Lock, Stock, and Feral Addison Moore (beginner reading books for adults TXT) 📖

big boys and not a babe will come of it.” She’s about to take off then backtracks and looks at the redhead. “Hey, you got any kids?”

The redhead looks momentarily perplexed—an expression that she’ll grow quite familiar with by the end of the night now that the Cider Cove Circus has arrived. And yes, I know, I’ve included myself in that menagerie.

“I got three,” she says. “One in high school and two in college. Why do you think I took on this gig?”

“Good.” She slips her a business card. “My Rent-a-Grandma rates are half off this month only, so you’d better act fast.”

“Aww,” the woman coos down at the card. “I really miss my grandma. This is wonderful. Would you mind if I took you to breakfast and afterwards we went garage saling? Those were the days, I tell you.”

“I just had Saturday morning open up. You’re a lucky one, Red. Ring me and we’ll have the time of our lives. But for now, I drink champagne and roll my chips with the best of ’em,” Georgie says as she ducks into the next room.

“Go get ’em, Grandma!” Red shouts and Juni and I exchange a look.

There’s a frenetic energy buzzing in the air, something electric that lets you know something exciting is happening here tonight, that much I can’t deny.

“All right, girl, chop-chop.” The redhead motions for us to get with it, so I quickly tie my apron around my waist, but Juni looks as if she needs a little more convincing.

Juni snorts. “Why do they get the men and champs, and I get stuck serving bubbly?”

The redhead chuckles. “You girls are serving dessert. I don’t let newbies serve the good stuff. But lucky for you, the banana pudding is good stuff, too.” She shuttles us into the kitchen in the back where an entire infantry of chefs look as if they’re losing their minds. And soon, Juni and I are each handed a tray with dozens of Mason jars filled with banana pudding—Nilla Wafers pressed up against the glass with luscious layers of vanilla pudding topped with whipped cream and colored sprinkles as if this were going out to a bunch of eight year olds at a birthday party. Each one has a silver spoon spiked in it, ready and rearing to land in some lucky man—or woman’s mouth. There might only be six women here, but I’m sure as heck going to make sure they indulge in this sweet treat, too.

Juni and I head back onto the floor and offload as many of the sweet treats as we can. I don’t come across a single rejection and lose nearly half my inventory as I make my way toward that dark row of windows where I see Macy all but crawling into James Foreman’s lap. There he is, looking as tall and lanky as ever, but tonight he’s traded that sweater for a three-piece suit and looks every bit that wolf that Macy warned us about.

“Evening,” I say as I come to the table, and each of the men quickly snaps up one of my desserts. “Macy?” I hand one her way and she wrinkles her nose at it.

“No thanks,” she’s quick to be the first to reject it. I would kill to dive into a vat of that right now. But the last thing I need to do is clue James in on the fact I eat. I have a strict no noshing on dates policy I need to adhere to. I haven’t broken it in thirteen years, and I’m not going to start tonight.

I make a face as I hand one to James, and he blindly accepts before sorting through his cards once again. He’s handsome more or less, definitely the body of a basketball player with his long arms and frail neck. His dark hair swoops to the side, and he’s doused himself with enough cologne to become a human blowtorch if so much as a spark hits him.

“And one for you, Macy.” I plop one in front of her. “Extra sprinkles, just the way you like it.”

A hard moan comes from her as she eyes it.

“Oh, what the hell.” She plucks the spoon out, and no sooner does she shovel in a bite than she expels a hearty moan.

James quirks a brow her way. Now there’s some music to my ears. I might have to take a monetary loss and cut out early. It’ll be worth it just to hear her sing like that in my bedroom. I wonder what I’ve gotta do to make that happen?

“Not a lot,” I mutter. “You’ll never have an easier time getting lucky.”

“What’s that?” He glances up my way.

“Oh, I said there’s not a lot of dessert left, so you’re one of the lucky ones.”

“Ah,” he says as someone shouts something from the head of the table, and soon everyone is tossing their cards into the middle, and a man to my right is raking all the chips his way. “I’m diabetic, I can’t have it. Sorry. Maybe see if there are any other takers.”

A few of the men get up and stretch their legs, and as soon as the seat next to him grows vacant, I fall into it.

“Thanks,” I say. “Maybe I’ll just take a bite myself. It looks that good. “Diabetic, huh? I’m sorry about that. It must be tough to be around sweet treats all the time.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “The sugar-free stuff is just as good. It’s the liquor I miss.”

“No liquor?”

“Nope. Not a drop. I haven’t touched the stuff in years. But that was purely my choice. If I knew how to handle my liquor, I could partake a little here and there, but I’m an all-in kind of a guy so I’ve made a promise to myself to stay away from the stuff. It takes discipline, but it can be done.” He picks up a crystal goblet and hoists it my way. “Diet soda.” He winks as he takes a