Finding Jordie: Things aren't always what they seem. (The Love Lies Bleeding Series Book 1) Read Free Page A

an unwrapped condom— uh, gross —an empty can of Red Bull, and a Twinkie wrapper, I didn’t find a thing.
    “Well, at least someone had a good night.” I kicked the condom to the street with some unkind words about the asshole that hit me.
    Memories flittered through my head as I passed through the bar, the half-mirrored wall with shelves stocked with a variety of shapes and colors of liquor bottles. Once upon a time, I had been a woo-hoo girl. Rachel and I had taken on that title with authority. We didn’t go to clubs and bars as frequently as we went to VIP parties for record labels, recording artists and concerts, particularly the ones of the boy band genre. We had some fantastic times together, she and I. I’d been so out of touch with the world since then.
    I shook myself out of my train of thought, went back to my office, and tossed my keys on the large but cluttered wooden desk. The voicemail light on the phone was blinking, so I sat down in my office chair, fired up my relic of a PC, and hit speakerphone to retrieve the messages.
    I rolled my eyes and erased the first three messages, all telemarketers. “Why the hell did I enroll in this do not call list if they just keep on calling?” My mouth dropped open as the fourth message began to play.
    “Uh, yeah, this message is for Jordie, this is Nathan... the nut job.” He laughed nervously. “I wanted to let her know that I found her phone.” He paused. “At least I’m assuming it’s her phone although I have no way of knowing if it’s hers or not.” He paused again and let out a nervous chuckle. “I brought it back into the bar and left it with the bartender. I hope if it’s hers she gets it back. Okay, thanks. Bye.” He lingered on the line for a moment before he hung up.
    I giggled and hit three to save. Why did I do that? And did I just giggle? I lit up a cigarette and hurried on back out to the bar. I searched the first shelf underneath—nothing there—continuing to search until I reached the end of it. There I saw the silver glint of my flip phone sitting on top of a napkin with a note from Rachel:

    I went back to my office, plugged my cell into the charger, and butted out my smoke, annoyed. What the hell? It serves its purpose. It makes calls, sends and receives texts. Sorry, I don’t need to land a space shuttle with it. I sat back down in a huff, pulled out last night’s till, and reconciled it. Saturday nights were busy, so I needed to get Friday behind me.

MIKE’S DEEP, CHEERFUL LAUGH broke into the silence in the bar. “Bullshit. She has legs that go straight to her ass.”
    “It’s impossible to have legs that go straight to your ass when your ass is already occupied with a stick.” Rachel definitely got an A in the “far too descriptive” department.
    I got up from my desk and walked quietly over to my office door. In the dim light, I could see Carlos leaning against the bar, laughing at the two of them.
    “What the fuck ever. You’re just jealous because you’re a midget.” Mike towered over Rachel, in spite of her high heels.
    I came out to the bar and stood next to Carlos.
    “We prefer little people.” Rachel gave Mike the finger and twisted her face up into a sarcastic pout.
    Rachel and I were the same height, but she loved spike heels, so she looked a couple inches taller. “Well, if she’s a midget what are you saying about me, Michael?” When they turned in my direction, I gave Mike the “what now, bitch?” look. “And quit your pouting, Rach.”
    “What? I’m not pouting. I wasn’t trying to pout. It’s just how my lips are. Are you saying I’m some big lipped midget, like some sort of carnie freak?” She twisted one of her long, brown curls around her finger, her hazel eyes all puppy-doggish and wounded.
    “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.” I rolled my eyes and snorted.
    As I stepped behind the bar to begin the preparations for a busy Saturday night, I glanced at the clock. I couldn’t