Page 41 of Catching Feels

Cora looks down at her soaked shirt and laughs. “First wet tee-shirt contest ever.”

AJ damn near chokes on his drink but manages not to spill it all over her, and swallows it down. Then he grabs her hand and lifts her arm in the air. “Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner of O’Donnell’s first post-game wet tee-shirt contest!”

I pull off my sweater as I move to hand it to her, glaring at him. “You want to sleep in your car tonight? Rome will have your ass.”

“You mean your car? I still haven’t decided on what I want.” AJ laughs.

9

No Accident

Jillian

Aside from busting my ass the other night on a wet floor, I’m not clumsy by nature. Spilling that glass of water was to ensure that the conversation about NYC ended. Which it did.

Then I was asked if I minded driving CeCe’s car and the boys back to the house once we closed. Of course I couldn’t say no.

“You killed it.” Fawna smiles, pushing a stack of bills toward me from the tip jars.

Having watched her combined the money from all four jars on the bar, cash in singles for larger bills, I know she hasn’t spilt it between the four of us.

I push it back with the reminder, “You need to split it.”

She crinkles her nose. “Please do not insult me. Owners who take tips are just gross.”

“She’s right.” Her father, Abe, chuckles.

“It’s over five hundred dollars in, like, four hours.”

She looks at her sister, Dromida, who works at Mercy West hospital. “More than a surgeon makes.”

“Game nights don’t count.”

She picks up the stack of bills, flips through them, then fans herself. “Oh, they count.”

“Wait till she finds out we add twenty percent to the drink prices on game nights to ensure our staff gets paid for their service.” Fawna’s mom winks at me.

“No way!” I gasp.

“It won’t be this good every night. Fawna normally has three on.”

“We killed it tonight with just us,” Fawna states. “You work, girl.”

I will admit it was busy as hell, and I have to pee so bad I don’t know how I’m still standing here, but so worth it.

“We did eight K in four hours, and this is nothing compared to what the next two nights will be. They win night one, two is busy, and three is insane.” Fawna laughs at what I assume my expression must be. “You’ll still average anywhere between five and eight hundred a night with three on.”

“When Aria’s on, take notes; she pushes top shelf shots. With the twenty percent increase, that’s bank.” Fawna shrugs.

“You’re back here, too. It’s only fair you?—”

“I do just fine.” She leans in and whispers, “Four to five hundred percent markup on liquor.” She steps back and winks. “I’m not just a pretty face and hot bod.”

“You’re a fucking genius,” I state.

She throws her hands in the air. “Right?”

“Why doesn’t everyone own a bar?” I ask.

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