I don’t even give myself time to look at the run-down, dank bar ahead. I slam to a jerky stop, dirt kickin’ up from under the tires, and jump out of the truck as soon as I throw the gear into park, grab the big box, and double check my power pad is still in the holder on my belt.
It’s not until I’m sprintin’ toward the bar’s door that I remember I’m still missin’ a shoe. A fact that becomes woefully apparent when I run up the wooden stairs and suffer my second attack of the day.
This time, it’s not a dog, but a random stick that suddenly falls for no good reason from where it was leanin’ against the dilapidated exterior wall of the bar entrance. Unable to dodge the surprise ambush, my foot lands right on it. I’m not as lucky as I was with Baby, and what appears to be a detached, segmented broom handle somehow slices into my tender arch.
I hiss and struggle to keep my ass from kissin’ the ground. I barely catch myself on the wall of the bar, somehow not droppin’ the large package in my arms, and glare down at my assailant. It rolls toward me as though it’s comin’ for more, and I bend down and snatch it up.
First the dog and now some mop reject is startin’ shit. Today is not my day.
I ignore the twinge of pain in my poor foot and shove the bar door open, unwillin’ to spend precious minutes I don’t have assessin’ the damage. I limp as I make my way into the bar, and I have to use the broom handle to help me walk as I balance the package in my other arm. The dimness inside forces me to squint around to see. As soon as I spot the bar, I make a beeline for it, hobblin’ worse than Ms. Jonay.
The bar is full, and I hear the rumble of voices, but I ignore them all as I weave my way through the tables until I squeeze my butt between two patrons sittin’ on stools at the bar.
“’Scuse me!” I call, wavin’ over the bartender like a crazy person.
The gruff man looks over at me from where he’s wipin’ glasses with a dishrag. “Yeah?”
I heft up the large package in my arms to show him. “Got a delivery. Who can sign for me?”
He narrows his eyes on me. “In the back,” he says after a long pause before givin’ me a dismissive jerk of his head.
“Can’t you just sign?” I ask, exasperated.
He looks me dead in the eye. “No.”
I huff out a breath and whirl around, hurryin’ as fast I can in the direction he indicated. I look down worriedly at the watch on my wrist. One minute left. “Shit.”
“’Scuse me, pardon me,” I repeat as I rush past customers and make it to the back. In a shadowed hallway, I find a closed door that reads Office, and I rush inside, not even botherin’ to knock.
“Pardon for the intrusion, can you sign this?” I blurt out as soon as I open the door, my momentum not stoppin’ as my knees hit the desk, and I drop the package on top.
I already have my power pad whipped out and the stylus outstretched, ready for the man sittin’ behind the desk to sign.
He blinks at me, like he can’t quite believe I just burst into his office.
“So sorry, but I’m real late. Can you please?”
The man pauses and purses his lips, but after I wiggle the power pad at him some more, he finally drops the pen that he was holdin’ and takes the stylus from me. He signs the damn thing slower than a grandma with a wooden leg. I’m so worked up that I’m hoppin’ a bit from foot to foot, only to realize that this move hurts and also makes it look like I have to pee, so I stop immediately. And he’s still signin’.
“You done yet?” I ask in a rush.
This just makes him look up at me all imperial like. “I have a long name,” he says with a slight curve of his mouth before goin’ back to sign some more.
Lord have mercy.
I blow out a breath, tossin’ sweaty hair strands away from my face as I do my best not to tap my foot with impatience.
Finally, he finishes. “Here,” he says as he hands the stylus and power pad back to me.
“Thank you so much,” I say with a relieved sigh.
That was a damn close one. I thought for sure that I—
“Shit on a piss paddle,” I curse as I look down at the time recorded on my power pad.
My blood pounds in my ears as I read the time. I’m two minutes too late.
Two bloomin’ minutes.
I don’t know if the man at the desk was tryin’ to get my attention for very long, but by the time my mind can register the fact that he’s speakin’, I look up at him numbly. “Huh?”
The man cocks his head like he’s studyin’ me or somethin’. I notice for the first time that he has sunny blond hair, and he’s covered in black and gray floral tattoos over the exposed expanses of his toned arms. I’m a sucker for tattoos. And toned bodies. And that stern face he’s givin’ me right about now. Yep, he’s definitely my type. Too bad I’m not meetin’ him under better circumstances, or I’d for sure be puttin’ on the moves.
“I said, do you normally barge into people’s offices without knocking?” he asks with an annoyed glare.
“Oh, uh, no,” I say, but then I sit down in the chair behind me, completely ignorin’ the fact that I wasn’t invited to do so at all. One look from him tells me that he’s not too happy about this, but I don’t care so much about
