Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73817 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
I lift an eyebrow. “Shady underage dude …?”
“My age, eighteen if I had to guess, definitely not old enough to drink. Cute as a button, but I don’t trust him.”
Just as I’m about to point out that it’s the weekend and teenagers are gonna find their way in one way or another, my lead bartender Chase pops in with his tanned, freckled cheeks and messy, sandy-blond bangs. “Uh … guys? It’s, like, hella busy out here and the—”
“I already told him,” says Mars.
“Oh.” Chase blinks his pretty, dopey eyes at me. It’s a wonder he’s so good with making drinks and counting money, because he doesn’t seem to have much else going on upstairs. But I like him because he’s great for business; his face brings in the customers.
“It’s all good,” I assure them. “I’m done here. Chase, refill the bowls.” I slap the can of nuts into his hand. “If this is any indication of what we’re in for, it’ll be ten times worse when evening rolls in.”
An hour later, I hate that I’m right.
I’m behind the counter taking order after order with no rest. Something special must be going on this weekend in Dreamwood Isle. This quaint and balmy Texas beach town always gets a fresh wave of visitors every weekend, but it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen it get this busy. The Easy Breezy is built to take a good number of thirsty clientele off of Breezeway Point, the main tourist beach on the south end of the island, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be breaking a fire code or two by the time the sun sets.
No matter how busy it gets, I’m never stressed. That’s the whole vibe I maintain here at the Easy Breezy: just smile, kick back with your friends, and enjoy a good time with a nice, cold drink in your hand. The beach is visible through the wraparound windows, some of which are left open to take in the salty air, the distant noise of crashing waves, and the endless sight of people walking along the sand or nearby boardwalk. What more could you ask for?
A familiar face cuts through the crowd. It’s Adrian, a friend who used to work here as my lead bartender before Chase. Square-jawed and confident, he’s built like a lost demigod son of Poseidon with blue diamonds for eyes. His dress shirt and tie suggest he’s on his break from his job at Thalassa, an upscale seafood restaurant on the boardwalk.
He comes to the front and folds his big arms on the bar, muscles bulging in his sleeves. “Busy here too, huh?”
I slide a drink to a customer. “Pride weekend.”
“Need a hand?”
“Aren’t you on break?”
“Fuck it, I’m giving you a hand.” He hops around the counter and gets right to work. I smirk and shake my head, then tend to a group of guys asking for another round. Of course I won’t turn down help when it’s needed. Besides, Adrian knows what he’s doing.
My eyes are caught by a face in the back of the room—a face that instantly doesn’t seem to belong. You can call it my observant nature, but I know partiers when I see them. I know horny guys looking for a hookup. I know awkward guys and I know deep-pocketed vacationers.
This face is none of those things.
Sweet eyes, yet guarded. Messy light brown hair, fair yet sun-kissed complexion, and clothes one size too big for his petite frame. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he scopes the room like a hawk, keen and watchful. His stillness makes him stick out among the constant movement and madness.
Then he slips away—and I lose him. Where’d he go? Was that the shady kid Mars mentioned?
“I don’t know how you’re still single,” says Adrian as he finishes up with another customer. “You must have fifty numbers passed to you on bar napkins every weekend.”
More like a hundred, but who’s counting? “Adrian … Taking advantage of young drunk men isn’t my thing,” I remind him as I slide a glass under the tap. “Maybe back in my twenties I would’ve entertained a few options, but I’m far from twenty and reminded more of that fact each day.”
“Far from twenty? C’mon. You’re barely thirty.”
“Try pushing forty.”
“Oh.” Adrian snorts. “You really are a grandpa, huh?”
I jab him in the ribs for that. “Make another old man joke and I’ll put you over my knee and spank you ‘til you learn your lesson.”
“Promise?”
The truth is, there’s been a gaping hole in my life for quite some time. I tend to assume it’s filled with my baby: the Easy Breezy bar. But when I go home, I feel as empty as the bottles and glasses I clean up before shutting this place down for the night. The line of potted plants on my back porch—each of which are named and dutifully cared for every day—are likely another consequence of having no one in my life to call my own. I give them all my love.