Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 65225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Then he winced, looking at me as if he wanted to take the words back.
I waved away the worry. “Don’t worry about it. I tend to agree.”
His brows rose.
“You think that I want to work in a bar?” I asked.
I didn’t work in a bar, to be honest. I worked as a truck driver. I worked in the bar on my off time. And when I had off time from my off time, I wrote anonymous letters. I was a jack of all trades.
Sort of.
He shrugged.
“I don’t really know anything that you want, Banger,” he said.
That’s when I realized that he was serious.
I sighed. “It’s hard to open up to people, Easton.”
He snorted. “There’s a difference between opening up and being a bitch to the world.”
He had a point.
But it wasn’t my fault that I didn’t like anyone.
I barely tolerated my own sisters.
Well, at least I liked one of them.
Salem.
Mirabel was an asshole and always would be.
Faye had been the nice one. And she’d died.
I have step and half-sisters and a brother from my parents who just can’t seem to figure out who they love at any given moment.
Mirabel and Salem were a few years older than me, and it seemed, in the womb, Salem got all of the niceness and whatever-ness that caused her to be likable. Mirabel was just a plain bitch and worked in my father’s bar out of the kindness of my father’s heart.
I hated her guts and didn’t pretend otherwise.
Speaking of assholes, my least favorite one walked through the door as if she was conjured by my thoughts.
I looked at my watch and tried to suppress a growl. “You’re an hour late, Mirabel. You know you were supposed to be here to accept inventory delivery.”
Mirabel tossed me a look that couldn’t be construed as anything but bitchy.
“I don’t know what you expected, Banger.” Mirabel sniffed. “But you damn well knew that I wouldn’t be here that early in the morning. You should’ve expected it. Oh, hello, Mr. Sexy.”
I gritted my teeth to keep the curse from spilling free of my lips.
Easton ignored her, which made me want to laugh my ass off.
Mirabel did not like being ignored.
Not by anyone, but especially not by hot guys like Easton.
And Easton was hot.
He was tall, about six foot two or three, and had the best proportions I’d ever seen on a man. Tight belly. Narrow waist. Broad shoulders. Big feet. Muscular legs. Impressive biceps.
Hell, if I could put together a person in my dreams, Easton would be it.
He had blond hair that was shaved down the sides and a little bit longer on top, giving him a viking-esque appearance. His beard was a bit longer today, but again, not long enough that I couldn’t make out the dimple that popped up when he grinned at me.
And why was he grinning?
Because he knew, just as well as I did, what would happen if he ignored Mirabel.
She’d get pissed off.
See, my sister didn’t understand that men were allowed to make their own decisions on whether they did or did not like her. She’d never understood that some men just wouldn’t find her attractive.
And I wasn’t sure if Easton didn’t find her attractive—which was likely impossible because my sister was gorgeous—or if he found her personality so unattractive that her looks couldn’t compensate.
That was my thought, anyway.
Her personality was disgusting.
Honestly, if she wasn’t my sister, I would’ve had my father fire her a long time ago.
In total, I had three sisters. The twins were from one of my mom’s first marriages. Faye is from my dad’s previous marriage.
Faye, who’d lived with my dad after divorcing my mother, had been the sweetest and kindest. Salem, who I adored, but she was a lot like me in the no-nonsense category, was ambitious and good-natured and beautiful. Mirabel? She was only beautiful.
It was as if Salem got all of the good traits, while Mirabel got all the good looks. Salem wasn’t ugly by any means. In fact, she was gorgeous. But Mirabel? Mirabel was like a lit candle in the middle of the dark. Nothing else compared.
“Are you even listening to me?”
I blinked, surprised to find that Easton was still there, still standing next to the bar, still standing exactly where he’d been before I’d decided to take a little trip down memory lane.
“Sorry,” I admitted. “She” —I gestured to where Mirabel had exited the room completely— “makes me question my loyalty to her as a sister.”
Easton’s smile flashed. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tip you. I feel like an asshole. I’m not. I swear.”
I looked down at the crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, then back up at the man who really did look sorry.
I picked them up, tore off one, and then handed him back the rest. “You’ve only been in here a handful of times. I’m not worth five hundred dollars for the piddly amount of work I did for you.”