Perfecting the Odds by Brenna St. Clare Read Free Book Online Page B

those girls knew how many hours I worked in a given week, they’d probably agree it could be a nightmare. She snorted at her thought. Yeah, she was too old, too nerdy, and far too bitter for this place.
    And when did Halloween morph into a mainstream celebration of fetish wear? She looked down out herself and groaned. Hypocrite. With a bitter sigh, she pushed down the small hope that she could ever compete with younger, much sexier women and turned to Eve.
    “I need a drink. A very strong drink.”
    “Is it okay if I go and dance,” Eve asked, already shimmying her ass backward toward the dance floor.
    “Go find yourself an erection rub up against. I’ll be at the bar.” Karis found an empty stool close to the dance floor and ordered her standard drink. Same little prick bartender. She sipped the liquid confidence as she absently tapped her nails against the bar top. Same shitty bar. And then , like a slap to the face, it hit her and she sputtered her drink. So distracted by Eve’s costume choice and those godforsaken stairs, Karis hadn’t considered the last time she was here.
    Robert was alive—barely.
    Wiping the vodka from her chin, Karis glanced over her shoulder, and for half a second, considered making a run for the exit. She peeked again and this time swore she could see him standing there with that same desperate look, thereby compounding her sadness and loneliness.
    You need a distraction …much, much more vodka.
    With a final gulp, she ordered a second then headed to the dance floor. Karis sipped slowly, watching in awe as Zorro, a cowboy, a doctor, and then a guy in camo scooted behind Eve, gyrating in a way that made Karis blush. She knew that look on Eve’s face. Military men puddled Eve’s panties as much as they did Karis. Stupid soldiers looking all sexy and p rotective. Nauseated by the dry-humping and potent smells radiating from the masses, Karis returned to the bar for her third knock-her-on-her-ass drink.
    Despite the slight buzz, when she was alone with her thoughts, it was difficult not to remember how Robert made her feel safe in places like this. He didn’t like to dance, but his constant gaze felt like a security bubble. Without him, strong drinks would now be her refuge. The third drink empty and a buzz humming through her body, Karis turned her attention to the dance floor again. Lip-locked with the guy in camo, Eve was groping his ass with one hand and her other was MIA. My best friend is a grade-A slut , she mused with a smirk. Jealous much , her conscience muttered. Shut it , Karis snarked inwardly. Plummeting over the precipice of buzzed straight into wasted, she ordered her fourth and final drink. A fifth and she’d wrap herself in an orange crepe paper blanket and fall asleep in a dark smoky corner. She sipped in long drags and moved her eyes around her drunken world, swaying on her barstool like she didn’t give a rat’s ass who was watching.
    Finally, some peace.
    That was until the little hairs on the back of her neck prickled, surfing a tingle to her feet… someone was watching her. Discretion was for the sober. Still, Karis did her best to attempt subtlety as she scurried her eyes around the room in search of her admirer. And then she saw them, like blurry little harvest moons in a murky night sky. His eyes doubled and tripled between her liquor-fogged blinks. She couldn’t explain how she could tell because she was…well, completely plastered, but the eyes observed with what almost seemed like knowing concern and familiarity.
    Trying desperately not to break eye contact with the mystery man, she bumbled off her bar stool. According to her friends—specifically Eve—she was a funny, carefree drunk, completely unlike her normal self. Insulting, right? Yes, alcohol made her feel weightless, but more importantly, she now felt not even one twinge of anger or goddamn loneliness. Peace.
    She leaned her hip against the bar—more to steady the damn floor that kept moving--