With a Grain of Salt (Lindell #3) Read Online Marie James

Categories Genre: Alpha Male Tags Authors: Series: Lindell Series by Marie James
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Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
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"I'm actually over at the Sigma Phi Kapp house."

My nose flares in an effort to keep from laughing. The poor guy legitimately thinks he has a shot. I know that's all ego, no doubt driven by the young women who probably don't tell him no often.

"I love older women," he continues, licking his lips as his eyes dip lower down the front of my t-shirt.

I narrow my eyes at him. My life experiences may put me in a whole other decade than him, but we aren't that far apart in age.

"Did you want another beer?" I ask with a smile.

"He'll need one to soothe the burn of rejection," his friend says, holding out a credit card. "Next round is on me."

"You're sure?" the guy who has been flirting so poorly asks.

"Certain," I tell him, and oddly enough, the guy dips his head in understanding. "My buddy is buying the next one."

I take the card and walk away, the ribbing the guy gets from his friends tickling my back as I walk toward the bar.

A couple of minutes later, after delivering that particular table their final round, the guy has already moved his attention to the next lady he set his sights on. I'm grateful he is so easily able to change his focus.

Some guys are absolute assholes, and more than once when bartending in El Paso, I had to have one of the guys working there walk me out to my car because I was fearful that my rejection would turn into them confronting me at my car. I haven't had that problem here yet, but I know it'll only be a matter of time. Lindell being a small town and full of respectful people doesn't mean much. There's always one asshole who will come forward and ruin that false sense of security. It's better to just not let yourself feel protected at all.

I pay attention to my tables when Walker yells for last call, but everyone seems content to finish the drinks they already have, some downing them instantly, as if they don't have another fifteen minutes to drink.

I work the room, gathering empty bottles and dirty glasses, making numerous runs back to the kitchen, and cycling them through the washing machine. We run a constant rotation back here at night, and it's much easier than having a runner doing all of it like we had in El Paso. Nine times out of ten, the guy they hired to run dishes would end up taking more breaks than were allowed and we’d run out of clean dishes up front.

Each time I make a trip to the back and come out front, the bar grows emptier until I walk out the fifth time and find Walker closing the front door and locking it behind the last customer.

Instead of making polite conversation, I head to the utility closet to get the supplies I need for the closing shift tasks.

The urgency that's normally inside of me to finish and get out of here is absent tonight. I check my phone and see that Madison texted to let me know that Larkin was a perfect angel and that she hopes that her baby will be a girl because she was so wonderful to deal with. She let me know that Nora and Leo picked her up promptly at six.

I shove my phone back into my back pocket before pulling out the mop bucket, broom, and mop. I grab some clean bar towels and the sanitizing spray before heading back out to the front.

Walker is at the jukebox when I start to wipe down tables, but instead of the music continuing when he steps away, it goes silent.

"Hate that song?" I ask conversationally.

"Just got a headache tonight," he says before going back behind the bar and opening the register so he can start his counts and fill out the bank deposit slips.

I get back to work. If the man doesn't want to talk, then I'm not going to force him to. Honestly, after those first couple of nights closing with him, I sort of like the silence. I don't get it very often. My job at the clinic is filled with yapping dogs and cats not accustomed to being caged. At home, the television is always on with cartoons or Larkin is jabbering away as she plays with her toys. It's not often I get to just exist in quiet.

I pay extra attention to the baseboards around the bar, making a mental note to pay closer attention to them in the future, because it takes longer than it should to clean one spot covered in a spilled drink.

As appreciative as I am to have a few moments of peace, it's also incredibly lonely. I'd avoided making friends in town because I didn't know how long I'd be here. Although I'm a personable person, I've spent a lot of my life avoiding making connections with people. I'm sure it has more to do with my mother and the way I was raised, but therapy is expensive and not even close to the top of my list of things I can afford any time soon.


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