Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Yep, it was a bad idea to have her stay. A bad, bad idea. But before I could come to my senses, my brother Elvin yelled, “Are you playing this hand or what?”
I raked a hand through my hair and lowered my voice. “I have three aces. I need to play this one out.”
“Mind if I watch?”
“Just ignore the jackass brothers, especially Trevor.”
February and I walked to the table together. Each of my brothers had a look of surprise on his face, except for Trevor, who was too busy checking out my guest. I kicked his chair as I passed. “Don’t be a dick.”
“What did I do?”
I grabbed a chair from a nearby table and positioned it next to where I was sitting with a nod. “Everyone, this is February. Feb, these are three of my idiot brothers—Elvin, Maddox, and Trevor.”
“You must not be from around here. I definitely would have noticed you.” Trevor smiled. His tone made me want to punch him.
February politely smiled back as she sat. “I live in New York. I’m just…visiting for a while.”
I tossed two chips into the pile and lifted my cards. “Raise.”
The betting went around the table, yet all eyes stayed on February.
“You ever play poker, February?” Elvin asked.
“Once or twice. But I’m not very good.”
“Call,” I said and flipped over my cards. Three aces and a king high. All of my brothers tossed their hands onto the table without bothering to show what they had.
Trevor tipped his chair back until the front feet came off the floor. “Looks like maybe she really is your lucky charm. That’s the first hand he’s won all night.”
“Oh really?” February turned to me as I swept the chips to my side of the table. “Do I get a cut of the winnings for my part?”
“Sure do. You want a beer or a beer?”
She chuckled. “Tough choice. I guess I’ll go with a beer.”
Elvin gathered all the cards and shuffled once again. “What kind of a name is February? I’ve never heard of it before.”
“My mother went through a phase where she believed she was remembering things from her past lives. She went to see this medium who claimed to channel the spirit of my mother’s past life from two-hundred years ago—a prostitute named February.”
My brows jumped. “Seriously?”
“Yep.” February reached for my beer and knocked back a healthy gulp. I have no idea why, but it was sexy as fuck.
“So you’re named after a hooker?”
“I am indeed. The medium also told my mother she was once a man named Chuck who robbed banks. So I think I made out on the deal.”
I lifted my chin to February. “You gonna drink the rest of my beer or you want me to make you your prissy cocktail? I picked up bleu cheese olives at the market the other day.”
February’s eyes lit up. “If you say you also have orange bitters, I might propose.”
My lip twitched. I’d picked that shit up, too. “I’ll make it. But I’m stirring it, not shaking.” As I stood, I glared at my brothers. “Be nice.”
Trevor grinned. “Oh, I’ll be very nice.”
I wagged a finger at him. “The martini won’t be the only thing getting stirred if you don’t cut the shit.”
As I worked behind the bar, I listened to the conversation at the table.
“So how long are you in town?” Elvin asked.
“Almost another three weeks.”
“What do you do back in New York?”
“I design purses.”
“No shit. You know, Brock did some designing back in the day.”
I had no idea where this conversation was going, but I knew it couldn’t be good. I yelled over. “Whatever he’s about to tell you is a lie.”
“Really?” Elvin smiled. “So you didn’t sculpt stuff out of cat shit?”
I closed my eyes. “Fuck.”
February laughed. “He made sculptures out of cat shit?”
“Yep. Brock was probably five or six when we used to go to this park on the outskirts of town. It had a few swings and a slide with a sandbox. The local stray cats treated it like a litter box. Brock thought the shit was clay and started sculpting crap for our mom.”
“Did you know it was cat poop?” February asked.
“Of course. I’m not an idiot like my brother.”
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
“What fun would that have been?” Elvin shrugged. “Our mom had a snowman made of three round cat turds and twigs on her windowsill until the day she died. I tried to get it when we cleaned out her house, but Brock beat me to it.”
February turned in her chair. “Do you still have the shit sculpture?”
I shook my head at my brother. “I’m going to kill you, Elvin.”
My brothers all laughed while I finished stirring—not shaking—a prissy martini. I set it down in front of February and waited for her to sip.
“Good?”
“Oh my God. This might be the best martini I’ve ever had. What brand of olive juice did you use?”