck.
“Overcharging?” I cringe, glancing at this chick who’s supposed to be the manager and has knowingly allowed me to overcharge for the past hour and a half.
She shrugs her shoulders. “Yep. Friday night, game night. Three dollar special on our house beers, but no one’s complained about it yet. If they’re willing to keep paying, then I’m willing to let it slide.”
Danny grins at Heather, more than down with ripping off his customers. “They really didn’t show up?” he questions, glancing around the bar as though magically hoping the three no-shows will just turn up.
“Yeah, not even a call,” Heather says. “Oakley didn’t think twice about it. Saw we were swamped and put on an apron.”