Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 203847 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1019(@200wpm)___ 815(@250wpm)___ 679(@300wpm)
My lips curve and I rest my hand on his chest. “And if it’s not your money, it’s your cock. I guess that’s what you get for being so goddamn irresistible, Tyler Stone.”
He runs a hand through his hair and closes the door behind us. “I try, baby girl. I try.”
Unnecessarily, I want to add.
The guy would be irresistible wearing an Olaf costume.
I slide two pints across the bar and take the offered ten-dollar bill. I ring the order up on the register then hand the guy back his change with a smile. He nods in response and grabs his drinks.
Old Dill waves his glass from the end of the bar. I make my way down to his end and grab his glass.
“It isn’t gonna be the same around here without you, Liv,” he says, watching as I pull his pint.
“Don’t be silly. I’ve only been here a few months. Give it a few weeks and you’ll forget all about me.” I wink and set the full glass down in front of him.
He hands me a twenty, and I raise my eyebrows.
“What’s this? Spoiling me by paying cash on my last day?” I tease.
He laughs. “Don’t tell Donny. He’ll expect it every fuckin’ day.”
I laugh and ring it up. I set his change on the bar next to his glass and lean against it. “I might actually miss this place, you know.”
“Of course you will. What’s the name of the place you’re managing?”
“Crimson Lounge.”
“Sounds fancy.”
“Aaron Stone is the owner. What do you expect?”
Dill whistles low. “In there with the big boys.”
I laugh. “Perks of having a best friend who fucks the guy in charge.” I wink and move to serve a couple halfway down the bar.
I regretfully tell them that we don’t serve food when they ask and get them two glasses of Pinot and two bags of chips instead. Hey, they must really need a drink.
“So how fancy is this fancy bar?” Dill asks when I return to him.
I open the glass dishwasher and wave the steam away. “Cocktail-shaking men,” I answer. “VIP area. Dress code. Opening night is invite-only.”
He whistles again. “And you’re going to manage that?”
“Right?” I raise my eyebrows. “I can’t even paint my friggin’ nails without them looking like a toddler tried it. Now, I’m going to manage a place like that. Moving up in the world.” I wink.
“How about that there modeling? Seems like you were busy a couple weeks back.”
I inwardly wince. Despite Tyler’s proclamation that I got the Balfour campaign, I still haven’t spoken to Sheila about it. In fact, we haven’t spoken for a week—and it’s not like I can call her.
Can you imagine? “Hey, Sheila. I heard I got the Balfour campaign from the photographer I’m fucking. Thanks for reintroducing us on that Victoria’s Secret shoot that totally failed, by the way. Mind? Blown.”
Yeah.
No.
“Waiting to hear back on a couple of things,” I tell Dill evasively. Hey, it’s not a lie. Technically, I am.
“Well, I hope they see sense and get your pretty face up on them boards.” He tilts his pint toward me.
“Hitting on my woman, Dill?” Tyler slides onto the stool next to him.
I can’t help my smile. It’s automatic at the sight of him. Much like the butterflies in my tummy whenever I hear his voice.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, son!” Dill laughs and slaps the bar. “Tried it more than once and she put me right in my place. Didn’t ya, Liv?”
“If only I were thirty years older.” I wink.
“Hey now.” Tyler holds his hands up. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
I laugh. “Shut up. Aren’t you supposed to be taking your sister for dinner?”
“Yeah,” Tessa says over his shoulder. She sits next to him. “Do you know his idea of dinner is Mc-fucking-Donald’s?”
I chew the inside of my cheek and nod. “Um, yes.”
“Hey, y’all want me to buy you dinner all the time, you gotta take the cheap stuff.”
I stare at Tyler flatly. “Honey, we aren’t in Texas. Tuck your y’alls away and don’t bring them out again until you dress up as Woody from Toy Story for Halloween, okay?”
Dill laughs loudly. “Hell, I’m gonna miss you, girl.”
“Is this a Liv Love Fest? I want in!” Rosie cries, squeezing me tight.
“Holy…crap!” I squeak. “I’m only moving to a bar two blocks away. Y’all are acting like I’m moving to Australia.”
“Why the hell can you say y’all and I can’t?” Tyler demands.
“I’m American.” I shrug. “You’re British. Don’t be thinking you can come over here and start talking like one of us.” I grin.
The look in his eyes says that I’m going to pay for that.
I’m pretty sure the look in mine says that I’m going to enjoy every damn second of it.
The clock ticks to seven p.m., signaling the end of my final shift at the Stag, and I hug Rosie tight. We go through a round of, “I’ll miss you. I’ll miss you, too. Come see me, okay? Don’t forget me. We’ll meet for a drink.”