Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122219 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
She glanced over her shoulder toward me before returning to drying the shot glasses. “Since I get paid a teacher’s salary.”
“I always thought it was awful how little teachers got paid. Other professions shouldn’t be making anywhere near what they do, compared to teachers.”
“Says the fancy MLB player offered multimillion-dollar contracts,” she huffed. She tossed her towel over her shoulder and placed a hand against her hip. Her hip that she’d popped out. Her hip that my eyes fell straight toward. The way that body curved…
“You need another drink?” she asked.
“No, I still have my beer over at the table.”
“Then stop taking up my bar space.”
I scanned the empty bar. “No one’s here.”
“I like to keep my counter space open if people do wander in. So if you could please leave,” she said as she began to tie up a trash bag. She pulled it from the container and started heading for the back door. I sat in my seat for a moment, still feeling the urge to talk to her about what happened yesterday at the high school. So I stood and I followed her outside to the gated area with the giant trash bins. As I stepped outside, I closed the still-opened door, swinging it shut behind me.
“Hey, Avery. I was hoping we could talk about—”
She turned quickly at the sound of the slamming door and shouted, “No!” She hurried over to the door right after it clicked shut. Her hand wrapped around the doorknob, and she pulled it repeatedly, but it didn’t budge.
Oh shit.
We were locked out.
“Dammit!” she yipped as she pounded her hands against the door, trying to make as much noise as possible. Unfortunately, the music inside was too loud from the jukebox, which my brothers added more coins to with every passing minute.
She turned to me with a murderous look in her eyes. I could feel her rage from the intensity of her stare. If possible, I wouldn’t have been shocked if smoke started shooting out of her ears.
“What are you doing?!” she shouted, flailing her arms in the air. “That door locks from the inside when it shuts!”
“Why would they make a door that locks from the inside?”
“Why would you follow me out here?” she countered.
Good rebuttal.
I rubbed my hand on the back of my neck. “I was hoping we could talk.”
“Talk?” she grumbled. “By the trash bins?”
“To be fair, you didn’t want me at your bar counter,” I replied.
She didn’t find humor in anything I said. She stared blankly at me for a few moments before returning to the door and pounding against it. “Hey, open up the door!” she shouted. “Let me in!”
No one came, and I felt pretty shitty about it.
I glanced around the area to see if there was an easy way out, but it was enclosed by a fence that went higher than my wannabe Spider-Man self could climb.
Avery gestured toward me. “Do you have your phone? Call your brother.”
“Yeah, of course.” I reached into my back pocket and patted it, only to find no phone. I’d placed it on the table beside my beer before taking the shot with my brothers. “Actually…”
“Oh my goodness,” she groaned as she slapped her hand to her face. “I’m the only one working tonight, Nathan, and the bar is unattended. Do you know how much trouble I could get into for this?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“To what?” She cut in. “Disrupt my life? Because it seems you’re on a nice campaign to do exactly that.”
I grimaced as she said those words. Sure, I hadn’t made the best impressions over the past forty-eight hours, but the last thing I wanted to do was cause Avery any trouble. If anything, I wanted to make things right between us. Yet somehow, I’d managed to keep screwing that up.
“Yeah,” I said. “That.”
She rolled her eyes. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re the same as you’ve always been.”
“I’m not the same boy you knew back then, Avery. I’m better than that.”
“No, you aren’t. People don’t change. At least not for the better.”
“So you’re telling me that you’re the same person you were when you were eighteen?”
“No,” she disagreed. “I’m a lot harder and a lot more distrusting. That’s what life does to people. It makes them cynics.”
“Not everyone,” I argued.
“Most.” She tugged on the door again, as if the more she pulled, the more likely it would open. She then pounded against it with her open hand, mumbling something under her breath. Probably a few cuss words. With a weighted sigh, she groaned and surrendered from pounding.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I watched her defeated body fall against the cobbled wall.
She shut her eyes and tilted her head up toward the sky. “For what? Getting me locked out here or taking my job? Either way, I don’t forgive you.”