Colorado 02 Sweet Dreams by Kristen Ashley Read Free Book Online Page B

searching for forgotten empties. Unusually, half the tables in the bar were clean, the area devoid of empties; the other half of the tables needed a wipe down and I found two bottles of beer and a half full mug.
    When I went behind the bar to deposit the empties and get the spray cleaner and a cloth, Tate spoke.
    “Wendy was on last night. Came in late when Tonia didn’t show.”
    Forced to look at him due to my innate politeness, I did but I didn’t speak. I lifted my brows in question.
    “You haven’t met Wendy?” he asked.
    I shook my head.
    “Waitress, only good one we got,” he told me. “She does her clean up.”
    “Unh-hunh,” I mumbled and walked out from behind the bar wondering if Wendy wore halter tops or tube tops or if she had another way of exposing as much flesh as possible to the mostly male customers. Tonia had long, sleek, black hair, she was tall, slim to the point of skinny, had obviously fake boobs and wore high heels and short-short-cutoffs with her halter top. Jonelle had wild, huge, curly-slash-wavy auburn hair, was average height, rounded like Neeta (just a little slimmer and what I figured was a lot younger) and wore a micro-mini with her tube top. Wendy probably rounded out the line up with blonde hair and looked like a biker brand of supermodel.
    I was dreading the night shift and going up against one of those girls. Not only had they, so far, proved themselves bitches, but also all the men would probably move from my station and tips would likely be even less.
    I started toward the dirty tables when I heard Tate call, “Ace.”
    Considering this was obviously his nickname for me which I thought was weird since he’d known me less than twenty minutes and you didn’t give a nickname to someone you’d known less than twenty minutes (more like ten years) and I figured it was meant to be not very nice, I looked at him even though I didn’t want to. However, I couldn’t ignore him. He couldn’t be calling to anyone else, ignoring him would be rude and he was my boss.
    “Yes?” I asked when I caught his eyes.
    “I know you heard,” he said.
    I knew he knew I was just surprised he brought it up. I showed no response except to raise my brows again.
    “I was in a shit mood, babe. Shake it off,” he ordered and I stared.
    He’d called me old, sorry-ass and fat and he wanted me just to shake it off?
    “Sure,” I agreed, turned and spritzed a table with the cleaner.
    “Ace,” he called again when I’d bent to wipe. I sucked in a visibly annoyed breath and twisted only my neck so I could look at him. When my eyes hit his, he repeated, “I said, shake it off.”
    I turned fully to him. “And I said, sure.”
    “You said it but you didn’t mean it,” he returned.
    No, I didn’t.
    “I did,” I lied.
    “Babe, you didn’t,” he replied.
    “I did,” I repeated and turned back to the table and started wiping.
    “Ace, look at me,” he demanded and he sounded like he was getting impatient.
    I straightened and looked at him, again raising my brows.
    “Let it go,” he ordered.
    “I’ve let it go,” I lied again.
    “You haven’t,” he shot back.
    I inhaled deeply and on the exhale, I said. “Due respect, considering you’re my boss, but since they don’t exist, you’re not a mind reader. I’ve let it go or I would if you’d quit talking about it.”
    “You haven’t,” he repeated. “You’re stewin’ on it.”
    This was true too. If I had a dollar for every time his words in his voice popped into my head and made me flinch the last two days, I could move to the Riviera. They even woke me up in the middle of the night. Then again, I had insomnia and always did, even as a kid. I regularly thought of stuff in my life, stuff that embarrassed me or hurt me or worried me or freaked me out and I couldn’t get to sleep. Then, when I did, I’d wake up three, four times a night sometimes tossing and turning for hours before finding sleep again. This beautiful man