Page 519 of Rock Me All Night
* * *
Two hours into my shift, I sneak into the back room to check my loan status on my cell.
I stare at the screen as the page reloads.
Damn. Pending.
It might not go through.
My stomach drops. I don't know what I'll do if I have to wait another year for law school. That will prove Nathan right. Prove to my mom that I'm another stupid woman who let a guy get in the way of her dreams.
If I'd studied harder, got better grades, I could have gotten a better scholarship.
For a second, I consider asking Dad for money. He makes a good living. But that would come with strings. I'd have to be the person he wants me to be. I'd have to go back to lying to hide his drinking.
I slide my phone into my pocket and take a few deep breaths. I've always wanted to be a lawyer. I don't want to keep waiting for my life to start.
I need to find a way to pay for school. And I'd love to spend more time with Pete. But how is lying for him different than lying for Dad?
Where the hell will I be in all that?
"Jess." Rick's voice booms through the backroom. He's irritated.
Great. I brush a few stray hairs behind my ears and make my way to Rick.
He's standing behind the bar, pouring a Moscow mule into a copper mug. His eyes are fixed on a pretty redhead. Not the one from last night. A new one.
Guy has a type. I'll give him that much.
His gaze stays on her chest as he talks to me. "Your boyfriend is here. He needs to buy a drink or get lost."
My boyfriend? "I don't have a boyfriend."
"Don't lie, sweetie, you're not the first waitress to have a quickie in the backroom. I don't care. It's slow. Chat if you want. As long as he buys a drink." Rick nods to a table in the corner.
Pete is sitting there, his eyes fixed on me.
I offer Rick my best customer service smile. "Of course, sir." Itismy job to sell drinks. "Did you assign the Friday shift yet?"
"Yeah, gave it to Christina. She needs the cash."
"I need the cash too," I say.
"You'll get the next one." He motions to Pete. "Now, Jess."
Okay, there's no arguing with Rick when he's inI'm taking this woman homemode.
Pete is sitting in a black vinyl booth. It matches him—black t-shirt, black skinny jeans, black converse. Hell, he's even wearing black eyeliner.
It should be a crime, looking that good in eyeliner.
It should be a crime, looking that good, period.
His lips curl into a smile. The joy spills over his expression. His cheeks crinkle. His eyes brighten. There's even something different about his posture—more relaxed.
"You're staring," he teases.
My stomach flutters. "You're wearing eyeliner. It looks good." The guys I know back home wouldn't be caught dead in eyeliner. They're missing out, really. He looks fucking yummy.
