Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 62737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 314(@200wpm)___ 251(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
“So, you’re saying call her Foxy to piss you off. Got it,” Jagger says, trying to get a rise out of me. I let it roll off my back. I’d like to hear him say that in front of his woman, Lyric. She’d probably give him the titty twister of all titty twisters.
“You want me to call Lyric?” I turn around, losing sight of Ronnie in the process, which makes me damn anxious.
“Not if you’re gonna pull out the big guns,” Jagger says with a wink. I shake my head and move toward the bar. Our group is too damn big to sit at the bar, where Ronnie is serving patrons. We’ll have to find a table where my eyes can stay on hers. I’m rethinking this whole bringing the guys along now.
“Be right back.” I disentangle from the group. The heavy beat of music bounces off the walls. So many band posters are plastered on the walls and ceilings, not so much of an inch of paint can be found. On top of the prints are neon sings for beer and liquor. The tables and barstools look like they’ve been around since the seventies or eighties yet are still in decent condition.
I walk toward Ronnie, and when I see the tip of her tongue touching her upper lip, I realize she’s deep in thought. Her eyes are on the cash register, one of those old school styles where you have to punch in a number instead of the new point-of-sale systems. Talk about a relic and making shit harder on you than necessary. No wonder it takes her so fucking long to get home at the end of her shifts.
“Foxy,” I grab her attention. I’m greeted with a megawatt smile, and then a look of wonder asking why I’m here without saying a word.
“Jude.” She doesn’t come around the bar. Instead, Ronnie moves to the side, launches herself over the worn and wooden top, hands going to my shoulders, and lays the sweetest of fucking kisses on my lips. It’s one hell of a greeting, even with the cheeks of her ass hanging out in the reflection of the mirror hanging behind her. I’ve got not one single fucking problem with the way Ronnie dresses. It’s all these other fucks getting to look at my woman.
“What are you doing here? I’m not off for another few hours.” I give her my signature smirk. She has no idea that I’m addicted to her a whole hell of a lot more than the candy I keep in my pocket.
“Know that. Also couldn’t stay away. The guys would like to meet you, whenever you get a minute. Lennie is going to try and make it, too. The rest of the girls are pissed they couldn’t come, but cigarette smoke and being pregnant isn’t a great combination.” Her eyes soften with happiness. She more than likes that answer.
“Is it bad that I’m glad you’re here?”
“Not at fucking all,” I respond, wishing like hell I had her all to myself.
“Good. Do you know what everyone wants to drink? I’ll get that sorted and make my way over once I’ve got everyone else settled, too,” she suggests.
“Foxy, I got no clue what they’re in the mood for, but they’ve got two fucking legs and a mouth. They can come place their order at the bar,” I grunt out my response.
“Jude, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be over in a minute to figure out what they want, because, you know, I’m kind of the bartender and server, the only one tonight.” I look around, noticing she really is on her own, and I’m pissed that I left her here to begin with. My only saving grace is the bar back in the corner who also works security.
“Doesn’t mean I want you doing all the work when they can get off their asses, too.” Ronnie rolls her eyes at my statement.
“Fine, if they don’t place their own order by the time I finish my refills, then I’ll get them at the table. Now, what do you want to drink?” She already knows I don’t drink but not the reason why. We’ve yet to delve that deep, I’m sure it’ll come up sooner rather than later. What she hasn’t done is ask the reason why or pry. She takes me exactly like I am.
“Coke with lime, please.” Ronnie is still leaning across the bar, and my hand cups the nape of neck, squeezing it for a moment before letting her go.
“You got it.” We part ways, and she gets straight into work mode. Meanwhile, I have a hard time moving so much as an inch. I’m too busy taking in the way she works the bar, handling it like she has her whole life, probably because she has. She talks to a couple of old timers, a few younger groups of people are busy talking, and right when I’m about to head back to my friends, a guy walks through the door.