Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88262 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
That masculine energy. How fun it had been, too. I was fucking jealous that Andrew, Robbie, and Jesse were still at TNU.
Something was always happening over on the TNU campus, but since I’d entered “the real world,” most days had been the same.
Not that I didn’t love bartending. It was actually something I was good at, after a lifetime of having no idea what I wanted to do for a career. Bartending wasn’t exactly making me rich, but making cocktails? I could do that all day, every day.
“Maybe you should send the stalker guy a cock pic and get it over with?” Andrew said with a shrug.
“Just because there’s a bar between us doesn’t mean I won’t slap you,” I told him.
“Max wouldn’t send a guy a naked pic,” Mason said. “He’s the straightest guy I know.”
“The straightest? What does that even mean?”
“Straighter than most frat guys I know,” Robbie added. “Most people in ours have at least smacked a dude’s ass before.”
“Who says I haven’t?” I asked.
I was used to this.
My… innocence was a common topic of discussion among my friends. They knew I’d never been to a real concert, other than ones held in my high school. They knew I hadn’t traveled, or ever had an office job, or been in a skyscraper. They knew I wanted an easy life, drinking good drinks and eating good food and hopefully ending up married with kids soon enough.
I liked my life, though.
Even if the guys got on my ass all the time for being inexperienced.
“Hell, when’s the last time another guy even touched you, Max?”
I locked my phone and slid it in my pocket.
“Last night.”
Andrew’s eyebrows raised up fast.
“Excuse me? Storytime.”
I kept my eyes down on the bar top as I grabbed a rag, cleaning off the polished oak.
“No story,” I said, even though there sure as fuck was one. I’d been terrified at first last night and then fucking pissed off afterward, but the one thing I hated about living in a small town was gossip.
I wasn’t going to gossip.
Not about Draven, and definitely not about myself.
Maybe you could call that my naive, small-town pride, but I didn’t care.
“Who was the guy?” Mason asked.
“My sister’s boyfriend.”
“Holy fuck, double storytime,” Andrew repeated, more emphatically.
I waved him off. “We accidentally ran into each other on my front porch. He was just coming to borrow a bottle of whiskey.”
Big.
Fucking.
Understatement.
“I didn’t know Lily was back in town with a boyfriend,” Mason said. “I can’t wait to see her. Feels like she’s been out in Montana forever now.”
“She likes her life out there,” I said. “It was supposed to be a one-year travel nursing gig, but the hospital in the mountain town offered her a nice salary to retain her. She fell in love with it.”
Even if I’m questioning my sister’s sanity now that I’ve met her boyfriend.
And… bitten her boyfriend.
“So you accidentally touched another man last night,” Andrew said. “Fine. I guess that’s a boring storytime.”
“Listen. If men want to jerk off to me, I’m more than okay with that,” I said. “Some dude could jerk off while standing on top of this bar, and I wouldn’t even mind. As long as he kept everything clean and sanitary.”
Robbie snorted. “Now I'm picturing some dude standing up on this bar and yackin’ it.”
“Don’t call it yackin’ it. Sounds like you’re talking about puke,” Jesse said with a groan.
Robbie laughed. “Fine. Jackin’ it. Hopping up on the bar and fucking coming all over Kane’s nice, precious bottles of whiskey on the shelves—”
“Hey,” a gruff voice barked from the back hallway, and Kane emerged a moment later. “I don’t know what the hell you guys are talking about, but if I see any of you up on my bar with your cocks out, this place will become a real Old West saloon, real fast.”
Andrew cocked his head to one side. “Did Kane just threaten to shoot us?”
“Nice to see you tonight, too, Kane,” Robbie added.
Kane ignored them, handing me a few clean rags and then disappearing back down the hallway toward the back office.
“Wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a revolver hidden somewhere in this place,” I muttered. “Hey. Revolver. That’s a good name for the bourbon and gin cocktail I was thinking of filming tonight.”
“Bourbon and gin? Mixed together? Now I really am going to puke,” Jesse said.
“Trust me,” I said, “it’s good. The salted lemon rind brings it together. The Revolver. I love that.”
“Don’t tell Ghost Cat about the hidden gun,” Mason said. “You’ll come in here to find it knocked on the floor.”
I snorted.
The running joke at the Hard Spot—my running joke, which Kane hated—was that there must be a cat haunting the bar.
Was it really haunted? No. Probably not. But anytime I found a syrup bottle knocked over or a random cabinet left open, I liked to think it was the spirit of the former bookstore owner’s beloved cat. This building used to be a bookstore, and Kane had bought the place and renovated it, making it a homey saloon.