Page 1 of Falling For Lucky
One
Lucky
“Shit, I’m going to be late,” I mumble over and over as I rush around my small home looking for a bar shirt that isn’t currently covered in something.
I finally found a clean one that I wore before, hanging in the back of my closet. There is no fucking way I should wear this after everything. The chiming of the alarm on my phone lets me know if I don’t leave now, I’m going to be late. That is not an option right now. I need this job. It’s the only job that can rotate around my ever-changing needs. I throw the too fucking small shirt over my head and pull my long blonde hair into a messy bun and run out the door.
I catch myself in the mirror, pulling down on the shirt so it covers more of the top of my jeans. Only it pulls the v of the shirt down so my tits are hanging out. In no way is this outfit wrong. If I really look at myself, I know that I look good as hell. It’s my parents' voice in my head making me pause. Them telling me that a good girl doesn’t show her body. A good girl doesn’t stand out. A good girl keeps her head down and mouth closed.
I shake my head no, I look good. This is okay and most of all I don’t give a dang what any of them say.
I’m not far from the bar but it’s supposed to rain tonight so I’m praying my piece of shit car will start. I pull the door open and sit in the seat taking a deep breath praying as I stick the key in the ignition. Turning the key, I get it clicking. Not a damn light, nothing but the fucking clicking. I scream in frustration before slamming the car door and starting down the street towards the bar.
The summer sun is beating down on me causing sweat to run down my chest between my boobs. Fuck, I’m going to smell like an ass by the time I get to work. Don’t get me wrong, I’m in shape and try to run daily but no matter how fit you are the southern sun is not forgiving.
I continue to watch my surroundings for anything abnormal or not as it should be.
“You have to stop being so fucking paranoid. Everyone is safe. You are making it happen and doing what they told you never could,” I whisper to myself.
The bar comes into view, and I sigh in a small amount of relief that the parking lot is empty. I’ll have time to wipe some of the sweat off and relax before shit gets crazy.
The bar isn’t anything special. It was a four-car garage that that old man Donvan bought when he got home from the war. He tried his hand at being a mechanic but found he didn’t have the talent for it. So, he went and turned Donvan’s Garage into a bar and grill. That was back when he was in his thirties. Now he is pushing seventy-five and this palace is still the best food and drink in forty miles. He is very understanding and patient, yet he takes no bullshit from anyone. He truly is the best boss you could ask for.
I push my way into the bar pausing long enough to let my eyes adjust to the difference from the sweltering summer sun to the dark bar. When my eyes adjust, I look around the room to make sure there is nothing, really no one out of place. I find Donvan’s long-time girlfriend and momma bear standing behind the bar talking with two of our regulars.
The bar is long across the back wall with four total pool tables. Two on the left and two on the right. The big rolling doors are closed now but will be opened later in the evening to allow for more space and open-air feeling! There are tables placed sparsely around bar continuing that open feeling with several T.V.s wrapped around the top near the ceiling. If I’m honest with myself… it’s home.
“There’s my girl! Why are you just standing there? Are you okay?” Laura asks a wrinkle creasing her brow.
“Oh, I am fine. My car shit on me so I walked. I’m just taking a breath.”
“You know Donvan is going to shit a break if he finds out that you walked instead of calling for a ride,” Laura sasses with a hand on her hip.
“I know. It isn’t a big deal. It’s not that far of a walk. I’m going to freshen up and then I’ll be ready to get started.” I try to deter her.
“No rush, we are good for a minute here,” Laura says with a flick of her hand before going back to wiping down the bar.
I give her a nod and head to the back to put my stuff in a locker and wipe some of the sweat away that is running between my breasts and down my neck. Looking in the mirror, I fix my bun and add some mascara to my blonde lashes and foundation to try and hide the bags under my eyes. I pull at my shirt again trying to make it less form-fitting.
“Stop pulling at your shirt. You look stunning!” I hear from behind me and smile wide, turning to see my fellow server and closest friend.
“It shows so much and is so freaking short. I can’t help it,” I shrug at her.
“We’ve talked about this. Your parents are douchebags. The shit they stuffed in your head is lies. And I would fucking kill to look like you,” Khloi says with a glare.
Khloi and I haven gotten close over the last year, yet I know there is more to her. She has secrets. Something terrible had happened to her. She doesn’t show it to the world but it’s there just under the surface. I see a lot of the same actions in myself. We hang out and have fun, never pushing either too far, asking deeper questions, or pushing for more information.
“I know, I know! Some days are better than others and with very little sleep I am struggling with it all today!”
“It’s a good thing that you have me then to make sure you aren’t stuck in that place. Now let’s go make some money,” Khloi says, smiling wide and doing some weird hip wiggle.
I laugh, shaking my head, hip checking her on my way out of the door, tying my apron around my hips as I go. I stop at the kitchen to say hi to the guys, counting and grabbing my cash drawer and step behind the bar.
The timber of his voice races down my spine, warming me to my core. The voice is deeper and more growly. I would never forget his voice from our many secret nights in the field. I swallow the panic rising in me.
Two
Troy
