Bad Alibi: a Redemption novel

by Prince, Jessica

  When I looked at her, I saw the harsh, bossy demeanor was gone and she was grinning now, making her a million times more approachable. “Not a big drinker in general.” Having said that, I took another huge gulp, needing the fortification the alcohol would provide. The second drink went down a little smoother, but I still sucked in a hiss between my teeth and cringed, putting the bottle down. “Thanks. That helps.”

  She resumed her position with her arms resting on the bar. “You good now?”

  My cheeks heated, and I knew from experience that they were glowing a bright red. “Yeah, I’m good,” I mumbled, looking down and picking at the label on the bottle with my thumbnail. “Sorry about that. That whole speech kinda got ahead of me.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” she replied casually. “Happens to the best of us. So you said you have waitressing experience?”

  My head shot up and my eyes went big as they locked on hers. “I—yeah. Yes. I do. I have waitressing experience,” I answered quickly.

  She gave me a quizzical look before stating. “This place can get pretty rowdy. You sure you’re up for that?”

  I ignored the uncomfortable prickling in my skin at that, and declared, “Absolutely!” with a bit too much enthusiasm. “I worked at a bar on my college campus for three years. If I can put up with a bunch of drunk college students, I can put up with anything.”

  “Not so sure about that,” she noted with heavy skepticism. “This is a biker town, hon. You get what that means, right?”

  I wasn’t sure I fully comprehended what she was trying to get at, but I wasn’t about to admit that to her. “I can handle it. I promise,” I insisted.

  “Fine,” she relented on a huff. “I’m willin’ to give you a trial run—on a few conditions,” she added hastily when my excitement threatened to overtake me. “First, you don’t wear clothes like that for work.” She pointed to my ensemble, and I cast my eyes down to look myself over before returning them to her. “Nothin’ wrong with it, necessarily,” she continued, speaking in a way that told me my style was definitely not her cup of tea. “But this job pays shit. All the money comes from tips, and if you come in here lookin’ like you’re ready to head to a yacht party, these people’ll eat you alive.”

  Something came over me just then, and I felt my lips stretch into a teasing smirk. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d never wear this to a yacht party. An event like that calls for a sarong, wedges, and a bathing suit.”

  “Good, you can be a smartass,” Darla said with an approving smile. “You’ll need that here. That leads me to condition two. I know some places are all about the customer bein’ right, but this is a bar in a biker town. You don’t take shit from these guys. Got it? You work your ass off to sell as much booze as possible, but that doesn’t mean you have to put up with assholes bein’ handsy. Someone gets in your space that you don’t want there, you got every right to get them out.”

  My stomach twisted into knots, and I had to swallow down the burn of acid crawling up my throat as I nodded and croaked “Got it.”

  Back in college, handsy guys were just part of the job, and I’d been able to brush them off easily enough. But everything was different now, and a part of me worried at how I’d react to a situation like that today. However, I couldn’t spend the rest of my life hiding. I’d never know if I could move past that night if I didn’t put myself out there and try, so I sucked up my courage, telling myself I’d cross that bridge if or when I came to it.

  “I got three other girls who work the floor,” Darla continued, oblivious to the silent war waging inside of me. “My husband usually mans the bar alone during the day with myself or our other guy coming on once the sun goes down, ’cause that’s usually when things pick up. One of my girls just started takin’ night classes over at the community college, so she can’t handle the evenin’ shifts and had to cut back to part-time. Another one’s a single momma with a toddler, so shit can get hairy for her. That means I may need you to pull a couple double shifts every now and again. That gonna be an issue?”

  I gave my head a shake. “Nope. Not at all. I can help out whenever.” Because, so far, I don’t have much of a life.

  “Good. I’m sure the girls’ll appreciate that.”

  “So . . . I have the job?” I asked on a squeak.

  “You got the job, darlin’,” Darla answered with a chuckle. “First shift’s tomorrow at seven. Just don’t make me regret it, yeah?”

  “I won’t, I swear!” Hopping off the barstool, I reached into my purse and pulled out a couple bills. “This is for the beer. Thank you so much, Darla. You won’t regret this.”

  Her forehead pulled into a frown as she pointed to the beer still more than half full and asked, “You’re not gonna finish that?”

  “No time,” I replied, walking backward with a big grin on my face. “I’ve got non-yacht-worthy clothes to buy.”

  With her laughter following me, I exited the bar and practically skipped to my car, beeping the locks along the way. As I climbed in and started her up, I did it with the biggest, happiest smile on my face.

  I was in a new town. I had a new home and now a new job.

  New Farah was off and running. And I couldn’t wait to see what was in store for her next.

  Chapter Three

  Farah

  I walked into my first shift at Bad Alibi with such strong jitters I worried the butterflies in my belly might actually carry me away.

  The place was already bustling, with about three quarters of the tables already full. The pool tables were all taken, and most of the barstools around the long, U-shaped bar along the back wall already had behinds planted on them.

  I did my best to keep my nerves from showing, offering polite smiles to the people whose eyes I caught as I passed on my way to the bar.

  “Well looky here, you must be the new girl.”

  At the unfamiliar voice, I lifted my head and spotted a big, burly man standing behind the counter. He had one hand braced on the bar top, and the other resting casually on his thick waist. The man stood an inch or two above six feet and had a belly that protruded slightly over the waistband of his worn-out jeans. But as weird as it sounded—seeing as every visible inch of him was thick, from his neck to his arms to his barrel chest—that belly worked for him. He didn’t look sloppy, he looked solid. And judging from his ease behind the counter and the white hand towel he had tucked into the side of his jeans, I could only guess he was the husband Darla had told me about.

  “Hi,” I greeted with a smile once I rounded the bar and stepped behind it. “I’m Farah.”

  “Buck. Darla’s old man” Grabbing the hand I’d extended, he gave it a shake so strong my whole body shook with the force of it. “Nice to meet you, pretty Farah. She told me she hired a new waitress, but she didn’t say she was such a looker,” he said, giving me a wink.

  “For cryin’ out loud, Buck,” I heard from behind me and turned just in time to see Darla coming around the opening of the bar. “What’ve I told you about flirtin’ with the staff? These girls don’t need the likes of you fawnin’ all over them.”

  Releasing my hand, he divested his wife of the case of beer she’d been holding and put it on the bar before looping an arm around her waist and pulling her flush against his side. He bent low and gave her a loud, smacking kiss before lifting his head and grinning down at her. “Aw, don’t worry, babe. You know I only got eyes for you.”

  Her cheeks flushed as she gave his chest a smack. Rolling her eyes, she looked to me and said, “Ignore him. And if he ever annoys you, just let me know and I’ll take care of him.” From the teasing in her tone and the way she stayed pressed to his side like it was the only place she wanted to be, it was easy to see the love between Darla and Buck.

  “Don’t let her salty demeanor fool ya,” Buck shot back. “I got this one wrapped around my little finger—Ah! Christ woman!” he yelped when Darla reached over and gave his side a wicked pinch.

  Her eyes narrowed into slits,
but her look held not an ounce of fire. “Better watch it, or you’ll be spendin’ the night on the couch.”

  Buck’s bottom lip poked out. “Aw, don’t be like that, sugar.”

  I let out a laugh as I watched the two of them. Something told me it was the other way around, and that Buck was all too happy to be wrapped around her little finger.

  Darla broke from her husband’s hold and turned her focus back to me, giving my new clothes an approving once-over. I felt a sense of relief, and the tension that had taken up residence in my shoulders since I first walked in finally began to loosen. The jeans I was wearing were nowhere near as fancy as the ones I’d worn the day before—which, along with the rest of the wardrobe from my old life, were now sitting in a goodwill bin—and hugged my hips and thighs in a way I thought looked pretty good. And with the help of the platform wedges made up of a ton of caramel-colored leather straps twisting around the tops of my feet and ankles, my ass looked pretty nice as well. Up top I was wearing a ribbed, burnt orange racerback tank that I’d been leery of at first, but, after ten minutes of arguing back and forth, I’d let the woman at the store talk me into purchasing.

  Where my mother had always been waif thin, my genetics strongly favored my father’s side. That meant, since hitting puberty, I’d been top-heavy, with a smallish waist, a round behind, and wide hips, something Mom had all too much fun using against me. She loved to ride me about needing to lose weight, and thanks to that, I’d grown up with body image issues and had always dressed to hide myself. But when I’d confided in the friendly saleswoman that I was looking for clothes for my new job as a waitress at Bad Alibi, she’d been adamant that form-fitting was the way to go and would lead to bigger tips. The tank stretched across my chest and belly, and while I’d been self-conscious at first, the look I was getting from Darla helped to put me at ease. “See you took my advice on the clothes. You look great, hon.”

  I opened my mouth to thank her, but Buck spoke before I had a chance. “Number of dudes that tracked her ass from the door to here, I’m willin’ to bet she cleans up big tonight.”

  My stomach sank like a lead balloon, but I did my best not to let my anxiety rise to the surface. I could do this. Hell, I’d spent the better part of an hour giving myself a pep-talk in the mirror earlier. If at any point I found myself getting overwhelmed, I had about a million techniques to help keep the panic at bay. I could do this.

  Darla let out a sharp, piercing whistle that shook me out of my musings and waved over a stunningly gorgeous, dark-haired woman. “Farah, this is Shane,” she said, introducing me to the other waitress. “She’s gonna show you the ropes. You good to go?”

  “Ready.”

  At my answer and resolute nod, Shane spoke. “Come on. I’ll show you were to stash your purse, and then we’ll get you set up.”

  I moved out from behind the bar and followed after her, turning right down a hall that led away from the crowd. We passed two doors, the one on the left marked “Ladies’”, the one on the right “Men’s”. A little farther past the women’s restroom was another marked, “Storage.”

  “That’s the stockroom,” she noted as we moved past it, continuing to the very last door at the end of the hall with a sign that said “Staff Only.” “And this is the office. Both these rooms stay locked at all times. New hires usually have to wait three months to get a set of keys, so until then, just ask any one of us if you need in these rooms.”

  “Gotcha.”

  She unlocked the door and pushed it open, leading me through to the wall on the far left with a bunch of cubbies built in. “You can put your stuff there,” she said, pointing to an empty cubby that had a piece of paper with my name on it taped to the bottom. “Everyone here is pretty good about not messing with other people’s stuff, so you don’t have to worry about stashing your things, but just to be on the safe side, it’s smart to leave cash and credit cards at home.”

  “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll do that.”

  She moved to the battered desk and pulled one of the drawers open. “New hire packet,” she announced, holding up a sheaf of papers before heading back my way. “You can fill these out when you get home and bring it back on your next shift.” I took the packet and stashed it and my purse in my cubby while Shane pulled an apron from a tiny closet and extended it to me, continuing to give me the lay of the land as I tied my apron in place. “The bar’s split into two sections right down the middle. You’re on section two tonight, but if you start getting overwhelmed, just let me know and I’ll try my best to give you a hand. The pool tables tend to get really crowded, so we’re both in charge of those and’ll split the tips from there at the end of the night. Just keep an eye out and check in with them every once in a while, and I’ll do the same.”

  The instructions continued as we headed back to the bar where she gave me my float, the cash I was responsible for keeping track of in my apron so I could make change for customers. Then I was handed an order pad, pen, and tray and sent on my way.

  It took ten minutes for my nerves to finally loosen their death grip, but once they did, I got into the swing of things easily enough. I kept a smile pinned on my face the whole time I worked, and, while it was a bit of a struggle, I made sure to maintain eye contact with everyone I waited on. A couple of the guys flirted harmlessly while other customers cracked jokes, and as the minutes ticked by, I’d discovered everything I’d told Darla was the truth. Waitressing was like riding a bike for me, and I’d picked it right back up like it was nothing, rushing back and forth, filling drink orders and hustling food to keep the people at my tables happy.

  As evening turned into night, the crowd continued to grow, and Shane and I were right in the thick of it. My smile eventually began to feel normal, and I found that being around these people was easier than I’d expected. For the most part, everyone was friendly and welcoming to the new girl on staff.

  I’d just headed back to the bar to deposit a load of empty glasses and fill another order when the door opened. Instinct had me turning in that direction to see where the latest customer would sit, but the moment I set my eyes on the man who’d just entered, everything around me seemed to slow to a stop.

  Bikers had been filtering in and out of Bad Alibi all night long, but there was something different about this one, something that drew my attention to him and refused to let it go.

  The guy was big in a way that I just knew, even at five foot seven, I’d feel small if I were standing next to him. A soft-looking navy T-shirt covered wide shoulders that led to a thick chest that traveled down to a trim waist, and denim that could only be that expertly faded after a million washes encased bulky thighs. On his feet were a pair of worn, dusty motorcycle boots—what I’d come to discover was the standard footwear for men in Redemption, Tennessee—and as he walked, the overhead lights glinted off the chain that hung from his belt loop to his back pocket. His darkish blond hair was cropped short at the sides and back, but left longer on top, styled in an attractive disarray, and he had at least two-week’s worth of growth on his jaw that was a couple shades darker than his hair. But what drew my attention most was the black ink on his large biceps and carved forearms. It started beneath the sleeves of his tee and went all the way down to his wrists, covering nearly every inch of available skin.

  From this distance, I couldn’t make out any of the patterns or shapes in the tattoos, but that didn’t make them any less eye-catching.

  As though feeling my intense perusal of all that was him, the man turned in my direction, and I sucked in a sharp gasp the moment our eyes collided.

  Stop staring, you moron, a small voice inside my head screamed, but for some insane reason, my body wouldn’t cooperate. I was frozen stiff, even my eyeballs refused to budge.

  One corner of his mouth quirked up in a knowing smirk, having caught me, and I felt a sensation shoot through me that I hadn’t experienced in a very long time. My insides tingled like my blood had gone electric, and the dip in my belly had n
othing to do with anxiety this time.

  As he continued through the bar toward the section with the pool tables, my traitorous gaze tracked him the entire way. I watched as he closed in on a large group of men, passing out fist bumps and back slaps. I continued watching as a woman in a skintight cami and jean shorts so short you could see the bottoms of her butt cheeks threw herself against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. I watched as he looked down at her with a grin that just screamed sex as he muttered something that made her giggle, all the while his hands were coasting down her back and coming to rest on her behind, giving it a long, hard squeeze.

  The way my body was behaving and the crazy reaction I had just from looking at this guy shook me to my core. Warning bells started going off in my head, but I just couldn’t make myself look away.

  I’d been so transfixed by that man I hadn’t realized Buck was trying to get my attention until his hand appeared in front of my face, and the snap of his fingers pulled me from my daze.

  Jerking around to face him, I met his concerned gaze head on. “Sorry. What?”

  “You okay?” he asked, studying me closely. “You’ve gone a little pale there, sweetheart.”

  “Oh, uh . . .” I cleared my throat, trying to give myself enough time to formulate a convincing lie. “Yeah, I’m good. I think I’m just a little tired. I guess being on my feet for so long will take some getting used to.”

  He didn’t look convinced, but thankfully let it go. “All right. If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure,” I answered with a grin I hoped would pacify him, and luckily it worked.

  I grabbed the tray he’d loaded and headed back to the floor to serve drinks, glancing briefly toward the pool tables to see the guy now sitting in a chair with that same bleached blonde woman resting on his lap.