Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 70444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70444 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“Yeah?”
“June Carter Common is her name.”
My mouth hitched up at the name. “Yeah?”
“Tell me about her.”
I’d only met one June Carter in my life and that was two hours ago at a traffic stop.
She was cute, sweet, and honestly a sourpuss. I’d also given her three tickets.
Her name had stuck with because of the reference to Johnny Cash—the man that I was named after.
For her to put me down as a reference…what the hell?
And how would she have gotten my number? I knew for a fact that shit wasn’t listed—I’d just gotten it last night.
Again, what the hell?
“Umm,” I hesitated. “She’s nice. Sweet. Great personality. Big…”
He started to laugh. “I don’t need a description of her attributes, kid. I just want the low down on her attitude. Is she cool?”
I’d given her three tickets, and she hadn’t thrown a fit…so there was that.
“Yeah, she’s really calm and collected. Eager to please,” I offered.
I mean, she’d jumped out of the truck so fast that she’d nearly slipped and fell on her ass. I would say she was eager to please.
“So, she’s not one of those young girls who’ll go all Millennial on me, is she?” Coke asked hopefully.
I snorted. “Nah. She’s nice.” I paused. “And she has a bad ass truck. I mean, it was sweet. Nineteen seventies. Ford diesel. Standard. A girl that can drive standard has to at least have a little patience, right?”
He grunted in agreement. “Know that’s right. Tried to teach my sixteen-year-old daughter how to drive a standard, and you would think I about forced her to kill someone. All that screeching and squawking. Almost told her never mind and got her an automatic, but then decided that she needed a lesson in patience, so I made her learn anyway. Then bought her an automatic. She was pissed for a week.”
I chuckled. “I learned how to drive a standard at fourteen because my dad bought an old Mustang. He said if I learned how then I could drive it to school. Still have the beast, too.”
Thinking about the old Mustang that my father and I had fixed up made something clench in my belly.
I hadn’t called my parents in a week, and we hadn’t left on the best of terms.
They were so fucking worried about me, and they just ‘knew’ that this move wasn’t the best decision for me right now, that I was too ‘fragile.’
I wasn’t fragile. I was angry, and I had a fire lit under my ass. I needed to do something with my life—something that didn’t involve me staying at home under the ever-watchful eyes of all my family and father’s friends.
I already felt like I could breathe, and I’d only been here for a short while.
“Nice. I have an old Mustang in the salvage yard. Belongs to Tennessee Common—he’s the other reference June wrote down. It’s her grandfather. He begged me to give her a chance, and honestly, I wasn’t really wanting to, but after hearing your praises, I think I’ll do it.”
I frowned.
“Why weren’t you wanting to?” I questioned.
“I don’t exactly know June Carter Common, but she is the child of the two hellions of Hostel, Texas.” He laughed. “If you don’t know anything about her parents then you must be new.”
“Been here for a short time,” I agreed. “And no, she wasn’t wild around me.”
I also felt kind of guilty for giving her a good recommendation when I didn’t even know her.
Shit.
But I couldn’t take it back now. I mean, for the short time that I was with her, she was fairly tame.
Surely that was a good indicator of her future actions…right?
Wrong.
I only had to wait a few more hours and respond to a call later that night to realize just how wrong I was.
Chapter 4
When it is okay to call the police: someone is shooting at you. When it is not okay to call the police: someone is shooting at you with a NERF gun.
-Hostel PD FB page
June
“Amanda,” I whined. “You know how I hate tending bar.”
Amanda gave me a hard look. “You want money, don’t you?”
I glared.
“You also don’t start that new job until Monday. You have three whole days to help me. And, I deserve it.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared.
I sighed.
She was right.
Amanda had done a lot for me, and the least I could do was help her tend bar at her dad’s place.
Amanda’s dad owned the oldest and crappiest bar in town, and honestly, I wasn’t even sure how or why it was still open. Nor why people still went there.
Amanda’s dad, Tiny, was awesome. He was also not going to be there today, which was why she was asking for my help.
Tiny was heading to Tulsa for a tattoo convention—Tiny also did tattoos in the back room of the bar—meaning Amanda worked more often than not. But it wasn’t often that she worked without her dad there to back her up if it was needed.