Real Dirty (Real Dirty #1)

“Nope.”

She shakes her head. “Meanwhile, you didn’t take a paycheck for weeks at a time.”

I nod because we both know that’s a fact.

“I think I’m going to be sick. If that little ho shows up anywhere near me, she’ll walk away with two black eyes and a broken nose.”

“She’s not worth it.”

“Maybe not, but she still deserves it. She’s gonna run that bar into the ground. I give it a week or two, tops.”

My heart pangs at the thought, but there’s nothing I can do now. “If she makes it a month, I’ll be shocked. Then again, maybe we’ll both be wrong, and she’ll turn it into some slutty topless place and haul in more money than I ever did.”

Hope shakes her head. “She’d have to get approval for partial nudity, and we both know she’s not smart enough to do that.”

“I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t bother with approval before she whipped her tits out.”

Hope laughs, but the sound is rife with bitterness. “I really hate that girl.”

I have my own feelings about Brandy, but I can’t say I hate her completely. She’s one of the few family members I have left.

“Enough about her and the Fishbowl. Tell me what else I need to know for tonight.”

Hope launches into an explanation of a few things that I wouldn’t have realized offhand, even though I’ve been running a bar for years. The White Horse is a way bigger, more sophisticated operation, so it doesn’t surprise me that they do some things differently.

“You’ll be fine. I’ll get you set up with a uniform tank when we get there, and you’ll be raking in the tips in no time.”

I force a smile onto my face. This is my life now. Couch surfing with friends, and everything I own in my car.

Go, me.



“Oh shit, did I get you? Didn’t mean to spill that. Totally my fault,” the man says, his words slurring.

With a sleeve of plastic cups in each hand that I’d just retrieved from the stockroom, I look down at my white tank top with the White Horse Saloon logo on the front. It’s soaked through with what smells like someone’s gin and tonic, and now my headlights are on high beams from the unexpected dousing of a cold drink. At times like this, I wish I wore padded bras.

Yay. Flashing my nipples the first night on the job. Employee-of-the-month material right here.

With gritted teeth, I smile at the clearly intoxicated stranger who has a dumb grin on his face. “No worries. Have a good night, sir.” Skirting around him, I head toward Hope to hand off the cups and ask her if I can get another tank top.

“Ripley, is that you?”

I look up and almost run into Law, my ex who lasted longer than any of the others.

Jeez. Just when I think this day can’t get any worse . . .

My cheeks hurt from all the fake smiles I’ve plastered on my face today, and the one stretching my lips now is just as phony as all the others.

Lawrence Diller was still a law student when we broke up two years ago after he kept accusing me of choosing the Fishbowl over him. At that point, I was working six nights a week, and our schedules never seemed to mesh when it was convenient for either of us. Also, he didn’t particularly like bars, which is probably why I haven’t seen him since. So, why now?

“Hey, Law,” I drawl. “What are you doing here? This isn’t really your scene.”

He’s wearing a pressed collared shirt still tucked into dress pants, with an expensive-looking watch wrapped around his wrist.

“Just passed the bar exam, so we’re out to celebrate.” He waves at a group of five guys behind him. “Some of the other associates are from out of town, so we figured we’d barhop down Broadway tonight. You work here now?” He stares pointedly at my protruding nipples, and presumably the logo on my shirt.

Another fake-as-shit smile on my face, I answer with an upbeat tone. “Yep, decided on a change of scenery.”

“I thought you’d never leave the Fishbowl and your old man, no matter how bad they dragged you down with them.”

His astute observation stabs me through the heart.

“Well, things change,” I say through clenched teeth.

“New girl! I need those cups!” Hope’s assistant manager, Brian, yells from the pass-through, saving me from this awkward conversation.

“I gotta go. Have a good time. Congrats.”

I turn to head his way, but Law catches me around the waist in an overly familiar gesture that would have been fine when we were dating, but now, I stiffen.

“We should talk. Things are going really great for me. They started me at a hundred fifty grand a year, and I’ve got a sweet condo downtown. I broke up with the girl I was dating for a couple months because she wanted her MRS more than a law degree at graduation. And damn, Rip, I miss you. I shouldn’t have walked away.”

All his declarations hit below the belt. It’s a struggle to keep the smile intact, but I manage somehow.

“I’m glad things are going well for you, but I really gotta get back to work. Um, maybe we can talk later,” I say in a cheerful tone that’s total crap. My suggestion is completely insincere, but I hope he doesn’t realize that. “Enjoy tonight!”

When Law releases me, I hurry behind the bar. Hope’s eyes are huge, and she takes the cups and tosses them to Brian.

“Was that Law? What happened to your shirt? What did he want?”

“Yes, and some ass*ole spilled on me. I don’t know what he wants.”

Hope raises an eyebrow as she glances over my shoulder. “He wants one thing, girl, and that’s you. His eyes are glued to your ass.”

I roll my eyes. Of course they are. Law loved my ass. The sex hadn’t been off-the-charts amazing . . . unlike with someone else whose name I refuse to mention, but it hadn’t been bad either. Just average, I guess.

“Can I beg you for another tank? I’ll pay for it out of my tips.”

Hope scoffs. “You get five. I’ll get you one if you want to run down to the basement and grab another keg. It’s going to get your shirt filthy anyway. I made Brian bring up the last three, and he’s apparently on his period now and told me it’s someone else’s turn.” She shoots a sharp glance toward the assistant manager.

“No problem. Where am I going?”

She gives me directions, along with the key to the storage room, and I make my way through the crowd again toward the stairs. I’ve been hauling kegs for as long as I’ve been able to lift them, so it’s not a big request.

But of course, because today can’t get any shittier, Law follows me down into the basement.

“Rip, babe, I mean it. I want to talk. You’re the one that got away, and now that my life is everything I’ve always wanted, I need someone to share it with. You wouldn’t even have to work in a bar; you could go to school if you want.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, searching for patience somewhere deep inside, and come up empty. “I can’t have this conversation right now. You should go back to your friends.”

“Promise you’ll call me tomorrow, and I’ll leave you alone tonight.”