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)
It’s not, like, an official job or anything—catching cheaters. I work my regular shifts at Harold Metcalf’s diner on Main Street. This is just…a hobby. A public service, maybe. A way to add value with my time. But I’m well aware it’s not commonplace.
Six months ago, it would’ve been the very last thing I pictured myself doing in my free time.
Clay is finally getting close to me, having worked his way down the bar from the far end, and when I see him pouring a glass of Pinot Grigio—my drink of choice—I know the time for my “talking-to” is near.
Surprisingly, I find myself smiling at the thought of him chiding me. There’s something charming about having a rumored mob boss give you a scolding about safety, even if the only mob he’s actually in charge of is the drunken one inside this bar.
The glass hits the wooden surface of the bar top in front of me, and I grin. “It’s almost like you know my drink or something.”
He smirks. “I know everyone’s drink, doll.”
“Yeahhh. But you’ve been watching me for months. You said so yourself.”
He nods. “Figure someone needs to look out for you since you’re not looking out for yourself.”
“I can handle my own shit, Clay.”
“How old are you, Josie?” he asks, catching me a little off guard.
“Uh…twenty-five. Why?”
“Well, I’m twenty-eight, which means I have three more years of wisdom on you.” He winks. “Not to mention, I grew up in New York. A certified rich city kid who had everything at his disposal and spent the majority of his youth and his early twenties in trouble, lots of fucking trouble, because of it. And that on its own adds, like, an additional ten years to my wisdom scale.”
“Wisdom scale?” I question on a snort. “Is that supposed to mean something important? Because I’m lost.”
“Well, if you do the math, I have thirteen years of extra life experiences—highlighted with a hell of a lot of fuckups—on you.” He taps his hand on the bar. “Which means you should take my advice and quit all this shit with these assholes while you’re ahead.”
I purse my lips. “News flash, Clay, I grew up in New York too.”
“Wait…” His eyebrows pull together. “You aren’t a Red Bridge lifer?”
I shake my head. “I was born here, but after my father died, my mother moved us to the city so she could bag a rich man. I spent the majority of my teenage years being a city kid just like you. I didn’t come back to Red Bridge until I was eighteen.” I place both elbows on the bar and rest my chin on my fists. “And if you knew my mother, you’d know that dealing with her narcissistic, vapid, manipulative, cruel ass adds about twenty years of wisdom to your belt.”
After the words come out of my mouth, I’m a little shocked that I even went that deep into my past. Besides my grandmother, I don’t have a relationship with my family, just horrible memories, loss, grief, and loads of trauma. All of which I never talk about. Or at least, I don’t usually talk about.
“Yeah, well, you haven’t met my father, the great Carl Harris, a man who loves money more than anything. And when I say anything, I mean literally anything, even his one and only own child,” Clay counters. “The only good thing that bastard’s done is help fund this bar…” He pauses and leans forward with a secret grin. “It’s minor details that he thinks The Country Club is an actual country club.”
My jaw drops. “You’re lying.”
“No lies, Josie. Never lies. I’m an open-book kind of guy. So…” He smiles at me, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “If I do the math again, our parents cancel each other out.” He points one finger at me. “I’ll even give you some leeway on growing up in the city, but I know for a fact you didn’t get into half of the fucked-up shit I did. But even then, it still leaves me with three years more than you.” He smiles at me like he’s won some kind of prize. “And that leaves us with you taking my advice and stopping meeting up with these dirtbags.”
A sigh escapes my lungs. “You don’t understand what I’m doing.”
“I didn’t. Not until tonight anyway. Just thought you were teasin’ guys up to drop ’em on their ass. But I got enough of an earful of your conversation with your pal Drew to understand it’s a hell of a lot different from what I originally thought.”
“And let me guess, you think it’s stupid.”
“Not stupid.” His eyes turn serious. “Just concerning.”
“Wait… You’re not going to give me some line about minding my own business? About what happens between a man and a woman being a sacred, intimate thing where they make their own choices?”