Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 94834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
My apron is heavy with tips, though I’d be stupid to assume every night is going to be like this. Tonight is game night, and because of that, there are bound to be a shitload more customers here than on a weeknight, though that only goes to show that I can’t be stupid about my shifts. Every Friday night, this is exactly where I’ll be, and hell, on game nights, I might even go all out on makeup and fake flirty smiles.
After securing Cara’s extra cheesy burger, I make my way out of the bar while Heather and Hannah lock up behind me, promising that by my next shift, there will be a set of keys just like theirs with my name on them.
Chapter 3
OAKLEY
The night breeze wafts around me, sending goosebumps spreading over my skin as I walk back toward my apartment complex. I get all of two steps from the bar when I get the feeling I’m not alone, and I know without a doubt that those three guys are still here, lurking in the shadows, ready to fuck with me. Chills sweep through my body, and my hands shake by my sides. I pick up my pace, my feet slamming down on the pavement as I immediately regret the decision to get a job that has me walking home alone in the dead of night.
Glancing over my shoulder, I peer into the darkness, my heart racing like never before, but I don’t see them. Every last bit of reason tells me I’m imagining it, tells me they left ages ago and I’m making it all up, but deep in the pit of my stomach . . . I know they’re out here, stalking me, watching me, waiting for me to make one wrong move.
But why? What is it about me that’s caught their attention? Do they have some sick gang rape fetish? Am I about to be slaughtered in the street for pleasure?
Fuck.
I see the entrance of my apartment complex and breathe a short-lived sigh of relief, finding a man standing by the door under the streetlight. A cigarette hangs from his lips and as I get closer, I can see the puff of smoke billowing from his mouth.
I can’t trust this guy either, but the likelihood of my three stalkers going all Jack The Ripper on my ass is significantly reduced by his presence alone, and I make a mental note to thank him if I ever see him again, though I have absolutely no intention of stopping to tell him now.
Keeping my stare locked on him to avoid thinking about the three men in the shadows behind me, I try to calm myself.
This is all in my head.
I’m not about to be raped and slaughtered.
I’m okay.
With each step that brings me closer to this man, I quickly realize just how attractive he is. Hell, he’s fucking gorgeous with his tanned skin and bright blue eyes. He’s got that whole smoldering Flynn Ryder thing going on and, judging by the flirty smile he gives me when his head snaps up, I’d dare say this guy is one hell of a ladies’ man.
I give him a tight smile before averting my eyes to avoid making things awkward and then go to step around him as I search for the keys to the building.
“Woah, where are you going off to in such a rush?” he questions, his eyes lighting up like Christmas as he drops his cigarette and stubs it with his boot.
A rush of butterflies surface in my stomach, and I feel a flush spreading over my cheeks. “Bed,” I tell him. “Where do you think I’m going? It’s after three in the morning.”
“Sounds like the night’s just getting started to me,” he says, the corner of his lips kicking up into a flirty grin. I have to give him credit, he’s keeping his distance to avoid making me uncomfortable. “You new around here? I haven’t seen you before.”
I nod as I slip the key into the door while trying to juggle Cara’s cheesy burger. “Yeah, moved in today,” I tell him, glancing up at him from beneath my thick lashes. “You?”
“Same,” he says before reconsidering his response. “Well, not exactly. Been here a week or two, but still feels new. I’m in 107.”
“No way,” I say, my eyes lifting to his before discreetly checking over my shoulder again. “Then I suppose that makes you one of my new neighbors. I’m in 106.”
“Well, in that case, maybe I should start making a habit of asking my neighbors for a jug of milk,” he says with a flirty wink.
“A jug of milk?” I laugh. “What is this? The 1920s?”
“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean,” he says, rolling his eyes and almost looking embarrassed, though the confidence radiating off him suggests that being embarrassed is not something this man is familiar with. He offers me his hand. “I’m Dalton, by the way. Dalton Eros.”