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I pull out my wallet, grab some money, and hand it to her. After ringing up my total and putting the money in the register, she hands me my change.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Come back and see us again soon.”
I slowly turn back to her and hesitantly tip up my lips a little. “Okay.”
I make my way to the door and push through it to go back out into the nippy air. The temperature has dropped a few more degrees since I went inside, so I slide my hands into the front of my hoodie and approach my car. After unlocking it, I climb inside, more exhausted than I was before I ate. I relax against the headrest, preparing myself for the task ahead—talking this Jaxon person into giving me a job.
2
AS I APPROACH THE place that is to hopefully be my salvation for the next indeterminable number of weeks, I notice it is even busier than it was when I first drove by. It looks like Jaxon's Pub is the place to be on a Wednesday night here in Jaded Hollow. The parking lot is full so I pull behind a gray Volkswagen Beetle that is parked on the side of the road in front of the building. On the back of the Beetle, there is a pink sticker that reads “Rock Chick.” I notice there are several other cars parked on the side of the road as well.
I debate with myself on whether or not to wait until tomorrow to talk to this Jax guy. The place is so busy I’m not sure he’ll have the time to talk. Since I’m already here, I decide to go inside and have a look around to get a feel for the place. If it looks like they’re too busy, I’ll just come back and talk to someone tomorrow during the day.
I hop out of my car and make my way toward the door when suddenly I hear a loud screech come from my right. I glance over, and what I see has my heart racing. Right there in the middle of the parking lot is a couple in an intimate embrace.
At first glance, it looks like the girl may be struggling against the guy. After a better look, I can see the girl isn’t fighting to get away from the man but tugging him closer. The guy has her pinned against the side of a car. He has one hand wrapped around her thigh, holding it over his hip while he grinds himself against her. His other hand is wrapped in her hair, pulling her head back so his lips have access to her neck. The girl has both of her arms wrapped around his neck. With her head thrown back and her mouth open, anyone can see that she’s enjoying herself.
I can’t really tell because of the darkness, but it actually looks like the guy’s pants are sagging, which means his pants are undone, and if his pants are undone, that means they’re—
“Oh yeah, baby, right there, don't stop!” the girl cries to the dark sky.
My mouth drops open, horrified. Are they actually having sex in the parking lot of a bar? Do people really do that? I quickly look away, embarrassed, and start walking faster toward the entrance before they notice me.
The front of the building has a huge porch. There’s a swing hanging from the ceiling and two wooden rocking chairs with a table sitting between them. A few potted plants hang from the railing. It all feels very homey, and if it weren't for the neon signs, I would never have pegged this for a place that sold alcohol.
I push open the door and I’m immediately met with a wave of music. The place is packed with people. There are several high top tables with stools, most of which are occupied. I also notice a sliding glass door. From what I can see, it looks like there’s another covered porch with more tables and chairs. To my left are several pool tables.
Directly in front of me is a long scarred wooden bar that has about ten stools in front of it. All of them are taken except for the one at the end, and it’s in that direction that I walk. I feel several people staring at me. With this being such a small town, I'm sure new people are a rarity.
Behind the bar is the usual mirrored wall with pictures attached to it. One picture stands out because it is an exact replica of the one that hung on the wall of the diner. It’s the black-and-white photo of a man and woman standing in front of the diner. Another picture hangs beside it. This photo is of a young girl of about ten or eleven with light blonde hair. Standing next to her is a teenage boy. He’s tall and has spiky jet-black hair. On the other side of the boy is another girl. She looks to be in her mid-teens and has the same color hair as the boy. Both of the girls have their arms wrapped around the boy’s waist while his are wrapped around their shoulders. All three have huge grins on their faces. You can see by their expressions that they just got done laughing. They look happy and carefree.
A girl who looks too young to be working in a bar approaches my section. I recognize her as the older girl in the picture on the mirror. Instead of just the black hair, she now has red streaks, and it’s cut into a pixie style. When I say red, I don't mean the red you typically see on a female. You know, the red that's actually an orange. No, this girl has red hair. A bright candy-apple red. A red you would see on a sports car. Although her hair is loud, it’s also cute and fits her. Black kohl is artfully done around her eyes. Not too much, but just enough to give her a seductive look. Both of her ears are lined with earrings, ranging from tiny drops of metal to ones the size of a sweet pea. She also has a small diamond nose ring. She sports a pair of denim overalls with a black tank top underneath. Her arms are covered from shoulder to wrist in tattoos. She is absolutely beautiful.
Walking up to me, she asks in a deceptively innocent voice, “Can I get you something?”
Still overcome by her beauty, it takes me a moment to register what she said.
“Oh, um, water, please.”
Grabbing a glass and using one of the taps to fill it, she places it in front of me and turns to walk off.
“Hey!” I call, grabbing her attention. “Anna down at Maggie’s Diner said y’all might be hiring. She told me to ask for Jax about a job,” I finish, semi-yelling over the loud music in the smoky bar.
She raises her eyebrows and looks me over. I know I’m no knockout compared to her. I’m of average height, about five foot six. My hair and eyes are a plain brown. I’m not thin, but I’m not chunky either. I believe my weight is proportionate with my height. My boobs are on the small side but are perky. My two redeeming qualities, which are curses in my opinion, are my neck and legs. People say I have a slender and graceful neck and mile-long legs. At one of Steven’s and my “outings” one guy said I had the legs of a supermodel. It always made me feel creepy when one of his colleagues complimented me.
After her perusal of me, the girl glances to the right and hollers, “Jaxon!” across the bar.
“What?” a deep, rich voice responds. I glance over in the direction of the voice and notice a man leaning on his forearms on the bar, talking to a woman. I can’t see his face because of the other occupants blocking my view, but from what I can see, he’s wearing a pair of well-worn formfitting jeans.
Pixie girl hollers back, “We got a potential here.”
Jeans guy straightens up and starts walking toward us. My breath catches at my first real glimpse of him. He’s the guy in the picture plastered to the mirror behind the bar. It’s him, but an older version. He still has the thick, spiky jet-black hair, and it looks like he just ran his fingers through it. An irrational thought pops into my head of me running my fingers through his hair.
I shake my head. Where in the world did that thought come from? No way could I ever want that, no matter how hot a guy looks.
He’s tall. If I had to guess, I would say about six foot three. He’s built, but not in a bulky way. Muscles bulge from his shirt sleeves and his stomach is flat—and hard, I would guess.
