Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
That explains the odd mix of people scattered around this boat.
“Just find yourself an actual seven. Please,” she advises, pushing a fresh shot toward me.
Watching her drink is a little mesmerizing, the odd way she licks the salt and tosses the drink back like it’s water. Her expression only changes when she sucks on the lime.
“Will do,” I say sarcastically, snapping off a salute.
“Okay, sweet. I’m gonna play roulette. You interested?” She slides off her seat.
“Nah, you go on. I’ve got this.” I motion to the next shot. She raises her eyebrows, rightly assuming there’s no way I’ll keep standing if I finish this next shot. But then she shrugs.
“Okay, Lemmykins. Enjoy yourself!”
Do I really look that miserable?
I glance back to catch the cute bartender’s eye, but he’s busy serving someone else. An old guy with creases in his neck below his ears.
It only takes a second to regret looking that way. Old Guy glances over at me, moving his head like a hungry bird.
Oof. I jerk my head away before he thinks I’m interested.
Right, I can do this.
So maybe this isn’t how I planned to spend a sticky summer night off, but I’m here. I can make my own fun, whatever Kayla thinks.
I order a cocktail as I wait for the buzz to kick me in the face, scanning the large room. It’s basically a giant bar with tables and corner booths flanking table games. Optimal for getting drunk and losing a metric ton of money.
Not my kind of fun. I wonder if I can find a man without spending a fortune—
“Hey, gorgeous.” A loud, drunken voice interrupts my thoughts.
Oh, boy, here we go.
I turn around to find a guy in his forties sliding onto the stool beside me. There’s a bead of liquid on his collar and I look at it, preferring not to pay too much attention to his greying hair or the way he flashes his gold watch. Three times, like I’m part magpie, drawn to shiny things.
He wields it like a secret swipe card that opens my legs.
Come on, dude.
“Hello,” I say coldly.
“What’s a pretty young thing like you doing at the bar like this?”
“Um.” Is this what it’s like to be chatted up? I already want to pass. “Drinking, I guess. Nothing like enjoying your own company.”
I hope he takes the hint.
But he doesn’t.
He laughs, throwing his large head back until he resembles a horse. His Adam’s apple bobs and I try to catch the cute bartender’s eye in case he’s willing to rescue me, but he doesn’t even see me.
All because Kayla’s gone, probably.
“Are you here because you’re a friend of what’s her face? Kylie?” he asks. “The one from Old Mizzou? Surprised you ain’t trying your luck with her. Good times for a college girl.”
“Actually, I didn’t go to college.” And it’s my turn to laugh as my drink—a toxic cocktail that’s the same fading orange as the sunset—gets delivered. “I’m not here to gamble because I’m basically broke.”
He cocks his head and stares. My liquid courage has gotten me this far, and now it’s time to finish the job.
“My last three businesses almost bankrupted me. I lost money on a job walking a hyperactive rottweiler. The kids with lemonade stands have turned a better profit this summer than I will. I even tried to sell fresh-made Italian freezes. That went up in flames when the secondhand ice cream cart I bought off the internet started on fire. Literally, I mean. That was a bad day, but it’s hardly the worst. Want to hear about them?”
“Hell no,” he mutters, but his body language has changed. His shoulders hunch and he turns away.
Thank God. All this dude wanted was a young, fun college bimbo.
They’re all the same and I’m so not his type.
“So are you married? Or just divorced?” I ask, playing it up as I nod at the white line on his finger where his wedding band usually sits, surrounding the tan.
“Enjoy the party, doll.” Grumbling, he pushes himself up and staggers away.
He throws a look back like he’s afraid I’ll chase him.
Hey, at least we’re having fun. Isn’t that the whole point?
I take a triumphant sip from my cocktail and wait for my next victim.
Surprise, surprise.
It turns out being single at a floating casino bar attracts the grossest, most arrogant men on this side of the Mississippi. The adjustments Kayla made to my dress are only partly to blame.
Most of the guys who drop by offering free drinks don’t bother hiding the fact that they’re drooling at my cleavage.
Normally, I’d be happy I don’t have to buy drinks.
The downside is Kayla has my drinks covered.
But the real losers here are the gobs of leering old bachelors and obvious cheaters looking to poach a girl half their age.
“Yep, I just turned eighteen! One more year of high school,” I lie to the latest guy, who’s nudged his chair close enough so his knee bumps mine.