Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
"Fuck off," I snap over my shoulder before walking away.
I smile at each of the people in the bar, not letting them off the hook for attempting to get into my business by staring me down and voicing their opinions with their facial expressions.
Edith continues to grin over my shoulder until I'm standing right in front of her, and then the relief that's so familiar washes over her face. I swear the woman acts like she's serving out some kind of prison sentence with each shift she works.
"I'll leave it in your very capable hands," she says as she starts to tug her apron over her head, her gnarled fingers struggling to keep a grip over it as she tugs it away from her body.
I almost open my mouth to ask why she continues to work, but that would put me in the middle of her business. Since I don't want to have a conversation with anyone about why I just happened to show up at work with an angry biker practically on my back, I keep my damned mouth shut.
As I tug on my own apron, I do my best to hold my head high despite the eyes still locked on me. My skin is heated and somehow cold all at the same time, and the stagnant air in the bar doesn't help either sensation.
When I look in the direction of the door and see the doorway empty, I shift my eyes to the seat he has sat at the last two times he was here. It's empty.
He had the nerve to speak those words to me and then leave. That somehow makes everything worse.
I have no illusions that the man left because I told him to fuck off. I was certain he was the type of man who wouldn't be impressed with a woman having the last word, but his absence proves differently.
It's for the best, honestly. He's right about not being the type of man to get tangled up with, but what he doesn't know is that I shouldn't get tangled up with anyone.
I get started on my shift, once again having to prep lemons and limes. Although they're listed on the dayshift checklist, I've fully accepted that this is just one of those things Edith isn't going to do. I'm fine with it, however, because it gives me something to do rather than engaging in conversation with folks who will no doubt have a lot of questions.
"New friend?"
I inwardly groan at the sound of Jersey's voice and then cringe when I hear the barstool screech across the floor as he pulls it out. I lift my eyes to watch him settle into the seat right in front of me, his hands clutching his beer bottle, as if he's afraid someone might attempt to pull it from his dirty hands.
Actually, Jersey isn't a bad guy. He flirts, but he's never tried to corner me near the bathroom. He's never reached across the bar and touched me. As much as he flirts, I've never seen the man leave with another woman, and the two times I've had to call his wife to come get him because he was too drunk to drive, she showed up with less irritation on her face than I would've if I were in her situation.
"He was asking for directions," I lie with an easy smile.
"I've seen him in here before," Jersey says, not willing to let the subject go.
"Can I get you another beer?" I offer rather than feeding into the direction he wants to take the conversation.
He frowns, but the look of disappointment seems more brotherly than anything like he's worried about my safety.
"Just another stranger," I assure him. "I have no doubt he'll be on his way before too long."
Jersey dips his head in acceptance before climbing off the barstool and going back to the table in the corner.
The night drags on, the minutes ticking by so slowly they feel as if each second is twelve. By closing time, the bar has been empty for fifteen minutes. I use the last couple of minutes to do a little prep for Edith for her morning shift, something akin to guilt swimming inside of me. I know I have no control over why that woman seems to have to work so hard, so late in life, but it is within my power to make it a little easier on her.
I give the bar one final look before heading to the door. Tommy really needs to get someone in here for a deep clean. The place isn't absolutely disgusting. We have enough downtime in our shifts to keep most things straight and orderly, but the cracks and crevices could use a little attention. The light fixtures could use a thorough cleaning, and the neon lights and decor lining the walls could use some dusting.