Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
"There’s a theme going on here," she says, grabbing the cocktail list and glancing down. "Where did the Cloud 9 thing come from?"
"There are nine of us," Cooper says from behind. "It was the only phrase we could think of with nine in."
"What about nine lives?"
Cooper nods his head, pursing his lips. "That’s a good one, too. Wouldn't have made such a good name for a bar, though."
"True. Dressed to the nines? Or even A stitch in time…"
"...saves nine," Lachlan finishes.
"What are you? Some kind of phrases dictionary?" Logan asks, passing Jared eight bottles of beer for a large rowdy table in the corner.
Dawn shrugs. "Must have picked them up from somewhere." A dark look fleetingly shadows her expression before she pastes her smile back on.
I continue mixing the drink, letting Dawn see each of the ingredients before I shake it. I pour it into a glass and pass it to her to try. This time, her sip through the straw is quick and less suggestive.
"What do you think of that one?"
She shrugs, handing it back. "Seven isn’t as good as nine."
"Really?" Lachlan interjects. "I had you pinned as a girl who’d like the sour cocktail more than the sweet."
"I don’t know how to take that." Dawn rests a hand on her hip and raises her eyebrow. Lachlan, realizing his comment could be misconstrued, has the decency to blush.
"I just meant you’re not a typical woman."
"Again, I’m not sure how I should take that."
"As a compliment," I say, rushing in to save my friend before he tumbles headfirst into an abyss of his own making.
"Well, alrighty then," Dawn says happily.
"Do you want to try to make them now?"
"Sure," she says, already reaching for a coconut. I stand by, expecting her to query the measures or the method at some point, but after five minutes of concentrated work, Dawn has two perfectly prepared cocktails in front of her. Lachlan has stopped what he’s doing to watch and nods his head with approval.
"She’s got it," I say, sipping Dawn’s Seventh Heaven.
"She could work behind the bar," Logan says, peering into the Cloud 9 coconut.
"I’m a woman of many talents." She grins, obviously pleased with herself and our approval.
Jared smiles. "I can confirm that statement."
Most girls would blush at his very obvious sexual reference, but Dawn doesn’t. Instead, she reaches across the bar and presses her palm to his face. "You’re very talented too, baby," she says.
Lachlan, watching everything, nods in my direction. "Time to play some more guitar, Thomas."
"I guess it is."
Dawn follows me as I make my way back to my makeshift stage. "Thanks for teaching me. That was fun."
"Anytime," I say. She smiles when I pick up my guitar and rest it in my lap, fingering the strings. I mentally flick through my playlist, considering what to sing next.
Dawn steps back, folding her arms across her chest as she waits for me to begin. There’s a connection between us already, a thread of mutual attraction that tugs at my mind, my body, and my heart.
Is it the musician thing that appeals to her?
Usually, when I start singing, people stare appreciatively, or smile. I’m used to warm responses to my voice and my guitar. I may not be fame-hungry enough to go pro, but I like to think my voice is good enough.
But when I begin to sing Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls, Dawn’s smile drops. Her shoulders brace and head lowers, and instead of smiling, she backs away and rushes in the direction of the women’s toilets.
Shit.
I keep singing because that’s what I have to do. It’s a popular song with an awesome guitar part, and customers around the bar sway and look over to where I’m sitting, happy to hear an old favorite. But not Dawn.
Something about this song set her off.
At the end, I rest my guitar against the wall, and head to the bar, keeping my eyes focused on the door where Dawn disappeared and hasn’t yet emerged. "Did you see that?" I ask Jared.
"No. What?"
"Dawn looked like she was going to cry when I played that song."
"She did?" He frowns and follows my gaze. "There’s something eating that girl."
"What do you mean?"
"The tattoo. The carefree attitude. I don’t buy it, at least not one-hundred percent. Something’s going on in her life that she’s trying to escape. Or she’s trying to forget. I’m not sure which."
"Since when did you become Mr. Psychology?" I ask.
He folds his big arms, his biceps straining the snug sleeves. "I just like to understand the people around me. Like you, for instance, enjoy the approval of others."
"Who doesn’t?" I say, feeling a little uncomfortable at his scrutiny.
"Dawn keeps people around her at arm’s length. It’s a protection mechanism."
"She didn’t keep you and Joshua and Mitchell at arm’s length," I say, confused.
"Sex without connection is about keeping people at arm’s length," Jared says.