Babymoon or Bust by Ava Hunter EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available For Free Download
- Authors: Ava Hunter
- Language: English
- Genre: Contemporary Romance Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Get lit, get loose, get laid.
Tessie Truelove lives to cross out each and every item outlined in her
carefully planned agenda—three priority tasks a day. But this specific
request doesn’t make the cut.
As much as she’d like it to.
Tess shuts her planner on tomorrow’s lengthy to-do list. Exhaling a
determined sigh, she swivels on her barstool to survey the dank Tennessee
bar the locals call the Bear’s Ear. She can appreciate dive. Hell, she was
raised in a dive. Dives can give lessons in bold clashing patterns and
thinking outside the box. Automatically, her mind goes to prettying up the
surly space. She can’t help it. It’s ingrained. The walls could use a coat of
paint. She’d nix the antlers. Small furry beasts of burden. Get rid of the
wooden beer cooler. Add black horseshoe booths for smooth lines. Keep the
loud music. Funky country with a beat.
Locals and tourists alike face off over beers and booths. A bachelor
party, the men pounding shots with masculine exuberance, roars in the
corner. A singer on the jukebox croons about whiskey and the way his exwife slugged him with two rounds of lead back in fifty-three. Tessie squints
at the plaque behind the bar proclaiming Bear’s Ear a must-visit destination.
Drink.
She needs a drink.
And maybe a tetanus shot.
Pushing herself up on her stool, she lifts a hand to the bartender.
“Excuse me. Do you have a wine list?”
He scowls, pulling drafts with reckless abandon. “Beer or liquor,
blondie. That’s all we’re servin’.”
She holds his hard stare. “The name is Tess, and yours?”
He sighs.
She presses her palms together in a prayer pose. “I really need a glass of
wine.”
Another sigh. “Tequila okay?”
Inhaling a breath, ready to ramble, ready to work her best no-nonsense
magic, she leans across the bar and locks eyes with the man. “Listen, I
didn’t work a seventeen-hour day and get lost on these dusty back roads to
shoot piss-poor tequila shots in a dive bar with nudie calendars on the wall
and an eardrum-shattering jukebox. No offense. After the day I’ve had, I
deserve a glass of wine.”
The bartender’s jaw twitches.
“Please.” She lifts her chin. Narrows her gaze.
He stops. Wipes his rag along the bar. Tilts his head. Then a sigh of
defeat. “Red or white?”
She smiles. “White, please. With ice.”
A curl of his lip. “Don’t push it.”
He Hulk-smashes a hand into the ancient fridge and fumbles around
until he retrieves a dusty bottle. The wine is a translucent white with peach
undertones. She doesn’t need to pull her Pantone book out of her bag to
know which color she’d assign to the drink.
Swatch 9180.
She lives by Pantone colors. They are blissful order. Neat squares that
tell a person exactly what to expect. No surprises; no chaos.
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