“I won’t, I swear!” Hopping off the barstool, I reached into my purse and pulled out a couple bills. “This is for the beer. Thank you so much, Darla. You won’t regret this.”
Her forehead pulled into a frown as she pointed to the beer still more than half full and asked, “You’re not gonna finish that?”
“No time,” I replied, walking backward with a big grin on my face. “I’ve got non-yacht-worthy clothes to buy.”
With her laughter following me, I exited the bar and practically skipped to my car, beeping the locks along the way. As I climbed in and started her up, I did it with the biggest, happiest smile on my face.
I was in a new town. I had a new home and now a new job.
New Farah was off and running. And I couldn’t wait to see what was in store for her next.
Chapter Three
Farah
I walked into my first shift at Bad Alibi with such strong jitters I worried the butterflies in my belly might actually carry me away.
The place was already bustling, with about three quarters of the tables already full. The pool tables were all taken, and most of the barstools around the long, U-shaped bar along the back wall already had behinds planted on them.
I did my best to keep my nerves from showing, offering polite smiles to the people whose eyes I caught as I passed on my way to the bar.
“Well looky here, you must be the new girl.”
At the unfamiliar voice, I lifted my head and spotted a big, burly man standing behind the counter. He had one hand braced on the bar top, and the other resting casually on his thick waist. The man stood an inch or two above six feet and had a belly that protruded slightly over the waistband of his worn-out jeans. But as weird as it sounded—seeing as every visible inch of him was thick, from his neck to his arms to his barrel chest—that belly worked for him. He didn’t look sloppy, he looked solid. And judging from his ease behind the counter and the white hand towel he had tucked into the side of his jeans, I could only guess he was the husband Darla had told me about.
“Hi,” I greeted with a smile once I rounded the bar and stepped behind it. “I’m Farah.”
“Buck. Darla’s old man” Grabbing the hand I’d extended, he gave it a shake so strong my whole body shook with the force of it. “Nice to meet you, pretty Farah. She told me she hired a new waitress, but she didn’t say she was such a looker,” he said, giving me a wink.
“For cryin’ out loud, Buck,” I heard from behind me and turned just in time to see Darla coming around the opening of the bar. “What’ve I told you about flirtin’ with the staff? These girls don’t need the likes of you fawnin’ all over them.”
Releasing my hand, he divested his wife of the case of beer she’d been holding and put it on the bar before looping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against his side. He bent low and gave her a loud, smacking kiss before lifting his head and grinning down at her. “Aw, don’t worry, babe. You know I only got eyes for you.”
Her cheeks flushed as she gave his chest a smack. Rolling her eyes, she looked to me and said, “Ignore him. And if he ever annoys you, just let me know and I’ll take care of him.” From the teasing in her tone and the way she stayed pressed to his side like it was the only place she wanted to be, it was easy to see the love between Darla and Buck.
“Don’t let her salty demeanor fool ya,” Buck shot back. “I got this one wrapped around my little finger—Ah! Christ woman!” he yelped when Darla reached over and gave his side a wicked pinch.
Her eyes narrowed into slits, but her look held not an ounce of fire. “Better watch it, or you’ll be spendin’ the night on the couch.”
Buck’s bottom lip poked out. “Aw, don’t be like that, sugar.”
I let out a laugh as I watched the two of them. Something told me it was the other way around, and that Buck was all too happy to be wrapped around her little finger.
Darla broke from her husband’s hold and turned her focus back to me, giving my new clothes an approving once-over. I felt a sense of relief, and the tension that had taken up residence in my shoulders since I first walked in finally began to loosen. The jeans I was wearing were nowhere near as fancy as the ones I’d worn the day before—which, along with the rest of the wardrobe from my old life, were now sitting in a goodwill bin—and hugged my hips and thighs in a way I thought looked pretty good. And with the help of the platform wedges made up of a ton of caramel-colored leather straps twisting around the tops of my feet and ankles, my ass looked pretty nice as well. Up top I was wearing a ribbed, burnt orange racerback tank that I’d been leery of at first, but, after ten minutes of arguing back and forth, I’d let the woman at the store talk me into purchasing.
Where my mother had always been waif thin, my genetics strongly favored my father’s side. That meant, since hitting puberty, I’d been top-heavy, with a smallish waist, a round behind, and wide hips, something Mom had all too much fun using against me. She loved to ride me about needing to lose weight, and thanks to that, I’d grown up with body image issues and had always dressed to hide myself. But when I’d confided in the friendly saleswoman that I was looking for clothes for my new job as a waitress at Bad Alibi, she’d been adamant that form-fitting was the way to go and would lead to bigger tips. The tank stretched across my chest and belly, and while I’d been self-conscious at first, the look I was getting from Darla helped to put me at ease. “See you took my advice on the clothes. You look great, hon.”
I opened my mouth to thank her, but Buck spoke before I had a chance. “Number of dudes that tracked her ass from the door to here, I’m willin’ to bet she cleans up big tonight.”
My stomach sank like a lead balloon, but I did my best not to let my anxiety rise to the surface. I could do this. Hell, I’d spent the better part of an hour giving myself a pep-talk in the mirror earlier. If at any point I found myself getting overwhelmed, I had about a million techniques to help keep the panic at bay. I could do this.
Darla let out a sharp, piercing whistle that shook me out of my musings and waved over a stunningly gorgeous, dark-haired woman. “Farah, this is Shane,” she said, introducing me to the other waitress. “She’s gonna show you the ropes. You good to go?”
“Ready.”
At my answer and resolute nod, Shane spoke. “Come on. I’ll show you were to stash your purse, and then we’ll get you set up.”
I moved out from behind the bar and followed after her, turning right down a hall that led away from the crowd. We passed two doors, the one on the left marked “Ladies’”, the one on the right “Men’s”. A little farther past the women’s restroom was another marked, “Storage.”
“That’s the stockroom,” she noted as we moved past it, continuing to the very last door at the end of the hall with a sign that said “Staff Only.” “And this is the office. Both these rooms stay locked at all times. New hires usually have to wait three months to get a set of keys, so until then, just ask any one of us if you need in these rooms.”
“Gotcha.”