Outlaw (Reading Sample)
Here is a sample from my next novel that you may enjoy:
Who does this biker think he is?
He comes into my inn and demands that I give him my spare room? Can’t even ask for it, like a human being?
I don’t care how handsome he is.
I don’t care how big his muscles are or how many tattoos are inked on his skin.
I don’t care that he’s obviously packing heat (and I’m not talking about the gun on his hip).
I don’t even care that he’s part of some kind of biker gang.
I promised myself to stay away from men—especially men who look as good as him...
Sample:
Carlisle’s Pub was as packed as it always was on a Saturday night and Regina Carlisle was as prepared as ever—that is to say, not at all.
She couldn’t understand why—no matter how many times it happened or how much alcohol she ordered ahead of time—the bar always ran out before closing time at three AM. Every week, she found herself reaching into her own stash of scotch and whiskey and tequila and serving it to her customers, both old and new, for crappy tips and crass remarks about her ass. She didn’t expect much more out of a bunch of drunks, though.
When she was a child, her father had owned Carlisle’s and ran it with a skilled hand and an intelligent mind. She had spent many a night perched on her own stool, watching him mix drinks and joke with the patrons. Her mother worked there as a waitress, carrying drinks back and forth and running her hand over Regina’s back as she passed. She made Shirley Temples for her daughter and helped her out with any homework that Regina had spread over the bar in front of her. Regina’s father, Danny, would sneak kisses over the bar top and Regina would cover her eyes and stick out her tongue, calling them “gross”, but secretly she’d be watching through the spaces between her fingers.
Ever since she was a child, she wanted a love like that.
“Hey, baby, can I get a shot o’ whiskey over here!”
Regina blinked out of her thoughts and turned towards the gruff voice, sighing at the sight of one of her regulars smirking over at her. Jimmy Porter was one of the more recognized town drunks and he practically had one of her barstools molded to his ass, he was here so often. Regina found herself wondering where he got the money to drink from open to close, but she’d never really questioned it out loud. After all, he always paid.
“What have I told you about calling me that, Jimmy?” she sighed, reaching under the bar for the whiskey and frowning when she saw that there was barely enough for a couple more shots, despite the fact that it had been completely full just an hour ago. She bit the inside of her cheek and reached for his shot glass, topping it up for him.
“Your mom never minded,” Jimmy responded, fisting the glass and raising it to his eyes like it held the secret to life.
“I’m not my mother,” Regina pointed out, reaching for her own shot glass and pouring herself some whiskey. She might as well get some for herself before she completely ran out.
“That’s a shame,” Jimmy huffed, then raised his glass in her direction. “Here’s to Pam; God rest her soul.” Regina sighed and clinked the rim of her glass to his, before they both downed their respective shots. The burn of the whiskey felt good as it slid down her throat. It was always her favorite.
Her father’s, too.
Regina shook her head and took a deep breath. “Rest in peace,” she agreed, her voice soft and reverent.
Both of her parents had passed away within months of each other. Her father had died in a car crash and her mother had died of a cancer that had plagued her body for years. Regina was fresh out of college when she inherited Carlisle’s and instead of selling the bar—as many of her friends had suggested—she had decided to carry on her father’s—and grandfather’s, before him—legacy.
She’d learned, first-hand, how to pour and mix drinks and had even helped her mother as a waitress to pay for college. She wasn’t yet as skillful as her father, who’d ran the bar for over thirty years and went to school for bartending when he was younger than she, but Regina did alright. She’d been running this business for over half a decade now and she hadn’t come close to shutting down yet.
But that didn’t mean everything was easy.
She had yet to find a waitress that she liked—most of the ones that passed through her bar were young and just looking to make a little spending cash on the weekends; they didn’t take the job seriously and she’d often caught them sneaking sips on the clock, stealing from her—and her current girl was named Brandy (ironically). She had long blonde hair and even longer legs. She was as graceful as a ballerina, but often got distracted by some of Regina’s tougher patrons.
Regina was also certain that Brandy was the reason she so often ran out of alcohol before the night was up. As much as she’d tried to teach Brandy how to pour and how much alcohol was to be used in mixed drinks, she was sure that the blonde used too much. She’d chastised her about it several times, but Regina wasn’t exactly in a position to be hiring or firing anybody at the moment. Brandy, at least, was willing to work for a below-average salary and was a real hit with the guys that played pool in the corner.
In addition to the bar, Carlisle’s also had two rooms for rent on the second floor. Regina had grown up watching people climb up and down those rickety old steps in the back. Musicians and bikers and sometimes amorous couples—who only ever rented the room for a couple of hours at a time—were a staple in her life. When she was growing up, her father also hired a maid to come in once a day, after the last guests had left, to tidy up the room and switch out the sheets and towels in the bathroom. Her name was Barbara and she worked for less than she deserved, but Danny Carlisle had always given her a free meal and drinks and she’d been satisfied.
When Regina’s parents died, Barbara had continued to work until she could no longer stand on her arthritic knees. Regina still invited her to the bar for drinks on the house and dinner once a week. After Barb, though, she decided that a maid was unnecessary for work she could get done herself.
It was tough for a young woman to run a bar and inn herself, but she got through the work week and still had energy to stand for the long Saturday night shift, which would come to an end in about…ten minutes. Regina breathed out a sigh of relief and reached for a washcloth, starting the process of cleaning off the bar top.
“Alright, everybody,” she called, raising her voice as much as possible in the boisterous bar. “Last call!” The men playing at the pool table looked up and gave her their usual glares, but they finished off their game and she ignored the way money changed hands. Brandy made one last sweep around the room, returning with closed tabs and gave Regina her last drink orders. The older woman poured the last of her tequila and scotch into shots and lamented the loss, but welcomed the extra profits, shoving them into the pocket of her apron as she went back to wiping down the bar.
One by one, the patrons started to filter out of the pub and Regina felt her shoulders begin to relax with the release of tension as the noise began to dissipate and she felt herself breathing a bit more easily. It was always like this at the end of the night, when she finally got to relax on a Saturday night, instead of work. She didn’t really mind the work so much, but it could get overwhelming at times—especially when she was constantly running out of her own alcohol.
“Have a nice night, baby,” Jimmy said, slapping a generous tip down on the bar top and giving her a wink (which looked more like a twitch, honestly) and slipping off his stool. He had a surprisingly straight walk for a man who’s stomach contents were 60% whiskey and 40% bar peanuts, but he’d always been like that. And he always left a good tip. Regina plucked the fifty-dollar bill off the bar and slipped it into her back pocket. She watched as the last few patrons started to taper off and Brandy cleaned off the tables and shoved her own tips into her apron.
By the time she returned to the bar, Regina had already swept off the entire bar, tossing every piece of trash and peanut shell into the garbage bin she kept hidden away. Brandy handed over the dirty shot glasses and Regina placed them into the sink, to be cleaned the next day after her guests in the inn left and she cleaned the sheets.
“Have a good night, Brandy,” Regina said. “Get home safely, love.”
“Good night, Reg,” Brandy replied, getting her purse from behind the bar and hanging up her apron after relieving it of her tips. She folded them and placed them in her purse pocket.
Brandy was out of the door with three minutes to spare before Regina even had to lock up. She walked around the bar and grabbed the broom, sweeping up whatever mess was left on the floor. Thankfully, there weren’t too many spills tonight.
She was just starting to place the chairs on tabletops when she heard the door to the bar open and close and she sighed, turning around. “We’re closed,” she said. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow. Besides, we’re out of alcohol, too.”
“I didn’t come here for a drink, sweetheart,” a deep, gravelly voice said. Regina looked up at a tall, muscular man in a leather jacket and wearing several tattoos—and a gun at his waist—as he lifted his brow at her and gave her a handsome grin. She frowned at him.
“Then what did you come here for?” she asked, placing one hand on her hip.
The man pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket. “I need a room,” he said, placing his opposite hand on his gun. “And you’re gonna give me one.”
End of the Sample
Find out how the story continues in Jolie Day’s romance novel. Available in Amazon Stores. Visit .
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“Chemistry for DAYS!!”
“Such a good storyline with plenty of steamy scenes.”
“One hot outlaw”
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