Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
I waved a hand across the hall to the closed door with a torn Nirvana poster tacked to it. “Room’s right there. If it smells like Paris Hilton, blame Bellamy’s annoying girlfriend.”
“Fine. But only because I’m desperate.” She gave one last glance to my dick before she headed for the stairs. “I have to go get ready for work. I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Pick up some Taco Casa on your way home. Extra picante sauce.”
“I’m not getting you extra picante. It gives you gas.”
Chapter 14
LOLA
It was hot as hell when I got off the bus in Barrington, and over the twenty-five-minute ride, I still couldn’t work out what the hell I had been thinking about sleeping with Hendrix, let alone agreeing to move in with him. But I was desperate, and I knew I’d be safe with him. Physically at least. My heart, not so much.
I walked past the restaurant, stopping at the pharmacy on the corner to pick up the morning-after pill before my shift.
The woman behind the counter swept a judgmental glare over me. I was tempted to flip her off when I chucked the fifty bucks I couldn’t afford on the counter. Pissed wasn’t even the word for how I felt about spending my hard-earned money for Hendrix Hunt to nut. Half my weekly rent. But what else was I supposed to do?
I collected the bag and left before crossing the highway and clocking in at The Squealing Hog.
Halfway through my shift, I’d only made twenty bucks—which was half what I normally would have by then. Every table of Barrington kids I waited on stiffed me, and I wasn’t naïve enough to think that was a coincidence.
Hendrix had beaten the shit out of Ethan Taylor, and I had no doubt word had spread by now. Barrington needed no extra reasons to hate anyone Dayton, but especially Hendrix.
I cleaned off another table with no tip, then went to the back to do some of my side work.
I’d just finished filling a bucket with ice when someone touched my shoulder. “Hey. You didn’t answer my texts.”
I closed the freezer door and glanced over my shoulder at Chad. I hadn’t answered because I’d been busy doing things I shouldn’t with my ex-boyfriend. “I haven’t had a chance—”
“And you’ve been avoiding me all shift.”
“I’m not avoiding you. I’m busy. You’re busy…” And I hadn’t yet thought of a good explanation for why I had ditched him mid-party.
“Ethan told everyone Hunt beat his ass because he walked in on you two in the bathroom. Not that it’s any of my business, but—”
“He’s a lying piece of shit.” I hoisted the bucket of ice up and started out of the back. I wanted to tell him the truth, but I wouldn’t say anything that might implicate Hendrix if Ethan decided to press charges. He was the snakey sort.
“Lola!”
My gaze snapped to the end of the corridor where Pete, our manager, stood with a deep frown on his sagging face. He thumbed behind him.
“My office.”
This couldn’t be good.
Chad gave me a concerned look before I cut down the hall and ducked into the dingy, windowless office.
Pete closed the door. “I’ve had several complaints about you today. Slow service, no drink refills, and an attitude.”
Three guesses which tables had made those complaints.
I tapped a foot over the grimy floor. “Barrington High School tables by any chance?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“They don’t like me—”
“I don’t give a crap about your teenage drama. Do better.” He turned to his computer, dismissing me. “Get back to work.”
Of course, he didn’t care that I’d done nothing wrong. Asshole.
I went back to work, and every Barrington table that came in requested to be seated in my section, complained to Pete, and then stiffed me. I was pretty sure I would end up losing my job.
Kyle’s headlights reflected off the Victory Lane street sign. Just as he neared Hendrix’s house, my phone pinged with a text from the devil himself.
SATAN: I have to handle some shit. Do you remember where the spare key is?
Me: Yeah
SATAN: Don’t forget the Taco Casa.
SATAN: Extra picante sauce
Me: I didn’t get picante sauce
This was too normal. A conversation I would have had with him before everything went to shit. Kyle’s Honda came to an abrupt stop beneath the glow of the streetlight right outside Hendrix’s place.
“Kyle, you can pull into the drive.”
He shook his head adamantly. “No. Who knows what he’ll do if I’m trespassing on his property.”
I glanced through the window at the dark house. “He’s not even here.”
The puff of his inhaler sounded. “He’ll know!”
Kyle was beyond ridiculous, but there was no changing him.
On a sigh, I took the Taco Casa bag from the footwell, then got out and hauled my sole box from the back seat. The engine revved before Kyle pulled away, the glow of his taillights fading as he rounded the corner in a squeal of tires.