Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
"Here's five and twelve," Maggie says, sliding a tray full of drinks across the counter and pulling my attention back to work.
I lift the heavy tray and carry it across the room as if muscle memory drives me in that direction.
I drop off drinks and pick up empties before heading back to the bar.
I nearly stumble over an imaginary line on the floor when I see Walker scowling in my direction. I manage to hold my head a little higher as I walk in his direction. When I get close enough to see his dark eyes, I divert my gaze, carrying the tray of empty glasses to the kitchen. I fill the automatic wash tray, knowing he's standing behind me and waiting for me to explain myself.
"You don't work here," he says the second I turn back around.
The ire in his voice makes me jolt. Even Nora Kennedy, who I know wishes I didn't exist, doesn't even speak to me in that tone. There isn't an ounce of subtlety, and although it's not completely unfamiliar, I can't recall a single moment in the last three years that someone has spoken to me that way.
I point to the apron tied around my waist as if it explains everything.
"It sort of looks like I do."
The man keeps his eyes locked on mine, as if looking down where I'm pointing would be a complete waste of time.
I've only closed out two tables tonight, and although I'm grateful for the eleven dollars I've made, I was counting on a lot more before he kicked me out of here. I still have multiple tables open, including the college boys who I know will tip well if I keep playing their game until they decide it's time to head back to campus.
Going home right now, after it's already too late to go pick Larkin up, would mean I've done nothing this evening but waste my time.
I hate the burn of tears behind my eyes. I hate that when I get angry that's how my body chooses to enter a fight.
Chapter 3
Walker
Seeing the look in her eyes and how quickly they go from a little annoyed to glossy like she's about to cry makes me glad that I approached her in a more private place.
But also, there's nothing to distract me back here in the kitchen, and I don't do well with sobbing women at all.
"You don't work here," I repeat. "Besides, you should be at home spending time with your kid, not trying to pick men up in a bar."
If I ever have the chance to go back in time and change one thing from my past, I know I'd choose to keep my damn mouth shut instead of telling this gorgeous woman what she should be doing with her life.
The tears I thought were going to fall dry up as quickly as they showed up, and I swear the woman is getting ready for a battle I'm not prepared to fight, much less win.
She lifts her chin an inch, her shoulders squaring up with mine.
"My daughter," she says. "Not my kid. And for your information, I'm working, not trying to pick up men."
She walks past me, and I make my second stupid decision of the night when I reach out and stop her in her tracks with my hand on her upper arm. I know it's a mistake from the way she looks down at where I'm touching her and back up into my eyes, as if she's given me an opportunity to choose differently.
I release her arm, but she doesn't take a step back like I expect her to. She glares at me as if she'd claw my eyes out if there wouldn't be legal repercussions to it. From the glint of rage in her eyes, it makes me think it's not off the table yet, that she's just weighing the pros and cons.
"Listen, you can finish this shift, but that's it."
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn't argue with me.
The scent of her perfume sticks around long after she leaves the kitchen. It isn't until the loud whoosh of the automatic dishwasher indicating it has finished its cycle startles me that I realize I've been standing here feeling like I've been put in my place by a woman I don't even know.
I expect to find the apron she was wearing hung on the hook in the hallway, but instead, I step back behind the bar and watch her work the room like a professional.
"The way you're glaring at her, I'd think you hate her," Maggie says as she slides past me to get to the tap so she can pull a couple of beers.
"She doesn't work here," I explain.
"And yet watch her work."
I draw in a deep breath. Maggie has a point. If anyone came in here and watched her, they'd think that Claire has been here months if not years. They'd never believe she hasn't even completed a single shift yet. I imagine the bar owner back in El Paso hated to see the day she left, but it doesn't change the fact that I can't have her around.