Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“You and me both.” Staying vague while I’ve got my head in the fucking clouds might be the best plan of action. The less Barbie sees, the less shit she’ll give. The last thing I need to do before work is hashing this out with her. It’s Saturday night, which means it’ll be a full fucking house. As it is now, I’m going to need Nav, my barback, to help even more. My nighttime bartender, Jeremy, can handle everything else in order for me to get inventory done for the liquor and beer distributor.
“Talk about jumping from the frying pan into the fire.” Fucking Barbie. I take a deep breath, give her my back, and grab the clipboard off the side of the shelf that holds the liquor. I’m not sure what she thinks talking about this will do. I’ve made my decision. It seems Stormy has as well, or she wouldn’t have agreed to come back up after thanking me. Christ, all the thanks I needed was the glimpse of her tits when she was drunk, and we could have called it even. Now it seems like I’m going to get way more than a view.
“Listen, you’ve said your piece. I’ve got a lot of love for you, but this, it’s not up for discussion, Barbie. You wanna be my eyes and ears, I’ll take that. This damn town won’t be nice, no matter what.” Not to Stormy at least. She’s in a vulnerable place right now, and everyone has noticed that she’s not been coming and going like she did before shit went down.
“Message received, loud and clear, but all bets are off if your brother comes in.” I chuckle. Barbie and my older brother, Jack, are like fire and ice. It’s been a long time since Jack and I have seen eye to eye. I’m the blue-collar brother, working as a rescue medic. Where he’s white collar, who wears a suit and tie to the office daily. I started out as soon as I graduated high school, worked for the local department here in Jasmine, South Carolina. As time went on, I knew staying where I was wouldn’t mean making the kind of money I am now. So, I worked my ass off, picked up extra shifts working the boat races up and down the east coast as a rescue medic. Then I came back home, and set up High Tide Tavern. I still work at the boat races, and that’s where Barbie comes in. She’s a magician behind the bar and keeps shit running smoothly while I’m out of town. Now, when Jack comes in, the same can’t be said. He likes to piss her off, she likes to give him hell, and I fucking hear the stories when I’m back home.
“I’ll deal with Jack. I should probably stop by his house tomorrow,” I grunt, tossing the clipboard and pen down on the bar. “Get out of here. You’ve got better things to do than to hang out here all weekend.” She takes off her apron, starts shutting down her register, and going through the tip jar.
“You better, and I’m leaving. I can’t wait to have the next two days off. I’m going to turn off all my devices, hit the beach, and sleep.” Barbie is younger than me, not by a lot, and definitely older than Stormy. Fuck, that adds even more. Stormy is twenty-four, rebounding from that dick bag while also dealing with the fallout of her best friend committing a betrayal. Then there’s me, thirty-nine, a bar owner who has never settled down. And who am I dead set on going after? Stormy, my niece’s ex-best friend.
“Be safe. Next weekend, you good to cover? I’ll work the days leading up if you and Jeremy can take over Friday through Sunday.” I’m sure she saw the schedule I hung in the employee break room. I’m not that much of an asshole that I’d assume Barbie would see it without saying anything.
“Yep, just make sure we’re stocked, and I’ll handle the rest.” This is why I won’t piss her off too much. She will take care of everything except dealing with distributors. I get it. She’s making great money, but not enough to deal with assholes who like to stock it on top of the old stuff, leaving us with skanky beer if Nav or I am not here.
“You got it.” Another hour or so, and the two old timers who are at the other end of the bar will cash out. There’ll be another lull for an hour before the after-dinner crowd comes in. Saturday night is a different animal. At least it’s not Thursday, when the college kids come in, drink so much they act like fucking idiots, start fights, and I have to either clean up a mess or call the cops.