Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I lean in closer to the man, a caustic smile on my face. “Nothing worse than a homeless-looking man who knows designer labels.”
“Despite the wealth covering your ass, wrist, and the diamonds hanging from your ears, it still doesn’t make you anything less than a whore,” he spits, the scent of scotch on his angry lips.
I cock an eyebrow at him, not wanting to let this guy get under my skin, but I’m unable to shove down the disgrace I feel for what my life really is.
I’m not a whore, and I don’t feel an ounce of regret for the choices I’ve made in life, but I’m not in possession of expensive things because I spread my legs for a rich man. I’m the bastard product of a mom who made that choice. She was in love, falling for every syrupy-sweet lie that fell from a man’s lips.
His words are nothing I haven’t heard before. Bitter people tend to want to make others bitter as well. His issues say more about him than they do me, so I give the asshole a wide grin.
“Anything else I can get for you, sir?”
The man snarls at me like a rabid dog getting ready to attack, and I feel like my work is done. I head back down to the man with innuendo-laced lines.
“Still doing alright?”
“That guy is an asshole,” he mutters.
Yet, you did absolutely nothing to put an end to any of it.
The people who say chivalry is dead are correct.
“Just another day,” I tell him. “Another beer?”
He nods, clearly agitated that someone would speak to me the way the other guy did, but he doesn’t have the balls to say a thing to him about it.
Typical.
All men suck.
And that’s why I don’t feel bad about using men the very same way they have been using women for centuries.
Well, except for one man, but I’m supposed to be staying busy so that guy doesn’t get time in my head.
“Had a great time. Thanks.”
God, those words he spoke to me right before leaving without looking back. The only thing missing was a smarmy wink and a fucking pinch on the ass for good measure.
I was floored when he spoke to them, doubted his honesty about being a virgin.
And then I let my mind dig deeper.
I felt dirty and used by morning time.
I felt like he should’ve left a couple twenties on the bedside table.
I still feel agitated about the entire thing. Well, not the actual sex because even as mad as I’ve grown, it was really good sex, possibly the best I’ve had in a while… or ever if honesty is a thing I subscribe to.
“Let me know when you’re ready to cash out,” I tell the flirty man before nodding to my co-bartender to let him know I’m heading to the back for a break.
I normally don’t spend much time away from the actual bar when I’m on the clock. Stepping away gives me time to think, and I stay out of my head as much as I possibly can, but the air in the bar has become stifling.
With hands on my hips, I lean against the wall in the hallway, avoiding the employee lounge because facing people who just continuously bitch about their existence is another thing I just can’t stomach right now.
The asshole sitting at the bar isn’t the only person in the place who hates me on sight just because I have a nice watch. I don’t feel the need to explain why I wear designer jeans and expensive earrings. I don’t owe anyone an explanation, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to willingly open myself up to criticism and nasty looks.
Not working isn’t an option even though financially I don’t have to. I pay my bills with my wages and use Daddy’s hush money for ridiculously expensive things. I never wanted to become reliant on the funds that just continue to show up month after month despite being grown and capable of caring for myself.
I refuse to become my mother, substituting cash for a man’s love.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, wondering just when I started to hate all men.
It makes no sense. Other than having a father that I’ve never met and who doesn’t want anything to do with me, I’ve never been mistreated. I haven’t been assaulted or hurt. I get hit on a lot, men thinking it’s okay to speak a certain way to me with no repercussions, but they don’t put their hands on me. They don’t corner me in the alley and insist on something they think they deserve.
A headache threatens at my temples and I feel a wave of exhaustion roll over my entire body.
It’s all Jude’s fault of course.
I haven’t slept well, and clearly, I can’t even get through a shift at work without getting lost in my head.