Her Best Men

And the entire time, the three brothers sat at the bar and talked to me.

“You sure you guys don’t want anything?” I asked.

“Beers would be great,” Nick said.

“Three beers coming up,” I said.

I popped open three beers and handed them out before I leaned against the bar. The fucking waitress was late, as always, and I was prepared to take every damn tip from every table I’d already served. She knew the drill. She only got paid for tables she worked. The more tables I worked meant more of a headache for me, but it also meant more money.

And I could fucking use all I could get.

The brothers sat there all night, talking and staring. Their company was nice, but I had no idea what the hell their plan was. They came in here, helped me with shit, then sat there nursing two, maybe three beers all damn night while making casual conversation with me.

Thankfully, my mother stayed the fuck away that night. If she hadn’t, she’d be all over these men in a fucking heartbeat. The embarrassment would have been too much. They made me laugh and kept me going until the bar finally started to wind down around three, then they took their leave so I could clean up and close down.

As I was heading to my car, I got a notification from my bank on my phone. An updated statement on my joint savings account with Lindy. I opened the attachment and jumped up and down in the parking lot like a mad women, when I saw that Lindy’s deposit had already hit.

After two years of working ourselves half to death and saving every single penny we made, we had all the money we needed to finally find our store.

Shit was finally heading the right direction.

CHAPTER 3

“Did you know Booker started closing the bar on Sundays and Mondays?”

“Lindy, I haven’t had coffee yet. I can barely hold this damn cell phone up against my ear,” I said, groaning.

“When did he start doing that?” Lindy asked.

“Uh, it’s been a few weeks. Why?” I asked.

“How the hell did I not know this?” she asked.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you tell me the bar was closed when I told you I thought I worked today?”

“Because we were swamped, and my mother was acting like a drunk maniac.”

“Your mother is a drunk maniac.”

“Yes. We’re now closed Sundays and Mondays. Though I think Booker rents out the place sometimes Sunday nights. Maybe that’s why you thought you were working?” I asked.

“Maybe. I don’t fucking know. All I know is the bar’s closed and I don’t have shit to do. Want to get lunch?” she asked.

“What time is it?”

“Two.”

“In the afternoon?” I asked.

“It’s light outside, so I’m assuming so.”

“I can hear that fucking smirk,” I said.

“I love you when you haven’t had coffee. I’ll come over with some. Then you can ride with me.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I rolled myself out of bed and dragged my body into the shower. I still smelled like stale cigarettes and expired whiskey. For the first time in two years, I had money to spare for a lunch with Lindy, and I was ready to talk shop with her. We could start going through listings of places we could buy to start the clothing store. We had one hundred and thirty thousand dollars to work with for expenses. If we played our cards right, we could put a down payment on a place, get a loan for the rest, then purchase our first three rounds of clothes out of our pockets.