Mall American Girl (At The Mall #4) Read Online Sarah Robinson

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: Series: At The Mall Series by Sarah Robinson

Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18753 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 94(@200wpm)___ 75(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)

Oh, say can you see these sparks flying in this 4th of July-themed standalone short romance when singer/songwriter Kamar Jaziri meets the beautiful and undefeated Independence Games champion in a red, white, and blue meet-cute over a plate of hot dogs.
Summer Darby, owner of Summer’s Sun Spray Tan Salon, is a winner. The end. Every goal she’s had, she’s crushed and her streak isn’t about to come to an end now even though the games have changed. She doesn’t care how much the new singer in the pavilion lights her firecracker—she won’t be distracted by his star-spangled salute.
When Kamar Jaziri isn’t studying in graduate school, he’s working as a singer/songwriter at small gigs around the local college town—including a recent hire at Yule Heights Shopping Mall. All he wants is a taste of freedom as he chases his American dreams, and that means he doesn’t have time for romance or dating. And he definitely doesn’t have time for the way Summer Darby looks at him.
Cue the sparklers as these blue collar titans of business clash in a comedic battle for independence—and love.




“A hot dog eating contest?” Kamar Jaziri frowned as he tried to absorb everything his boss was telling him.

Harold, an older man with thick glasses, shrugged as if he hadn’t just tried to strong-arm Kamar into an event he wanted nothing to do with. “Not just hot dogs. There’s also the potato sack race and the dunk tank.”

Harold was the operations manager at Yule Heights Shopping Mall, and he’d hired Kamar for the summer to play for the evening crowds on Thursday and Friday nights. While the gig wasn’t particularly well paid, it was over a holiday weekend, and the July Fourth crowd tended to tip nicely. Also thankfully, the pavilion where he’d be performing from was set right outside the entrance to The Lucky Leprechaun, the mall’s only bar, so Kamar was hoping some drunk patrons might find their way out and be even more generous with their tips.

But nowhere in his job description had it said anything about potatoes and hot dogs.

He blinked slowly. “And I have to do this why?”

“Hey, the majority of this job is the tips.” Harold pointed toward the small stage set up in the center pavilion of the Yule Heights Shopping Mall. “We pay jack shit to our musicians—not my fault, I always try to advocate for more, but the higher-ups run the show. You’re going to have to hustle if you want to rake in actual money here, and that means being part of the Yule Heights Independence Games and bumping elbows with vendors who can funnel people your way. How many hot dogs can you eat in a minute?”

Kamar wanted to laugh, but he wasn’t sure if his new boss had the same sense of humor he did. Was he seriously asking him that question? Or was everyone in this town really into these Independence Games like he said? Being from out of state until recently moving here for college, these weren’t exactly the type of festivities he was used to, growing up in New York City. Heck, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even seen a real New Yorker eat a hot dog—that was reserved for tourists and people with iron stomachs.

“Uh, I’m not sure. So, I just need to eat some hot dogs, run a race, and that’s it?” he asked.

Harold nodded, but then his eyes lit up. “And you have to shoot the deer!”

“Absolutely not.” The words came out of Kamar’s mouth before he had a chance to try to censor himself. He cringed at the thought of hurting an animal. He was a gentle soul—as his music taste and style made very clear—and murdering Bambi just wasn’t on his summer reading list. “Are you telling me that there is hunting involved in this, too?”

Harold laughed—a loud guffaw that tipped his entire head back and made his belly shake. “I hear you loud and clear there, son, but no. That game just involves shooting the fake deer with a soft water pistol to keep them away from your flowers. No real deer involved. You know, my brother was a musician back in the day—rest his soul. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, but man would he go to town beating the hell out of some drums.”

Kamar grinned at that, though his instrument of choice was acoustic guitar most of the time. He could also play bass and some keyboard, but when he was on stage singing ballads, the acoustic guitar felt the most authentic to him and the message he wanted to portray to the crowd. “Sounds like my kind of guy.”

“Your folks live around here?” Harold asked.

Kamar shook his head. “My father’s home in New York. He’s probably asleep by now—usually snoring by seven on the dot.”