Page 119 of The Love of My Next Life
ALSO FROM BRIT
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Love You Better(Ivy and Kelley)
Better With You(Bailey and Riggs)
Nothing Feels Better(Jocelyn and Jesse)
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Next LifeBook 2 - Fall 2022
Three more books are in the works for theBetter Loveseries.
BTTB:A Holiday Novella - Winter 2022
BL #4(Zay’s Book)- 2023
BL #5(Talia’s Book)- 2023
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Chapter One Sneak Peek
I smell like stale beer and french fries.
It’s disgusting. I’ll never let myself get used to it.
My shoes stick to the floor as I walk back and forth, wiping down counters and replenishing garnishes. Limes, lemons, oranges, green olives, and my favorite, maraschino cherries. I snag one before putting the garnish tray back in the ice chest.
“I’m about finished here,” I call to my manager, wiping my hands on my bar towel.
“You’re good, B. Thanks for coming in tonight. I know you’ve got a lot going on.”
“It’s cool.” I shrug. “I can always use the money. Even if it is a slow Wednesday, cash is cash.”
I grab a toothpick from the jar on the bar and steal another cherry from the tray in the ice chest. Popping it in my mouth, I wink at the guy two bar stools down. He left me a decent tip earlier. The least I can do is pay him one last bit of attention since he’s likely to be back.
“Alright girl, well, head out and I’ll see you on Saturday night. You’re closing.”
Jada pulls a draft for another guy and slides him the pint. A group of them came in to watch some live streamed coverage of the Butler University basketball team then stayed. I couldn’t care less about the game, but it’s the only reason I made any money tonight.
I say goodbye to Jada and head to the back of the bar to get my stuff. Switching out my hideous non-slips for my boots, I drop the shoes in my locker and grab my helmet and crossbody purse.
I should change my shirt because I know I stink like a bar, but I’m just too damn exhausted. I’ve been working more since Jada promoted me to lead bartender at Bar 31, my classes have been kicking my ass, and I’ve been spending all my free time trying to concoct the perfect cookie for the Bakery On Main cookie contest next month. My body is pissed at me and letting me know it, but if I can win that contest...the two-grand in prize money would be worth it. I don’t even care about having my name and cookie displayed on their menu. Okay, that’s a lie. That would be cool. But the prize money? That’s the real appeal.
I duck out the back exit and walk to my bike. She’s my Baby. A black 2012 Honda Rebel 250. I bought it used from the guy who owns the auto garage back home for $1500. It was a fucking steal, but I think he felt sorry for me and cut me a deal. Sometimes there are advantages to being the girl everyone pities.
Putting my purse in the saddle bag, I swing my leg over the bike, put on my helmet, and start her up. No matter how tired I am, the rumble of her engine always gives me a jolt of excitement. Something about the freedom and the danger, maybe. I rev her twice, just for fun, and then cruise out onto the street.
It’s already a little past midnight when I pull into the parking lot of Quick Stop, the small convenience store just off campus. It’s late, I’m beat, and I only need one thing, so I’m braving it.
I hate having to shop so close to campus. I don’t like running into people I know.
Working at one of the popular campus bars means a lot of people recognize me. Occupational hazard. Unfortunately, there are not a lot of jobs where I can make 500 bucks on a weekend fully clothed, so when I’m on the clock, I fake it. Makes me quite a damn peach when I clock out.
After locking my helmet onto the backrest and grabbing my purse, I pop in my earbuds — a whole other level of antisocial. I spent the last three hours beingon. Any more human interaction and I might develop a twitch.
