Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83331 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Please do.”
He found a chair at a nearby table and as he sat down next to me, I began to flirt. Not with him—at least, not yet. First, I was toying with the thought that tomorrow, I could wake up warm for the first time since getting to Sven’s Beard.
CHAPTER SIX
Grady
“Tastes like Willie Nelson,” Jake said, making a face and pushing his beer to the center of the table.
“I know I’ll regret asking,” Coulter said, “but what the hell are you talking about?”
“Kristy wants me to cut back on the swearing since she’s expecting.” Jake shrugged. “And it’s easier if I replace swear words with singers or bands.”
Coulter met my eyes and shook his head. “Can’t believe she still lets him order a beer. Hell, ’fore long, he’ll be sitting here on a barstool sipping on a juice box. Maybe Kristy’ll send him a little bag of Goldfish to snack on.”
I’d known them both since we were kids. We’d played football together in high school and started meeting up at The Hideout when we were home on college breaks. Jake was married to his high school sweetheart and owned a successful contracting business. Coulter was an officer for the Sven’s Beard Police Department, making me his boss. When we were outside of work, though, we could still shoot the shit as friends.
I knew a lot of people in the bar tonight, but there weren’t many besides Jake and Coulter that I’d call friends. I’d arrested several of the patrons here, including Danny Price, who sat at the table next to us. His driver’s license was still suspended for a recent DUI conviction, and word around town was that he was now getting around on his dad’s snowmobile. Technically that was illegal, which was probably why he kept giving me nervous glances.
“Can I have some of your Goldfish?” Coulter asked Jake.
Jake glowered at him.
“I think he wants you to Willie Nelson off,” I told Coulter.
Coulter opened his mouth to respond, but instead, his jaw dropped farther and he said nothing as he stared across the bar.
“So that’s Avon Douglas,” he said. “Damn, she is hot.”
I followed his line of sight, feeling a pounding sensation in my chest when my gaze landed on Avon. Rubbing my sternum, I furrowed my brow.
“What’s up?” Jake asked from the other side of the table.
“I don’t know, indigestion or something.”
Avon was sitting with her cousin Harper, and not surprisingly, Austin Lawson was standing between them, blatantly hitting on Avon. I couldn’t believe she was actually smiling at him—he was a Grade A douchebag whose bedpost was maxed out on notches.
“What do women see in him?” Coulter muttered. “He’s more of a tool than the shit he sells in his store.”
I shrugged. “She’s from California. She probably likes blond guys who wax their chests.”
Coulter hummed his agreement. “Doubt Lawson’s got any hair on his chest.” He grinned at me. “You know, you could bag her if you wanted to, Chief.”
I scowled at him. “You’re a real romantic son of a bitch. I don’t want to bag anyone.”
“Don’t look at me like that. You say you’ve moved on, but you never”
I cut him off. “Waylon Jennings you. If I want your advice, I’ll ask for it.”
Coulter fell silent and Jake busied himself texting to avoid getting in the middle of things. I sipped my beer and leaned over to peer into the sliver of a view our table had of the kitchen. Apparently, the cooks were butchering a cow to make our burgers. Even for a Saturday night, this was slow service. Coulter and I had spent the day ice fishing and I was ravenous, my roast beef sandwich and thermos of coffee not nearly enough to hold me over all afternoon.
“Shit, I’m about to go back there and cook it myself,” Coulter muttered.
I wrapped a hand around the back of my neck, glancing at Avon again. Coulter was right—she was hot, but she stuck out like a sore thumb in the Beard. Her shoes tonight were the most ridiculous yet—a pair of heels with so many straps they had to take at least fifteen minutes to get on and off. There were women here who dressed impractically for a night out, but most of the lifelong residents wore a good pair of boots in the winter, no matter where they were going.
One slip on ice and a fall into a pile of snow would convince Avon I was right. Not that she’d be here long enough to fall. She was out of here Monday, and the Chronicle probably wouldn’t be around much longer than she would.
Print newspapers were dying a long, slow death. Pete had been a good friend of my dad’s and I knew he’d been operating on a shoestring for a while now. But for him, that paper was a labor of love.