Good Girl

Chapter 19: Haley

Two months later

"There you go, darlin'."

My fingers grab the fifty the second it hits the sticky counter. The money is soft, frayed, as if it's done this a million times before. "Thanks. I'll be right back."

"No change." The guy flashes me a grin, and I make change in the register before putting the rest in the tip jar. "Since it's windin' down in here, why don't we have a drink?"

I round the bar to put the stools on tables and collect the salt and pepper shakers, flashing the automatic smile I've learned in the last two months. "I'm a little out of my league drinking that bourbon."

He follows, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. His gaze crawls up my legs under the short denim skirt that's practically a uniform here in Nashville.

I pray he's not going to do something stupid.

My manager's in the back office, talking to our bouncer.

Or possibly doing something else, which I definitely don't begrudge them doing because they got married last year and have had zero time together.

I should've closed up twenty minutes ago but got lost doing dishes.

"Sweetheart, I been in here three times this week. Ain't never seen you with a man."

I sense it before I feel him graze my back. Before I smell the booze on him. "Then your vision's 20/20."

"Maybe you like to play hard to get." He leers and reaches for me.

But before his hand grabs my ass through my jean skirt, the industrial salt shaker in my hand catches him in the junk hard enough his eyes bulge.

The beauty of the salt shaker. Small enough to be used as a defensive weapon. Sturdy enough not to break when you can a guy with it.

He writhes on the floor, adopting the fetal position like it's his job.

"Hey!" Andre's baritone hollers from the back doorway.

The guy pulls himself up and slinks out the door. I lock it behind him.

"You okay Haley?" Andre's thick brows draw together on his forehead. He's lost his cowboy hat somewhere in the thirty minutes since I saw him last, and his hair's a mess.

"Peachy." I say it with more confidence than I feel.

He studies me, hard, but decides not to press it. "I'll clean up in the back if you finish up here. And don't forget this." He fishes in the cash register where an envelope's wedged in the side and hands it to me. "Your bonus."

"Thanks."

He retreats with a salute and Lita sidles up. "Last night in Nashville."

"You guys were great," I say as I grab the last of the salt shakers and bring them behind the bar to refill. "Sorry the Dodgers lost."

"S'okay. Kershaw's killing it on the season. Which means I still have the best pitching rotation in the league."

Lita looks pointedly at my bare legs, wiggling her eyebrows. "I see you working it over there."

"Two months in this place has given me a whole new outlook on life." I lift the hem of my shirt, sniffing. "Plus clothes that'll never stop smelling like rye."

I pop open my laptop behind the bar. "I chose my classes for the fall semester. Midnight tonight"—it's after two now—"we're supposed to get our final schedule."