Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
I had promised that, hadn’t I?
He sat down on my spent cock, teasing me, and kissed my neck. “If you need convincing, I don’t have a gag reflex.”
Christ, this boy.
I didn’t need convincing, but I did need recovery time. So…
I chuckled under my breath, knowing exactly what to say to bide my time. “Of course you don’t. You’ve been desensitized as a Cubs fan.”
He shot right up, surprise written all over him, before he scowled down at me. “What. The. Fuck.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
I shuddered as a harsh wind tore down the alley, and I swallowed hard and shook the images. I was a fucking dumbass for indulging in an illusion.
Clenching my jaw, I pulled forth images of Alvin instead—but what good did that do? No matter who I thought of, this putrid self-hatred took over and told me I’d never be good enough for them. I couldn’t take care of myself, much less anyone else. Not even my own son. My flesh and blood.
Goddammit.
Unshed tears burned behind my eyelids, and I fell down a familiar void, where I tried to summon the guts to fucking kill myself already. But that lasted all of a second, because every dollar mattered. I had to keep fighting to make Alvin’s life a little bit easier.
I’m sorry, son. I’m so goddamn sorry.
I sniffled and screwed my eyes shut harder—but then I heard a noise, and all the alarms sounded in my head. I shot my stare toward the mouth of the alley, relief settling as quickly as I turned wary. It was just a dog. But they came with their own set of problems. They didn’t pull a knife on you or anything; they just had sharp teeth and weren’t afraid to use them if they were hungry. Hopefully, it wasn’t a stray.
“Good night, boss!”
“Fuck off!” I grinned and shook my head. That boss name was catching on, and I hated it. But they all thought it was fun, so…whatever.
I flicked off the lights once Julie was out the door, and I grabbed my food container on my way out. Alarm activated, the place smelling like no rats would like it here—it’d been a good day. I released a breath and headed up the stairs, and I started working on how I could repay Adam.
Because fucking hell, he’d brought me back from the dead today.
The Clover was officially on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok. The sneak had done everything behind my back, safely back in his California haven, including updating the website. Oh, and he was developing an app for us.
I dug out my keys and side-eyed the foldable bed, but I refused to let myself go down that road again. No more pity parties. No more rage rants. The motherfucker was out of my life, and he better stay gone.
CHAPTER SIX
Trace Kalecki
Holy fuck, was I nervous. My hands had turned into running faucets, they were sweating so much, and there was no such thing as a resting pulse today.
I’d had my first marketing idea ever last month, and Adam had decided we should go with it. So we were, and it was wreaking havoc on my stomach. What the fuck did I know about marketing? But I’d just figured…we needed more tourists to come in, and they were all gathered up on the Riverwalk to watch the river turning green and then the parade. So I’d called up a buddy who worked for his old man’s riverboat cruise business, and they’d jumped at the chance to collaborate. We provided the draw, the challenge, and they got more customers who they brought our way.
Adam believed it was the start of a new tradition. The Clover Run. If you could make the run from the dock on Wells to here in five minutes, you got a free beer. If you completed it in three minutes? Congrats, you won a shot with your free beer.
It was totally doable. Chip and I had walked it in eight minutes, and then I’d jogged the stretch in four minutes the other day. But that was the point. Easy wins attracted more people with open wallets.
In other news, karma was real, and Jamaal was having fun with her. This whole week, my old man had joined Jerry and Malcolm at the bar, and I was fucking over it.
I’d obviously known my folks would come home for St. Patrick’s Day, but I hadn’t anticipated them being in my face so much. They went to Sarah’s to sleep; that was all. Well, Ma went off with Chip a lot too. But Dad? He was an official member of the Senior Circuit now.
“I want everyone in front of the bar in five!” I yelled. We were opening in fifteen, and I needed to run through everything once more.
We opened late every Saturday before this holiday, because we had so many preparations to finish, and with St. Patrick’s Day falling on a Sunday this year, it meant we had two days in a row to do it up big. And I was going really fucking big. The Clover had turned into a shamrock factory, and the entire week had led up to this weekend. Adam and Everett were in town too, and both had helped me run promotions for the bar. The ceiling was a sea of green balloons, streamers, and leprechauns, and every item on the menu came with something green, whether it was dye or a decoration.