|Reasons Why Love Doesn't Exist
Author: CupcakeJaws PM
Sophie Bower is twenty-three years old and perfectly happy with staying single the rest of her life. Fairy tale wedding? Not her style. Happily ever after? No way. She can think of a hundred reasons why love doesn't exist.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Humor - Chapters: 8 - Words: 8,693 - Reviews: 15 - Favs: 6 - Follows: 13 - Updated: 11-24-12 - Published: 08-02-12 - id: 3047195
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Reasons Why Love Doesn't Exist
Reason #1: Sexy Rich Men
"Um, excuse me, miss?"
I turned around to see a scrawny teenage boy standing at the bar. He was leaning awkwardly against the counter, trying to look casual.
"Yes?" I said politely.
He cleared his throat, staring at the wall behind me, and said, "Well, my dad wanted me to buy him-"
"Look, kid," I said, cutting him off, "I know the story. You tell me you're buying a drink for your daddy, but that drink never gets to him."
He stared at me, utterly speechless.
"I get it. You're on vacation. You want some great memories to tell your buddies when you get home. But I'm not losing my job over a sad little boy."
"I don't serve to minors," I said as he backed away looking like he was about to cry.
Sophie Bower, everybody. Responsible employee. Bartender extraordinaire.
Okay, the responsible part is a lie. I just love to reject those pathetic teenagers.
But I'm a pretty damn good bartender, if I do say so myself. I can serve ten shots in thirty seconds flat. I can also drink ten shots in thirty seconds. But I haven't done that in almost a year.
You see, I graduated from college about a year ago. I majored in finance to please my parents and attended the University of California to please myself. However, I have made no effort whatsoever to find a finance-related job. In fact, I hate finance. I truly want to be- well, I don't even know. I've got no ambition. No drive. No desire to work hard and achieve my dreams. So I've been working here at the Silver Plaza Resort since I left the solace of my lovely party school.
"A round for all my friends!" a middle-aged, overly-tanned man cried as he slapped a credit card on the counter.
Did I mention that this is probably the swankiest hotel in all of California?
Sure, I can't stand the whole I'm-too-good-for-a-country-club crew, and I can't tell you how many rich young men tried to take me back to their rooms, but I still love my job. Something about my only responsibilities being serving up drinks and waitressing on the beach just makes me happy.
"Here's a little for your troubles," the man said, slipping me a fifty as I poured his drinks.
Oh, and the people here give great tips.
"Hey Soph!" chirped a familiar voice. I turned to see my best friend, Kenya, sliding into a seat at the bar.
"How'd the shoot go?" I asked.
"Oh, the usual. Just promo pictures of lounge chairs on the beach."
"Not even people?"
"Nope. Not until our guests get more attractive."
I laughed. She was right- our guests were either ninety percent plastic or ninety percent wrinkles.
On the other hand, I have no idea why Kenya had chosen to stay behind the camera when she was perfectly fit to be a model- tall, jet black hair, bright blue eyes, and a size triple zero.
And then there's me- the mediocre friend. I'm not even good enough for the classic blonde hair, blue eyed thing. Nope, I'm stuck with boring old brown eyes.
"You want anything?" I asked Kenya.
"No thanks, I have to go take some wedding photos soon."
"There's a wedding tonight?" I said, a mischievous grin spreading over my face.
"Yes," Kenya said with the same look on her face, "And you know what that means!"
Kenya and I always looked forward to weddings here at the resort. Not because we were the kind of girls who liked all that romance crap- dresses and flowers and vows full of bullshit- but because it meant that we could usually sneak a few drinks at the reception and maybe find a hot guy to bring home.
"What does that mean?"
I spun around to see who the smooth voice was coming from. And my worst thoughts were confirmed.
"Jesus Christ," I muttered.
"Got plans tonight, Sophie?" said a sexy young man standing further down the bar. Kyle. Fucking. Gordon.
"Fancy seeing you here, Kyle," I said bitterly.
"Don't act like you aren't happy to see me," he said. Oh, I'm not acting. I'm usually a pretty nice person. But if there is one person in this world that I hate, it's Kyle Gordon.
You would think that a good-looking billionaire would not be my number one enemy, but he's not just any good-looking billionaire. He's a playboy, a douchebag, and famous for absolutely no reason. Oh, and he's been trying to get into my pants since I met him.
"What can I get for you?" I asked, forcing a smile.
"Oh, you know very well, Sophie," he said slyly, leaning in across the bar and giving me a wink.
I wanted to fucking slap him.
"Ahem," Kenya coughed, interrupting my stare down with Kyle.
"Is somebody jealous?" Kyle smirked, turning to Kenya.
"She is," Kenya scoffed, pointing in the direction of a trashy blonde giving me the evil eye.
Please, girl. He'll dump you by Tuesday.
"Well, ladies, I have to go. And I'm sorry to inform you, but unlike usual, my room will not be open tonight," he said.
"And why is that?" Kenya said.
"I'm attending a wedding," he said as he started to walk away. "Bye, girls."
"Does he mean the same one?" I asked, even though I knew the response.
Kenya nodded glumly at me.