Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
“Relax,” Erin calls, “The Bart is running fine.”
Knowing her, she’s got the schedule up on her phone right now, double-checking for me. But that’s not the problem. I completely forgot that I promised Raul I’d cover his early shift today. Which means that instead of arriving at 5pm as per usual, I’m due at Big Daddy’s in less than 45 minutes.
Luckily, I have more than a little practice getting ready on the fly. I throw on my 'Got Milk?' shirt and skirt, grab my apron from the door and stuff it into my purse at the same time that I balance on one leg to tug on my sleek black flats.
“Fill me in on the meathead later?” I yell as I sail toward the front door.
“Oh trust me, you’re gonna love the rest of the story,” Erin calls back, just before I slam the apartment door between us.
It takes me ten minutes to jog to the subway, because we have to live way off the main drag to afford our place. Lucky for me, though, Erin is right—the Bart isn’t delayed today, so I manage to sail into the restaurant with a minute to spare.
Pete, our slightly-less-creepy-than-the-owner-but-still-creepy-enough manager lurks in the window, scanning passersby like he’s waiting for someone. When I jog past, his eyes light on me, and I realize he’s watching for me.
“I’m on time,” I say as I breeze past him toward the stockroom, where I can log into our time system. “Don’t even try to convince me I’m not.”
“Cutting it a little fine, huh Scrabble?”
I grimace at the nickname. Pete decided on my first day that my last name, Taylor, was too hard to pronounce. He took it on himself to nickname me after “a bad hand of Scrabble.”
“What does it matter? I’m here; that’s what counts.”
“Being early shows determination,” he counters. “It shows your dedication to this job; it tells me that you care.”
Frankly, there’s not another person in this diner who cares more than me, if that’s our definition. Raul is pretty reliable, but most everyone else breezes in and out when they please. Aside from Raul, Pete, our owner and me, nobody else has lasted more than six months straight in this place.
But me, I’m going on two years now. “Gimme a break, Pete,” I groan as I punch in my employee code and verify the timestamp.
“I will not.” He crosses his arms, and I fight an inward grimace. I’ve touched another of his sore spots. Dammit. Me and my carelessness today. Why am I so distracted?
Unbidden, my mind drifts back to that website. To the profile I created, and the wish I let loose into the world. I can’t stop thinking about the guys reading it right now. I imagine one of them getting hard, looking at my photos, thinking about doing all the dirty things I dream about to me . . .
But is this really how I want to lose my V-card, much overdue though it is? To some random stranger? Some stranger who pays me for it?
There is something strangely hot about that. It’s so anonymous, so . . . businesslike. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am style. And a guy who will buy a girl’s virginity from a site like Sugar Babies won’t hesitate to be as rough with me as I want him to.
Is that even legal? I also wonder, a little too late now. And if so, does it make me any better than, well, a common . . .
Pete is still talking. I zone back in.
“—body is going to cut you slack. If you don’t discipline yourself, you open yourself up to let other people do it for you. That’s what I’m trying to teach you here. All of you,” he clarifies, though from the way he glares down his nose at me, you’d think he meant only me, specifically.
I lift my chin a little, defiant. “I’m here on time, Pete. That’s all you need to know about my personal life, thanks.”
His mouth drops a little—that might be the first time in almost two years of working here that I’ve ever dared to speak back after one of his holier-than-thou sermons. It’ll only make the rest of the night worse, I know—he’ll be doubly determined to make me “respect” him now. But for the moment, I revel in my one small victory, and brush past him out of the stockroom to take my place on the floor.
It’s going to be a long night.
2
Everything aches. From the balls of my feet all the way up to the crown of my head. I’ve pulled double shifts before, but last night we had one of those tables from hell—15 people who rolled in just before closing, and of course Pete made us seat them. We didn’t get out of the restaurant, after doing all of our post-shift cleaning and restocking, until almost 4 in the morning.