Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 116760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea. She hadn’t really appreciated how protective her friends might be of her.
“There’s another bouncer called Princess Di. She’s a character and you don’t want to piss her off. And though she wears a tiara, she can take most grown men down with one hand.” She sighed. “She’s my idol. And then there are a few servers as well. There’s Beatrix as in Beatrix Potter and Jane from Jane Austen. Oh, and there’s Bob.” She waved over at the wiry guy playing a piano in the corner. Badly. He hit the wrong note and she winced. “I think it’s short for Robert the Bruce, but he won’t tell anyone. He doesn’t officially work here. One day, he just started playing the piano and told everyone that was his job. He also threatened to cut anyone who touched his baby. His baby is the piano.” She winced at another missed note. “He’s also awful. But, you know, kind of crazy. So no one argues with him.”
“He did what? He threatened to cut you?”
She rolled her eyes. “No.” Turning, she pointed her finger at him. “And I know what you’re going to say. We are not leaving. He didn’t threaten to cut me. He threatened to cut anyone who tried to play his piano. I have never touched his piano. And Bob likes me. He wouldn’t slice me up.”
“Slice you up?” Corbin grumbled. “Dear God. My blood pressure is going through the roof. I think I might actually be having a heart attack.”
Men. Such drama queens.
“Bebe!” Churchill yelled out, obviously tired of waiting for her to come to him. “You want your usual, babe?”
“Babe?” Corbin growled.
Okay, this was going to take a lot of her patience. And she didn’t have much of that left.
“It’s just a nickname; it doesn’t mean anything.”
“It better not,” Corbin muttered.
“Don’t worry. I think Churchill has a thing for Jane. Although she’s so skittish, she practically runs away whenever she sees him. It’s a whole thing.” Shaking her head at their antics, she grabbed Corbin’s hand and pulled him right over to the bar.
“Hey, Bebe,” Ernest said as he sat at the rough, worn wooden bar. “Getting your usual?”
Like that hadn’t just been screamed across the room.
“Sure am, Ernest. Where’s Bertha?”
“Gone to pee. She’s got a bladder like a greyhound. Always going. But little bits, you know. Can’t get a whole pee out like I can.”
“TMI, Ernie,” she said as she sat several stools down from him in case Hayes or Corbin wanted to sit next to her.
She really wouldn’t object to Corbin sitting next to her.
As long as he behaved.
Sheesh, she didn’t think she’d have so many problems with him. He was making Hayes look like a choirboy.
Churchill put her usual in front of her and she clapped her hands in excitement.
“What the hell is that?” Hayes asked, coming up to stand beside her. Corbin was on her other side and shot her drink a look of horror before his gaze moved around the room.
“It’s a Jellybean Sparkle martini.” The drink was glittery pink because Churchill swirled edible glitter around the inside of the glass. Then he mixed up ouzo, raspberry syrup, and Sprite and poured it in. Finally, he topped it with a healthy dollop of Cool Whip and a bunch of pink and black jellybeans.
“It’s freaking heaven on earth.”
“I thought your favorite alcoholic drink was beer,” Corbin said, watching as she took a sip.
A sigh of pleasure left her lips. “Nope. Beer is good for day-to-day stuff. But when you need a drink to lift your mood and make you smile, it’s a jellybean sparkle to the rescue.”
20
God. Her smile.
She looked so happy. Had he ever seen her look that happy before?
And over a damn cocktail. It was a ridiculous-looking cocktail. Way too much sugar. More than he’d ever let her have if she was his . . .
But she’s not.
So chill.
And besides, if it brought that smile to her face . . . well, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do to make her happy.
Fuck.
He was really falling for this girl.
But could it ever work between them?
“How often do you need to come here to cheer up?” he murmured.
“Only about once a week now. Used to be every night for a while there. It was the only thing that got me through the day. That and therapy.”
Jesus.
Talk about a punch to the stomach.
He couldn’t breathe, thinking about what sort of pain she had to be in that she needed to come here to have a ridiculous drink that made her smile.
He wanted to ask her more, but this wasn’t the place. It was loud, but that didn’t mean that people couldn’t listen in on their conversation. He felt the old guy a few stools away lean in.
So, asking her about that would have to happen another day.