Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“Over there.” I pointed again.
He wobbled his way around the outside of the dance floor. After the first few steps, I forced myself to turn around. What did I care if he knocked into people or spilled someone’s drink? Sighing, I hustled over to clear the empties from his table. The whole group of them were out on the dance floor, so I gathered the empty glasses and mopped up a few condensation rings from the marble table.
The music lowered, and ‘last call’ blared through the speakers. Immediately, fatigue washed over me. It’d been a long day, as most were, but it would soon come to an end. Cleaning up after the club closed never bothered me. Trevor hated it, complaining that once the customers left, he wanted nothing more than to go home. He called the thirty minutes spent cleaning pure torture.
I liked the quiet and the routine of wiping tables, stacking glasses, and mopping floors. I didn’t have to act anymore. No one expected me to perform like a trained monkey for my tips. Closing tasks were always the same, and my overstimulated brain took comfort in that. Fifteen more minutes and the customers would disappear.
Ryder would disappear.
I’d be one step closer to going home and maybe catching a full five hours of sleep before my nine a.m. class.
“Alex!” Turko whacked me on the back with so much force I nearly sprawled across the table. “Sorry, man,” he said with a laugh as he pulled me into a side hug as brutal as his back slap. “Don’t know my own strength when I’ve been drinking. This place rocks. Next time I’m in town, I’m bringing the whole damn team.” He let me go, then staggered a few feet to Ryder, who’d returned from the restroom. “You, too, Ry, you’ll be here too. I love you, man.”
The sing-song way he said that had my lips quirking. If I were a shittier person, I’d record it. A clip of Turko drunkenly professing his love to his old frat brother would go viral in minutes. Maybe that would get me more than fifty followers, and I could make a buck that way.
“‘Course I’ll be here.” Ryder patted Turko’s cheek. “I’m getting a job here.”
“No shit?” Turk turned to me. “He is?”
“No.” Over my dead body.
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you aren’t.” The music cut off, and the lights came on to a soundtrack of groans from the remaining patrons. “Joke’s over. Go home, Ryder.”
Turk chuckled. “Oooh, someone doesn’t like you very much, Ry.”
Ry. I’d never considered calling him that. To me, he was always the formal Ryder, the ultra-rich jerk who made me feel like shit and now wanted to insert himself in my life where he didn’t belong.
“Uber will be here in three mins,” Turk said. “Come on. Thanks for an awesome night, my man.”
“Great to meet you. See you next time.” I turned and hightailed it out of there before Ryder could spout more bullshit about working here. Before I could reach my goal for the stock room to grab some more rags, a strong hand clasped my bicep and spun me around.
“What the hell?”
“Why are you being such a dick about me working here?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why can’t you let this go?”
“Because you have a huge stick up your ass. What the fuck you acting like I can’t handle it? You don’t own this damn club. All you do is serve drinks in your fucking underwear. I could do that in my sleep. And better than you.”
Something exploded behind my eyes. I shoved him against the wall, holding him in place with my arm across his chest. No doubt, he could have gotten away without much effort.
Instead of fighting me, his eyes flared, and his breathing hitched. “Jesus, Alex, what the fuck?”
“You think I work here for fun?” I snarled as I pushed against his chest. “Because I’m bored? Because I think it would be fun to hang in a club all night four times a week? Fuck you, Ryder. I’m here so I can eat. So my brother can eat. So we don’t have to sleep on the streets. I’m here so I can pay my mo—”
An icy wave of nausea washed over me, and I shoved away from him, raking a hand through my hair.
Jesus. What the hell was I doing?
No one, not a single person, knew how dire my family’s financial state was. Not even Trevor, who’d picked me up from my house when my ancient car crapped out a few months ago. I shielded my family’s privacy like a lioness protecting her cubs. I sometimes wondered if shame kept my lips sealed instead of protective instincts, but that was something to work out with the therapist I couldn’t afford.
Ryder laughed, and I had to clench my fist to keep from punching him in his smug face. At least the alcohol kept my words from fully registering in his brain.