Long Shot Read Online Free

She sighs and glares, but she gathers her things and nods. “Fine. But only if you buy.”
    “I thought you owed me?”
    “That was before I agreed to do the third thing I didn’t want to do today. Fourth, if you include leaving bed.” She slides off the chair and walks towards the door, as I wonder what the other thing was. Me? Was it me?
    I run to the office behind the bar to grab my things and clock out, and hurry to open the door for her. She breezes right past me without so much as a thank you . Oh, she has left me an opening. If she wasn’t at least marginally interested, she wouldn’t have agreed to come at all. I think. I hope.
    “Let me drive you.” I can be a gentleman, even if I do have a g-string on under my uniform. Hey, you never know when a regular will request one of my signature nineties hip-hop dances.
    “Absolutely not.” She stops by a red Corolla and shoves a large pair of sunglasses on her face. “I’ll follow you.”
    “You better come. I have your number, so you can’t back out of this. Remember—pinkie swear.”
    “Yeah, yeah.” She sighs. “Where are you parked?”
    I point to a black Corolla not that far from her. “Twinsies.”
    “Huh?”
    “Our cars. I also drive a Corolla.” She stares at me like I’m stupid. Maybe twins aren’t hot. But then explain the Lannisters? “Never mind. Follow me.”
    I jog over to my car, periodically glancing over my shoulder to make sure she doesn’t peel out of here. As much as I think she’s desperate for a booze-absorbing meal and some caffeine, I don’t trust she won’t go running the second my back is turned.
    My car is achingly hot, having baked in the blazing summer sun, so I roll down all the windows and pop the sunroof. It’s unholy how hot it can get so early in the day.
    I really ought to invest in a newer car, one with a working air conditioner, but there are far more important places for my money to go right now. The wait is worth a little sweat. Soon enough, I console myself. Soon enough this will all be in the rearview mirror of my Lexus. Or perhaps merely my newer model Corolla.
    Meredith does actually follow me out of the lot, miracle of miracles. I sing along to the new Justin Timberlake song and pretend I’m singing to her, imagining what it would be like to be pressed against her in a dimly lit club, our bodies doing all the talking. I bet she loves JT.
    Everyone does.
    I could teach her how to do some of my signature dance moves, maybe while nude, maybe while cooking a little morning-after breakfast—wait. No. Nude and cooking may be dangerous. Maybe those will be separate endeavors.
    Actually, I should do none of those things, because dating a girl from the club is a terrible idea. Chicks come to the club to get the fantasy, and the fantasy has nothing to do with my all-day study sessions, or Millionaire Slim’s lactose intolerance, or Diamond Joe’s general misogyny. You date them, they learn these real parts of you, they spread angry rumors about you on Facebook and Yelp. Not worth it.
    Plus, fraternizing with guests is against the rules.
    My car slides into a front row parking space in front of Genessee Royale’s cheerful red facade, and a matching red Corolla pulls in right next to me. I sit in my car for just a second too long. Does it really count as fraternization if we’re hammering out business details?
    And will I ever think the word hammering without thinking about sex?
    I make certain my pants aren’t too tight and hop out of my car.
    “I’m glad you were able to follow me.” I wave with my keys and throw her a wink. “I was worried you’d get lost. Hangover goggles will do that.”
    “There’s no such thing as hangover goggles.” I can feel the glare through her aviator sunglasses. “This better be the best dang croissant I’ve ever had in my life. I’m skipping Taco B—a nap for this.”
    “You’ll never eat another croissant again.” I hold the door open for her and shamelessly