Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 101758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
That’s the key. Fresh coffee.
And I grind the beans every day.
I’ve just served Britney her drink when suddenly Xander’s in front of me, holding out a Denver Flurry hoodie.
“You’ll swim in this, but here. Wear it.”
I blink at him. “Is this yours?”
“Yeah, I grabbed it from the car. You’re cold, wildcat. Put it on.”
I shake my head and lick my lips. Leaning in, I whisper so only Xander can hear me. “I can’t wear that. I need the tips, and that means I have to wear, well . . . less.”
His eyes narrow and dip to my cleavage and then back to my eyes. “Fuck that. I’ll give you two thousand dollars to wear the goddamn hoodie.”
I take a step back and frown right back at him.
“That’s not how it works, Xander.”
“You’re dead wrong, Ivy.”
His voice is hard, and why do I love hearing my name on his lips so much?
“I don’t want your money.”
“You’re cold,” he insists. “Please wear it until you warm up, and then you can take it off. It’s a compromise. And I’ll reimburse you for all of the missed tips.”
I nibble my lip, eyeing the hoodie. It looks cozy. And I bet it smells like him.
Okay, creepy girl.
“Thank you,” I finally murmur and take the sweatshirt from him, slip it over my head and pull my hair through, and yep.
Smells like Xander.
Woodsy and earthy and like all the pheromones in the world.
I might swim in it, but it feels good, so I offer him a smile as I roll the sleeves so my hands poke through.
“Thanks. I feel better already.”
“Good.”
He grins, reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and then returns to his friends.
And now I’m a puddle in the middle of this bar.
The door opens again, and this time it’s my mom who walks in, but she’s not drunk, and she’s walking with purpose. Her hair is up in a fierce bun, the grays springing free around her face. Her black eyeliner is too heavy, and she’s wearing red lipstick.
Her black shirt is almost nonexistent.
Which is typical for her when she works behind the bar.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” I say cautiously as she ties an apron around her waist. She’s too thin. My mom would rather drink her calories than eat them.
“It’s my fucking shift,” she mutters, not looking me in the face.
“Sure, which started three hours ago.”
She stops and glares at me, taking me in, and shakes her head.
“I taught you better than to dress like that when you’re working. You ain’t gonna make any money unless your tits are out. Your tits are the only thing worth looking at on you. You’re ugly as fuck. And put that hair away. No one wants to fuck the little mermaid.”
I swallow hard. Every single word makes me feel smaller and smaller, just the way she intended. I know I’m not much to look at, but she’s my mom. Rumor has it she’s supposed to be nice to me.
Not that I’ve ever had that experience with this woman.
Ignoring her, I take a tray and work the tables and booths. After taking a few orders, I return to the bar, drop off some empties, and tell Mom what I need made.
“Do it your fucking self,” she barks, shaking her head, and then she approaches Xander. “What can I getcha, hot stuff?”
“You can give her an apology,” Xander replies with a calm smile. “That’s what you can get me.”
Mom doesn’t even look my way. “Kids, am I right?”
“She’s not a kid,” Xander counters, and I just want the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
“It’s fine,” I interject, already making the drinks I need.
Mom moves in next to me, grips my arm just above the elbow so tight that she grinds the muscle against bone, but I refuse to flinch.
“Quit making me look bad in front of the goddamn customers,” she grits out between her teeth.
“You do that all by yourself.” I yank my arm free, load up my tray, and have just lifted it when Mom pushes me from behind, and the tray—and every drink on it—goes flying.
“You’re so damn clumsy. Maybe lose some weight and you won’t be a bull in a china shop.”
I’ve had it with her. I can’t even look at her, and I can’t risk anyone else seeing the tears that want to come, so I walk through the bar to the restroom, and when the door is closed behind me, I lean on the vanity and drop my head down, trying to make the tears go away.
What in the world did I do in a previous life to deserve that woman as my mother?
The door opens, and I turn away, wiping my cheeks, embarrassed that someone walked in on me.
“Moms can be hard.”
I turn at the sound of Britney’s voice. She passes me a glass of water and sets her purse on the vanity, pulls out her powder, and starts to fix her nose.