Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115468 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“That was one way to get down here,” Grant said, flinging a glop of mud off his cheek.
“Worst guys’ trip ever,” Aidan murmured.
I barked out a laugh, and then so did they, all of us doubling over, our howls seeming to stem as much from hysteria as from hilarity. “What the fuck was that?” Grant asked.
“And how did we not die?” Trent added.
After a few minutes, we all caught our breath, shaking ourselves off as best we could and heading in the direction of those lights.
We made our way through the rain-drenched streets of the business district, such as it was. The docks were old and somewhat rickety and groaned under our feet when we stepped onto them. But this area of the town appeared to have the most nightlife. The lights were brighter, and I could hear the low hum of voices coming from somewhere just up ahead.
A quaint-looking tavern materialized out of the mist, and I almost ran toward it in joyful relief. Though we couldn’t see all of it through the rain and fog, the portion that was visible glowed with light and invited us in with the faints sound of laughter and conversation. “Looks promising,” Aidan said.
God, did it ever.
I pulled the door open and we all stepped inside, the scent of beer, savory food, various cleaning products and the bare hint of mildew met my nose.
There was an ornate hand-carved, mahogany bar to our left with lighted shelves of liquor on the back wall and a row of lanterns hanging above. Customers occupied all six barstools and they swiveled their heads in unison, taking us in as the woman behind the bar with orange hair paused, a silver shaker held immobile in the air.
We stood there, dripping on the floor as every head in the place rose, gazes aimed in our direction. “Hey,” Trent said with a wave and a smile.
No one greeted him back.
“I’m not sure this place is as promising as it seemed,” Aidan mumbled.
“What do you expect? It’s a dive bar on the docks,” I blurted just as the song on the jukebox switched over to another one, my statement ringing out in the interim silence. The faces still turned in our direction simultaneously morphed into scowls. Shit. That sentence hadn’t come out exactly as I’d meant it, and I certainly hadn’t meant it to be overheard.
“The bathroom’s that way,” a female voice said tightly. “If you’d like to clean yourselves up and stop dripping on my floor.”
I turned my head to see who’d spoken just as a flash of lightning made the lights flicker slightly. The server who’d spoken was standing with her hands on her hips, lips pressed together as she stared at our feet. I followed her gaze to where the puddle beneath us was spreading. My friends started moving next to me, the rustle of clothing letting me know they were removing the matching nylon windbreakers Trent had brought us and that we’d all pulled on when the tire had blown, in an attempt to stay partially dry. But for whatever reason, I felt glued to the spot as I raised my head to look back at the young woman.
Jet-black hair pulled up in a ponytail with tendrils falling around her face. Light blue eyes framed by dark lashes and two perfectly peaked brows. Her full breasts pushed against the white cotton, long-sleeved henley she was wearing, cleavage peeking between two undone buttons.
My God. She was stunning.
I felt momentarily woozy as if I’d just stepped into some strange dream rather than a grungy bar in a small harbor town on the northern coast of Maine. Aidan bumped into me, and from my peripheral vision, I saw that the windbreaker was stuck over his head, his arms raised as he hopped around, struggling to remove it. The woman met my eyes, clearly waiting for me, as the only one currently not losing the battle with a wet item of clothing, to say something. “Food,” I managed, the word emerging on a croak. Was I suffering from hypothermia? All my systems seemed to be misfiring at once.
She tilted her head, measuring me, those pale eyes moving down my body and then rising slowly. Her lips were pressed tightly together as though she’d observed something about me that displeased her deeply. I wasn’t used to that reaction. I had come to expect that when a woman’s gaze traveled my body, the response would at least be appreciation.
Not…disdain.
I peered down at myself as though maybe something had changed since I’d last looked. Nope. Still me, but in a sopping, mud-streaked pair of khakis, Polo shirt, and windbreaker bearing the Harvard logo.
“Food?” she repeated. “Do we serve food? Is that what you’re asking, Ivy League?”
Ivy League. Okay, I deserved that after my insulting outburst that I hadn’t meant to be insulting or an outburst. Next to me, Trent had managed to get the windbreaker off and shook his head like a dog, water flying out around him and bringing me out of the odd dream-like space I’d been occupying since we walked in the door. Likely the sudden change in weather had caused my body to have to recalibrate in some way I didn’t know how to describe. I gave the woman a pleasant smile. “Yes. Are you still serving food?”