Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
I chuckled. What an act. “Fine. I’ll buy a round for the bar.” I held eye contact as I took my credit card from my damp wallet and handed it to her. “If you could kindly have Patrice rouse Jim with the hitch on his truck, we would greatly appreciate it.”
She flashed me a smile, plucking the card from my hand and turning away. Little schemer.
“I don’t think she likes you,” Trent noted before tipping his beer back and taking a long swallow.
“Everyone likes me,” I murmured. It was true. I never gave anyone reason to dislike me. Sure, there’d been a few people over the years who’d misinterpreted my drive as dismissal, but those people were few and far between. I strived for peace over strife and I didn’t enjoy hurting people’s feelings.
And I hadn’t been rude to the beautiful server. I’d made sure to only allow my gaze to wander down her shirt when she was looking the other way, and she hadn’t been able to see me checking out her ass, unless she had eyes in the back of her head.
So the only possible reason for her disdainful reaction was that she’d misjudged me due to some personal bias.
Ivy League.
The nickname made me suspect she thought I was a stuck-up rich boy who considered himself better than the working-class people in this bar. Calling this place a dive bar by the docks upon entering had probably not helped.
“How about a game of pool?” Aidan asked.
“Sure. Why not?” Grant answered. I sighed and then threw back the shot of bourbon. I’d expected it to burn, but the smooth flavor glided down my throat, the nutty, vanilla aftertaste a welcome surprise. My false assumptions took another hit and I was happy to be proven an ass. This bar knew good liquor.
“I play winner,” Trent said.
I turned slightly in my chair and watched Aidan rack the balls. Thirty minutes later, the woman came out of a hallway on the other side of the room and headed in our direction. Took you long enough. “You’re in luck,” she said. “Patrice was up, and she’s woken Jim.”
Imagine that. “Thank you,” I said as kindly as possible. “We really appreciate your help.”
She gave me a small smirk. “Where’s the car?”
“Mile marker fourteen,” Grant said from beside the pool table. He raised a hand and circled his finger behind him. “On that dark as hell road that turns into town.”
Her gaze moved to him. “Make and model?”
“Lexus LS.”
She let out a short grunt. “Keys?”
“We can give Jim the keys when he comes by,” I said.
She looked up. “Oh, um…well, Jim’s not coming by. Because see…his truck is too wide for the narrow streets down here. But,” she smiled, “another round of drinks will buy you key delivery service out to Jim and Patrice’s house.”
“Who will deliver the keys?”
“Who?”
“Yes, who runs this key delivery service?”
“Hmm, well, Ernest…next door is about to close up his shop and he lives up the road from them.”
“Ernest?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“What’s his last name?”
She paused a beat, her eyes sliding to the side. “Ernest…Buffalobeam.”
“Ernest Buffalobeam?” I looked off behind me at the bourbon barrel tops decorating the walls, sporting logos such as Buffalo Trace and Jim Beam.
“And what business does this Ernest Buffalobeam run next door, exactly?”
“He sells…” Her eyes slid behind us again, darting to the ceiling and then back to me. “Lights.”
“Lights. Really? Ernest Buffalobeam sells lights next door?”
“Everyone needs lights,” she said, pressing her lips together. “They help us see in the dark.”
“Brilliant.” We held eye contact for a beat, then two, both our eyes narrowing slightly as we tried not to smile. I would have bet anything that Jim’s truck fit just fine down these streets and she was just trying to milk me for another round of drinks. “Trent, hand the keys over to the lady,” I said.
“What if this Ernest Buffalobeam never comes back?” Trent asked skeptically.
“Where’s he gonna go with a car with only three working tires?” Aidan asked.
“He might steal our stuff,” Trent said. He leaned toward Aidan and “whispered,” “We left all our bags in it.”
“Listen, Ernest is full up on Polo shirts and Calvin Klein boxer briefs, and he’s no thief.”
I let out a low whistle. “That’s pretty judgmental, Cakes,” I said.
“How’d she know what I packed?” Trent “whispered” again to which Aidan shoved him in the arm. “Ouch,” Trent murmured before taking his keys from his pocket and handing them to the server.
She turned away and shouted to the bar at large, “Who wants another round?” to which a loud cheer went up.
We played a game of pool and drank the drinks that had been delivered to us as part of the round I’d paid for and then she came back with our food. “Jim just called and said he’s got your car and is delivering it to the repair shop. I’m sure they’ll fit you in in the morning. Another round?”