Read Online She's Gotta Be Mine by Jasmine Haynes, Jennifer Skully - Free Book Online Page B

mental tick off. She’d dropped the pancakes in an attempt to emulate Mavis’s amazing stacking ability. She’d given a trucker twenty in change instead of a dollar. He’d been so darn sweet about insisting she’d made a mistake, even when she’d argued with him.
    Mavis had tapped her temple. “Now I know how those accountants misplaced four billion in unrecorded expenses at that telecom giant.”
    It certainly wasn’t Bobbie’s fault that someone had put a twenty in the ones slot. Or was it?
    All in all, it had been a good day. She still had a job, and she’d made more in tips than she had on payroll. Maybe it was learning all her customers’ names. Maybe it was the too-tight uniform or the number of times she’d bent over to rescue something she’d dropped only to feel appreciative eyes caress her rear.
    Mavis had explained it thus, “Your butt’s a seven-day wonder. Next week, your tips’ll be cut in half. I guarantee it.”
    Whatever. As long as they liked her.
    And she liked Cottonmouth.
    Just looking at the display in Harry Bushman’s front window made her yearn for long ago, hot summer days at the beach. Bobbie plucked at the sticky material of her uniform, fanning her chest. Neither the crack in the glass nor the yellow flip-flops and the pink polka dot beach umbrella that had seen too many seasons sitting in the front window could dampen her fond memories.
    Movement flashed beyond the glass. Harry had a customer. Wonderful. Bobbie shaded her eyes against the late afternoon sun bouncing off the glass. Harry helped a chic woman with a big hat, sunglasses, and an expensively cut suit. Considering the profusion of polyester on Harry’s racks, it was a sure bet she hadn’t purchased her ensemble from Bushman’s. Harry, hands beating the air like hummingbird wings, hovered around the woman.
    Poor Harry. The woman simply walked away while his hands fluttered ineffectually. Then she stopped, stared, maybe even glared at the front window, though Bobbie couldn’t tell for sure with the oversized sunglasses masking her eyes. She half turned and said something to Harry over her shoulder. Probably wondered who the maniac woman in the limp waitress uniform was.
    Busted. However, the last time she’d checked, looking in store windows wasn’t a crime. Besides, this was her town now.
    The door opened. The woman descended to the sidewalk, a small, neatly folded Bushman’s Clothiers bag tucked beneath her arm. What on earth could that woman have bought from Harry?
    Bobbie did a critical once-over of Ms. Cottonmouth Society Lady. Long, lustrous blonde hair flowed from beneath the hat. It looked like real blonde hair, probably the texture of silk, like something out of a romance novel. Romance heroines never dyed their hair. The pink tones of the costly suit complemented her high, rouged cheekbones. Her stomach made barely a ripple against the knit skirt, and gravity didn’t exist as far as her butt was concerned. That delicate skirt should have shown every flaw, every modicum of flab, every wrinkle in her skin. My God, she didn’t even have VPL—the dreaded visible panty line. The best Bobbie could hope for were crow’s feet behind those massive sunglasses.
    The sunglasses came off. Oh my God. Bobbie should have recognized her worst nightmare. This was Cookie Beaumont in all her absolute perfection. Far better than the picture in Warren’s high school yearbook. White chocolate mousse with real whipped cream. Standing next to her in nylon machine-washable waitress getup, Bobbie felt like tapioca pudding past the freshness date.
    The Cookie Monster even smelled good as she moved to within a foot of Bobbie. Something subtle and exotic, like passion fruit or maybe passion flowers. Definitely something with the word passion in it.
    So much for Bobbie’s hopes that Warren’s love would be a greeter at some discount department store.
    Bile threatened to force its way past the constriction in Bobbie’s throat. If