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“Betty Jo doesn’t seem to be the bartending type. I can’t imagine why she’d be slinging beer.”
“Well, money is a good enough reason, isn’t it?”
“Sure,” Beau answered without thinking. “But with her attitude, how in the hell does she make any?”
Billie slowly grinned. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask her?”
Chapter Seven
THE GRILL HAD been quiet for most of the afternoon with only a few regulars coming in for a cold beer and a plate of wings. Not surprising since it was Sunday and the sun was shining. It wouldn’t be busy until later on when the mixed baseball league came in after their games finished.
Oh, joy.
Betty sighed and leaned her elbows on the counter, stretching out her ankle in a bid to unwind the kink in her calf. Why the hell she thought it was a good idea to wear four-inch black heels to work wasn’t exactly clear to her now.
Sure they looked fabulous paired with her short, denim shorts and black halter top but still…
She was tired as hell—hadn’t slept much—and her mood was dark. This working for a living thing was starting to suck, and truthfully, she wasn’t all that good at it. She was pretty sure Duke had only hired her because Logan had put in a good word for her.
And he had only done that because…well, she wasn’t exactly sure why he’d done it. She and Billie weren’t exactly on speaking terms these days.
Still, she wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t the kind of woman to look a gift-horse in the mouth and toss it away. Even if that gift horse was a job slinging beer in a small bar in the small town that she hated.
What she wouldn’t give to be lying on a beach in the South of France with that guitar player she’d hung out with a year ago. Who knows? She might still be there if the asshole hadn’t OD’d.
His wife—an heiress from New York—had flown over from the States, the press had followed en masse, and Betty’s free ride had come to an abrupt end.
“Hey, Gorgeous! Can we have another jug over here?”
Betty scowled and glanced over to Jason Danvers. He winked and flexed his biceps.
Seriously? She wouldn’t touch the guy with two ten-foot poles. Sure he was good looking. Nice body. Single. Had a good job. Didn’t live with his mother. He was even kind of nice.
But he wasn’t her type.
At all.
Not that she had a type.
But if she did, it certainly wouldn’t be someone like Jason, who was looking for something more permanent. A girlfriend. Maybe marriage. Kids.
Ugh.
She was definitely not interested in that.
Nope.
When her itch needed scratching she much rather preferred a guy who only wanted to get laid. A guy who wasn’t into holding hands and cuddling. A guy she could easily control.
Betty Jo Barker was more of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, kind of girl. Not exactly the one to bring home to mother.
And truthfully, she hadn’t felt the need for a good scratching in a long time, though she supposed that she was fine with that too. Sex was overrated.
Severely overrated.
God, she spent most of her time between the sheets moaning and writhing—her Oscar winning moves guaranteed to make the guy feel like a king. And Betty? Hell, she wasn’t even sure why she bothered except that sometimes…sometimes she needed that connection, even if she didn’t enjoy it.
Somet
