Page 35 of Darlin'

"I got three kids, Mar," Pippa says. "You think a stork brought 'em?" She leans over. "We fuuuuuuck."

"Right, and with that—" Marlow gives me a pleading look. "Three more rum and cokes, and fast.Please."

"On it." With a soft laugh, I collect the three empty glasses and march over to the bar, making sure I avoid Miguel and his unwavering gaze. I place the order on the counter, giving Andy a tight smile. “Three rum and cokes."

Andy perks up a brow and glances over at Marlow's table. "Sure Pippa doesn't want adietcoke?"

I glower at her. “What'sthatsupposed to mean?"

"Come on,Savvy.” Andy chuckles in a heinous tone. "Even you're not that stupid."

My jaw locks as I seethe out, “Regular coke isfine. And I don’t think it’s your place to comment on what other people eat or drink. You’re a bartender, Andrea, not a nutritionist.”

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever."

While Andy works on the drinks, I make my way around the bar and take a dozen more orders. Drunk men are often terrifying, but so far, all the menandwomen tonight have been nothing but smiles and thank yous— Andy excluded. By now, everyone surely knows that I'm related to Beau; that's probably why they're being so kind.

A couple minutes later, I place the three rum and cokes on the tray and drop the drinks off at Marlow's table. "There you go,” I say. “Anything else, ladies?"

"Maybe some fries?" Casey checks with Mar and Pippa, who nod eagerly as they chug down their drinks. "Maybe some chicken fingers too. I feel like it's gonna be a long night with these two."

"I'll ring it up straight away," I say, studying Marlow's drooping eyelids. Dang. Girl's gonna need all the carbs.

As I place their order, table four waves me over, and I collect a tray of empty pint glasses from Poe. "These all yours?” I ask. “Might wanna pace yourself. Can't have you falling asleep in your mac n' cheese again, can we?"

"Don't worry, half are Jiggs'." Poe grins, laughing. "And I still don't believe that that happened. I remember nothing."

"Blacking out will do that to you," I sing, turning on my heel and heading to the bar.

When I pass Miguel's table, a meaty body smashes into my shoulder, and the empty glasses crash down on the floor. A sharp shard of glass slices up the top of my foot.

Pain spreads across my skin, and I wince. "Ow!"

"Shit," Jiggs slurs as he reaches for the dropped tray. "I'm so sorry, Savannah, I?—"

"She's fine," Miguel interjects, dropping to his knees with a napkin in hand. "Go sit down, you drunk fuck."

Jiggs scratches his head, flashing me an apologetic frown. "Seriously, Sav. Sorry."

"It's alright," I say, squatting down to collect all the shattered pieces of glass. "Accidents happen." Miguel tries to help me, but I move his hand away. "Please don't; I can do it myself. Sit back down."

"You're bleeding," Miguel notes, dabbing the napkin on the cut. He fishes a small piece of glass from the straps of my heels. Holding it up, he adds, "You should really consider wearing different shoes while working."

"I like these shoes," I say, picking up my pace as I collect the glass. I shouldnotbe talking to this man. "It's just a little cut."

"I know a great shoe store in San Diego," Miguel says, following me as I stand up. He grins. "I think you'd love it. I can take you this weekend if you'd like?"

"Uh—" Under normal circumstances, I would never decline an invitation for shoe shopping, but given the fact that I'm broke and he's a cartel member, the logical part of my brain wins. And I let it. "I can't this weekend. I have plans."

Miguel raises a brow. "Really? And what do you have planned to do in this bustling town?"

"I'm..."

"What happened?" Jesse asks, appearing behind my shoulder, and I can breathe easier for some reason. He looks at the broken glass on my tray and then down on the floor. "Jesus, Savannah. I fucking told you that you needed sneakers." He sighs, casting Miguel an uneasy smile. "I've got this."

"What—" Jesse takes the tray from my hand and latches onto my wrist. Dropping off the broken glass, he marches toward the clubhouse doors. "What are you doing?"

"Come here," he grunts, turning the knob and aggressively dragging me behind him. "We're fixing this problem." Several bikers give me curious looks as he bulldozes through the lounge and down a hall toward an office. I stand awkwardly in front of a shoddy desk as Jesse rummages through a wardrobe. "Where are they?!"

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