Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
I squared my shoulders, gave a tug on my ponytail to reposition it at the top of my head, and marched up to the table of sketchy men, preparing to kill them with kindness. “Hello, boys. Whatcha all celebrating tonight?”
The tallest one, with dirty-blond hair and a stench of old fish, replied, “We’re celebrating you, sweetheart! You’re about to have the best dang night of your life.”
Someone needed to get this boy home and give him a bath. The whole gang smelled pretty ripe.
“Oh, you gonna tip me a winning lotto ticket?” I smiled playfully, trying to keep the mood light. Sometimes it worked with customers like these, who looked like they were out to get rowdy. Keeping it fun kept them in a good mood until they staggered to their trucks and got pulled over by one of Sheriff Idiot’s deputies.
“I got something better than the lotto, darlin’.” Tall Guy proceeded to do a few hip thrusts.
Nasty.
I smiled sweetly, adding extra sugar to my voice. “Cool your boots there, lover boy, or you’ll be gettin’ Joe as your server, and the only crap he takes comes with a cup of coffee in the morning.” I winked.
The men all laughed and ordered drinks, but I sensed it was going to be a long night.
“Hey, Joe,” I said to the bartender, whom I’d just used as a threat. Joe was six five and had soulful blue eyes, a full red beard, and the demeanor of a lazy porch hound. He’d been working here for years and grew up in Franklin, about ten miles down the road. “You seen Jimmie?”
I was going to tell my uncle to keep an eye on table ten. They were making me feel like the last juicy steak in a den of hungry cavemen.
“Jimmie went home twenty minutes ago. He wanted me to tell you.”
I blinked, sliding the Cromags’ drink orders across the counter. “Is he okay?”
“Looked like he sprained his finger trying to fix the mill.”
Not again.
“Hey,” Joe added, “he asked me to close up, but I forgot I have a date. Can you do it?”
Who did Joe think he was fooling? No one went on a date at two in the morning. He had a hookup.
Well, good for him! Just because I didn’t believe in giving out the milk for free didn’t mean I thought everyone should live that way. Joe was single again and had been since he’d split with his girlfriend last year. The man was lonely. Also needed help with his diet. Deedee said he ate pretzel mix for dinner every night. Maybe a little boom-boom would motivate him to eat healthier and get back in shape.
“I can close. No problem.” I could always call Sheriff Idiot if the clowns in the corner started up.
“Thank you, Masie.” Joe moved down the bar and started prepping my drinks. Mostly tap beers and whiskey. Only the rich newbies ordered the fancy stuff like sidecars or martinis, but those patrons were few and far between. They mostly kept to themselves. Thank God.
Maybe that was what I loved about Leiper’s Fork. As fast as things were changing, some things stayed the same, like the annual turkey shoot, our model airplane competition, or the Christmas parade. This bar still looked like a hole-in-the-wall with its tin roof, barnwood siding, and rocking chairs on the front porch. But Uncle Jimmie’s Tennessee whiskeys were making good money after going head-to-head with the best in the world.
Now Jimmie’s smokey Southern hooch and flaming-hot whiskeys were getting orders from places as far away as Japan. Who could’ve imagined that?
Of course, it didn’t matter how much money Jimmie made. He’d never stop working with his own two hands or give up the Flaming Rooster. Leiper’s Fork was his home, and he believed in staying true to his roots.
Joe served up my ticket, and I loaded my tray for the group of sketchy men. I wove through the crowd toward table ten. When I got there, Tall Guy greeted me.
“You ready for the best night of your life, honey?” He put his hand on my shoulder.
I set my tray on the tall round table to his side, plucked his hand up by the index finger, and pushed it away. “Look, sugar, tip me. Don’t tip me. I’m only filling in for a friend tonight after working a full shift this afternoon. But lay one finger on me and—”
He reached under my skirt, swiftly sliding a hand up against my inner thigh, and jabbed his finger at my privates over my panties.
My mind sputtered with confusion, unable to believe he’d just done that.
He smiled and winked.
I jumped back, my mind flooding with the sort of rage that leaves a permanent burn mark. I wanted to scream. I wanted to say something that’d make him realize how disgustingly low he was. But the words didn’t come.