Five Star Reviews for Atlantis Academy:
"Omg this book was amazing I couldn't put it down or stop reading. I carried it with me open on my phone while I did everything just to keep reading. I need more of all of this. Epic story, epic content, epic...
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Why did I think I could do this with no meds?
It only takes five minutes before I remember that I consistently underestimate how hard this is. I'm running back and forth, writing endless orders down, getting all the drinks.
I take a deep breath before approaching the next table, trying to get my game face on. It's a mask I wear during times like these, and it's freakin' exhausting. But I gotta try and appear normal, or I won't get good tips. And I need those tips to pay my bills.
I wear a big, fake smile and force myself to maintain eye contact with the diners while I recite the script in my head.
Welcome to The Rock, how you all doing tonight?
Have you been here before?
We have some great specials. Would you like to hear them?
Now what can I get for you?
Anything to drink?
I focus on getting their orders right, writing each one as if my life depends on it.
'Cause it does.
I'm starting to sweat already as I hustle away to give Mateo the orders. Did I make a good impression with my tables? Did I hold eye contact too long... or not enough? Did they see through my fake smile?
The fishermen are drinking hard tonight, and as soon as I'm done serving eleven beers, they're already asking for round two. I technically shouldn't be serving alcohol 'til I turn eighteen next month, but Keith is friends with all the cops in town. None of them are gonna say a word, so I serve it.
"Hey, you. Lyric!" Bob, one of the fishermen, leans across the counter toward me, shoving his empty beer glass in my direction. "I'll take another."
He's not looking at my face when he talks. Nope. He's talking to my boobs.
I grab his empty glass. "Sure."
"Lookin' good in them pants." His eyes rake over me hungrily. "Saw you runnin' around earlier today. You workin' out now, or what?"
"Uh..." My throat closes, and I get even more nauseous. It's partially from the strong seaweed and fish aroma filling the place but mostly because Bob won't stop staring. I'm looking right at him, and his eyes are glued to my boobs. It's as if he possesses x-ray vision and can see what I'm hiding underneath my shirt.
I turn away without answering him, but a quick peek back over my shoulder tells me he's still staring. At my ass.
Ugh.
I quickly serve him his beer and look for an escape, but there isn't one. His buddies are shoving their empty glasses at me too. I serve another round, and the whole time, Bob's leering at me.
I kinda wanna rip my skin off. Bob's always a bit of a creep, but he's being extra brazen about the boob-staring today.
And his buddies... more bad vibes there. Angry Al's cheeks are bright red as he chugs his third beer. I gotta get him to slow down so he doesn't get too mean.
