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Jez gives me a small smile. “I’m good, but thanks. It was a long d?—.”
“Everything okay here?” Waylon drops empty beer bottles into the bin as he settles next to me.
“Yep, I was just getting Jez a drink.”
“Bar is backing up again.” Waylon waves his hand toward the crowd. “It’d help if you quit gabbing and started filling orders.”
Jez glares at him, but I shake my head slightly.
“On it.” I mock salute.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Don’t be a smart ass, Summers.”
I grab my chest in mock horror. “I would never.”
Waylon throws a cleaning rag at my face, but I catch it before it can hit me. “Get back to work.”
We continue to fill drink orders for the next couple of hours. At the end of the night, I’m exhausted and ready to drop. I wipe down the bar before I help Tony, another bartender, restock for the next day.
“Need a ride home?” Tony asks as we walk out the backdoor.
“Nah, but I appreciate it.”
I live a couple of blocks away from the bar, but because of the hellish hours, I drive to and from work instead of walking home. Tony grunts and watches as I climb into my car. I give him a small wave, put the car into gear, and pull out of the parking lot.
My feet scream in protest as I climb the steps to my apartment. Once I’m inside, I toss the keys on the kitchen table and plop down on the couch. I chuck off my boots, and peel off my socks off, wincing when I see the blisters forming on the soles of my feet. After heading to the bathroom, I fill the tub and pour in Epsom salts. Sliding down into the water, I groan with relief as the warmth soothes my aching muscles.
Definitely making a stop at the boutique for those miracle insoles.
CHAPTER 3
ROGUE
“You about done?”
I take my glasses off and scrub my free hand over my face. It’s been a long day of nothing but spreadsheets, and I’m fucking exhausted. My eyes hurt, my head is throbbing, and I’m jonesing for some wind in my face.
“Almost,” I reply to Possum.
He runs Persuasion Ink, the tattoo shop the club owns, and he sucks when it comes to the books. He tries, despite me asking him on numerous occasions not to.
“Are they that bad?” he asks, stepping closer to the desk.
I groan. “Bro, I have the spreadsheet all set up to auto-calculate everything. How the hell do you still manage to fuck them up?”
“Don’t know.” Possum shrugs and smirks. “Talented like that, I guess.”
“For the love of all that’s unholy, please stop trying to help me,” I snap.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He backtracks toward the door. “I’m done for the day. You good if I head out?”
“I’ve got a key,” I remind him. “I’ll lock up.”
He grins, and I know that look. “Thanks, man.”
Before I can ask him the name of the chick he’s about to meet up with, he’s gone.
An hour later, I’m finally able to leave. I lock up the shop and head outside to my Harley. I should go to Purgatory and check in on things there, but I’m sure Waylon has it covered.
