Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“I’ll be watching you,” he warns Emmett.
“Good news, buddy, I’ll be watching something else.” Emmett leans back and folds his own arms over his chest.
“We aren’t serving you today,” Brady declares and turns to me. “They are cut off.”
He turns and walks away from the table. “It’s funnier fucking with him than when I was fucking with Charlie.”
“Be careful,” I caution him. “When the tables are turned, it’s not going to be as fun.”
“Darling, one would have to find someone worth it,” he shares, shaking his head. “Never had that opportunity.”
I let his words sink in and then take a deep breath. My mind wanders over to Brady, and I wonder why he’s still single. “What can I get you guys?” I push it from my mind and do my job.
I work for three hours straight, serving food and drinks. Brady makes it a point to always come closer to the POS system when I’m there. Every time I look up at him and find him looking at me, he winks at me, making all parts of me flutter and then get tingly. “Here,” he offers, handing me a bottle of water, “drink.”
I shake my head but take the bottle from him, finally having a second to stop. I’m twisting open the cap when the stool next to me is pulled up, and I see Brock sit down. The water bottle is halfway to my mouth. I freeze as he looks at me and smirks before Brady is there.
“What can I get you?” Brady asks.
“I’ll have the new blend,” he instructs to Brady, who nods at him and walks away.
“Hey, Harmony,” he says, giving me a chin up, “how’re you doing?”
“Um… I’m doing good, thanks.”
He nods at me, and all I can do is look at him. Brady comes back and throws the coaster on the bar in front of him before putting his drink down. He picks up the glass and brings it to his lips. His hands are still dirty, so I know he just walked over when he finished work. “Heard about Winston.”
“Yeah.” Brady is quick to answer him. “What did you hear?”
“He spent the night in lockup.” He tries to hide his smile with the glass. “Bonded out this morning.”
Brady looks over at me. “Not a surprise there.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “But it is a surprise they are charging him.” My eyes go big. “Never thought that would happen.” He finishes the rest of the glass. “I hope they all rot in hell.” He gets up, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a wad of bills, and then slaps a twenty on the bar. “I hope they all rot in hell,” he repeats, then looks at me. “Glad you got out from under them.” He turns and walks out of the bar without a second look.
“He looks lost.” I look over at Brady, who has his hand outstretched beside him.
“He made his bed, and now he has to lie in it.” He pushes off from the bar. “He chose a side. That side was the wrong one, and he lost the best thing that ever happened to him.”
“Doesn’t he have a daughter?” I ask Brady and raise my eyebrows. “Something tells me having a child is the best thing that ever happened to someone.”
“That would probably be true,” he explains, “but imagine having the child with someone who you love more than life itself.” He shrugs. “That probably would have been the best thing to ever happen to him.”
“Wyatt is the best thing to ever happen to me,” I tell him, “regardless of who his father is.”
“But you loved Winston,” he points out. “Brock didn’t, and everyone knew it”—he grabs a rag—“including the mother of his daughter.”
“How would she know?” I ask.
“The man is a walking shell of himself, and the only time you see any light in his eyes is when his daughter smiles at him,” Brady informs me. All I can do is nod at him, thinking back to all the times over the years that I took my car in to be serviced at his shop. I always thought it was because he lost his parents one after another, but maybe I was wrong.
I turn back, clearing Brock from my mind as I continue the tables. It’s almost ten o’clock when it clears out, which is later than normal for midweek. “Come here,” Brady says as soon as the door closes. I look over at him from the table I’m cleaning, thinking he has to show me something. I drop the rag and walk to him, only for him to smash his lips on mine in the middle of the bar. He kisses me and makes me forget we are in the middle of the bar before we hear someone clearing their throat.