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)
“Can you make that a double?” he asked. “I’m visiting a woman who drives me fucking nuts.”
“Is there a different kind where you come from?”
He smiled. “Guess not.”
I finished mixing his drink and slid the glass over to him. When he took it, I couldn’t help but notice the big, shiny Rolex on his wrist. “You from New York?”
“How’d you know? My accent?”
I shook my head. “We don’t get a lot of suits coming in here.”
He eyed the deer head hanging over the bar. “That’s probably because we’re afraid you’ll shoot us.”
I smiled. Maybe he wasn’t as big of a douche as he looked. “Taxidermist gets freaked out when we bring him Wall Streeters. He’s worried his stock portfolio will suffer.”
Plaid Suit sucked back half his double vodka. “What’s a taxidermist do on Tuesdays?”
“What?”
“Nothing special. Just the usual stuff.”
I chuckled. “So why does a city boy travel all the way to northern Maine to visit a woman who drives him fucking nuts?”
“Sex, of course. It’s addicting. She’s freaking gorgeous, too. If only I could tape her mouth shut.” He looked at his big watch. “Speaking of which, I should get going. Visiting hours end at four.”
A sinking feeling settled into the pit of my belly. “Visiting hours? She in the hospital or something?”
“Nope. At a wellness-type place. It’s called Sierra something. GPS said it was only about a mile down the road from here.”
I gritted my teeth. “Woman you’re visiting from the area?”
He shook his head. “New York. Don’t ask me why her board couldn’t pick a place closer to home.”
I swallowed. “Her…board?”
The guy knocked back the rest of his drink, pulled out his billfold, and peeled a fifty off, tossing it on the bar. “Long story. But I’ll leave you with one piece of advice. Make sure the mic is off when you bend your archnemesis over the table it’s sitting on.”
***
Hours later, I was still stewing.
“Hey, Brock. Can I get another beer?”
“You’ve had enough.”
Bill Foster’s brows jumped. “What are you, the Budweiser police?”
I pointed to the door. “Go home to your wife.”
“Seriously?”
I glared at him and leaned over the bar. “Do I look like I’m fucking joking?”
“Jesus Christ. Who pissed in your damn Cheerios?” Bill pushed back from the bar and spoke to the guy he’d been sitting with. “Let’s get out of here. There’s a bar on the other side of town where the owner actually wants to sell drinks.”
Hank watched the two guys leave, then got up from the stool he’d been sitting on for hours and walked behind the bar.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I growled.
He took out two shot glasses and a bottle of tequila and poured. Holding one out to me, he shrugged. “Being a friend. Don’t know what crawled up your ass. Don’t care if you don’t want to talk about it. But drink this. It’ll help take the edge off.”
I hesitated, but eventually I slugged back the shot. February had never mentioned that today was visiting day, and we’d spent the entire afternoon together yesterday. She certainly hadn’t mentioned that some guy she was sleeping with was coming for a visit either.
I set the shot glass back down in front of Hank. We made brief eye contact, and he nodded and poured another. I wasn’t much of a drinker—a couple of beers here and there, but rarely hard alcohol. The second shot burned less than the first going down, so I figured that was a sign to keep going.
By the fifth shot, my rigid jaw had loosened enough for me to finally speak. “Thank you.”
Hank nodded. “Anytime, my friend. Go do what you gotta do. I’ll close up tonight.”
Fortunately, I lived upstairs, so I didn’t have far to stumble to make it home. But unfortunately, I took the bottle of tequila with me when I left. Three more shots, and I started talking to Oak, my trusty Saint Bernard.
“Women suck. Do you know that?”
He tilted his head and lifted an ear.
I nodded. “Yeah, you’re smarter than me. Maybe I should sleep in the bathtub, too.”
Oak laid his giant head on my lap. “Is that the type she likes?” I shook my head. “Who doesn’t wear fucking socks with a suit?”
I rested my head on the back of the couch and shut my eyes, still grumbling. “Think his hair was frosted or some shit. Probably uses hairspray, too. I should’ve lit a match near him to check.”
I must’ve nodded off for a while because sometime later I woke to a light knock at the door. Oak rushed to the bathroom—into the damn tub—and left me to fend for myself. I was groggy and started to think I might’ve imagined the knock, but then I heard it again.
I opened the door to find February standing on the other side. She smiled. “I thought you were working tonight?”