Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“Cute little stunts you’ve been pulling in here for the last four months, but this was the last one, got me?”
She narrows her eyes. “Fine.”
“I’m serious,” I push, and she purses her lips as a few ladies around her hover close, trying to listen.
“And I said fine,” she emphasizes, holding eye contact with me in challenge. We stay that way for a long moment, and then she widens her green eyes dramatically. “I won’t bring any more dirtbags in here. Promise.”
Satisfied, I nod and head for the end of the bar to get back behind it and catch up on all the waiting drinks. However, her voice is just loud enough for me to hear it when she tells Sue Nagel, “I’ll take them somewhere else.”
Against my better judgment, I stop in my tracks, turn around, and walk right back over to her. “Did I just hear you say you’ll take them somewhere else?”
“Yeah.” She narrows her eyes again. “And?”
“I don’t know if you noticed, honey, but that shit is dangerous. If I hadn’t been there to step in, you could have gotten seriously hurt. I can appreciate what you’re doing, but it’s not smart.”
She shrugs. “It’s worth the risk.”
“See, that’s where we don’t agree.”
“Good thing we don’t need to, then.” Her laugh is defiant as hell, and I start to think I might be the crazy one when I find myself loving the way her green eyes shine and her full lips part with each chuckle. “You’re not involved,” she adds with a cheeky smile.
“I don’t know, I look pretty fucking involved, if you ask me.” I hold out two knowing hands, palms up. “I just threw a guy out of my bar over it.”
Her pretty green eyes roll heavenward. “I told you, I’ll go somewhere else.”
I sigh, gesturing toward a stool at the end of the bar. “Sit down. Please. Let me catch up on all these drinks, and then we’ll talk.”
“Why do you care so much?”
“’Cause I’ve been watching you for a while now. And I kind of like your smile the way it is.” And because you’ve become a mystery I’d really love to solve.
Her lips part in surprise, and Sue elbows her in the side before turning around and pulling out a stool.
I hope and pray and hold my breath. And smile so big my chest hurts when Josie finally sits down.
I’m almost sure it makes me a fool, but I think this girl might just be something special.
2
Josie
Saturday, May 24th
My heart pounds as I sit down on the stool at the bar and wait while Clay Harris serves the hordes of people waiting for drinks. I don’t know him well, but I’ve heard plenty of talk about the handsome bar owner since he took up residence here a few years ago and opened the only watering hole around for miles.
He’s originally from New York, moved here a couple years back, but has settled in well and has generally been accepted by the masses. Which is a feat in this small town. It’s not that we don’t like any outsiders, but there’s a hazing of sorts, just like in a frat or a sorority—a test of loyalty that you must pass.
From what I hear, Clay Harris has managed to pass it in spades despite all the chatter about his wealthy parents and sordid past.
Eileen Martin, the town gossip and editor of the newspaper, has been telling people he’s a member of the Gambino family—like legitimate mob boss, Sopranos-type of stuff—since he arrived in Red Bridge, and supposedly, Sheriff Pete Peeler kept him under twenty-four-hour surveillance for the first year he was here. But these days, I don’t know a single townsperson who wouldn’t let him babysit their kids or invite him over for some meatloaf and mashed potatoes on any given night.
The man has some kind of magical charisma, that’s for damn sure. The way everyone in town loves him now is proof.
It’s a typical Friday night in Red Bridge, and The Country Club is bustling with nearly half the town’s population and a third of the people from one town over. Basically, the only ones not here are the poor souls working the overnight portion of their swing shift at the Phelps plant just outside of town, and as a result, Clay is hustling.
I watch as he prepares drink after drink with a smile on his face, chatting up everyone he encounters with amusement and patience. It’s almost as though he didn’t just have to throw someone out of his bar because of me—like the work is soothing to him.
He’s muscular, and his T-shirt stretches across his chest with every bottle of beer he uncaps. His white smile stands out against his tanned skin, and his dark, nearly black hair curls freely at his hairline. I dig my teeth into my bottom lip as I consider what he must think of me and the work I’ve been doing for the sisterhood.