“Fuck,” he hissed, snatched the phone out of the receiver, dug into his back pocket and took out a wisp of paper. Then he looked at it and started punching buttons.
“I’ll give you a second to talk to your girl,” I muttered and his eyes cut to me.
“Thanks, big of you,” he said sarcastically.
I sighed.
Then his eyes went to his feet and his face split in a grin. “Hey beautiful, it’s Casey,” he said into the phone.
I got out of there.
Chapter Four
Never Been Kissed
“Kitchen still open?” I asked the bartender.
I was back at the bar. It was a stupid place to be. It was the last place I should be. The last place I wanted to be. But there I was.
And I knew why.
Because I was lying to myself.
It wasn’t the last place I wanted to be. It was the only place I knew he might be.
Stupid.
She was the same bartender. Lots of thick, dark hair that flowed over her shoulders and down her back, nearly as long as mine. Even though it was January, she was wearing a skintight tank and skintight jeans. Better tips that way, I’d guess. She was long and strangely very trim, no meat on her yet she had large br**sts. They didn’t appear fake though obviously I wouldn’t know. Either someone did a phenomenal job or God liked her a whole lot.
I figured God liked her a whole lot. Up close and closely inspecting, she wasn’t five years older than Gray, seven to ten years older than me. She was ten years older than Gray but wore it well. Didn’t hide it well. Wore it well.
Comfortable in her skin. Comfortable in her place.
She either owned the bar or was sleeping with the person who owned it. It was her space and she liked to be there.
“Five minutes, hon,” she told me on a genuine welcoming grin. “You’re in luck.”
I nodded and grinned back, mine probably not genuine or welcoming but I wanted it to be.
“Then can I have a cold one, bottle, and whatever is easiest for them seeing as I’m not picky and they’ll be closing the kitchen after making it?”
Her grin turned to a smile. “Pulled pork sandwich,” she replied. “I don’t know whether it’s easiest or not but you can’t leave Mustang without eating one of The Rambler’s pulled pork sandwiches. And we got those curly fries, can’t be beat.”
My grin got bigger too and I nodded again. “Sounds perfect.”
She tipped her head to the side, “No preference, like last night?”
Yep. Her tips were huge. She paid attention. It was mid-week but there were two bars in this burg and only this one in walking distance or close to the courthouse square and residential areas so I had no doubt there were nights and even days when it got busy. In fact, it was on the courthouse square. The other bar was where Casey and I were going to do our business. Still in the town limits but removed. When we’d made our first pass, I’d told Casey I was not going to work in The Rambler. The other bar was seedier, not as welcoming, not nearly as nice and the people in it were the same way. I didn’t mind taking that money. Anyone who came into The Rambler, though, different story.
But she remembered me from last night even if there weren’t a load of folks in. It was a nice thing to do, remembering me, letting me know it.
She was nice.
She liked Gray.
Gray liked her.
Her smiles were genuine.
And again I found myself wishing my life was different.
“No preference,” I confirmed. “Whatever beer is closest at hand.”
“Wish all my customers were like you,” she said through her perpetual grin.
But she didn’t. She didn’t know me. If she knew me, she’d probably kick me out.
She pulled out a Corona, popped the top and placed it in front of me. “I’ll go put in your order. Lucky for you, it’s late, they won’t mess around.”
I nodded yet again then muttered, “Thanks.”
She took off to the middle of the bar and then through some swinging half doors to the kitchen.
My eyes slid around the room.
It was five to nine. Our hotel room had cable but not many channels. I didn’t want to be bored but I was.
Casey and I traveled light. I’d read the three books I kept with me at least a dozen times. We didn’t have money for me to hit the bookstore I saw on the square and buy another one. Casey had stormed out in a huff after his call and told me not to wait up for him. I suspected this meant he wouldn’t be home until dawn. This also meant I got the first shift on driving the next day.
This was not unusual.
I should have stayed in, stayed warm, just stayed.
I didn’t. I moved. I did stupid stuff like refreshing my makeup. Fluffing out my hair. Spritzing on perfume. Putting on my slightly nicer cowboy boots.
Then I did even more stupid stuff like walking down to the bar.
I didn’t do stupid stuff. Careful. Played it safe. Always.
I didn’t know what came over me.
But I was hungry and I was bored and I’d been in that hotel room all day and nothing was on TV and the bar was warm, I’d smelled and seen the food last night and it looked good.
And Gray could be there.
He wasn’t.
I told myself I was relieved.
I wasn’t.
The crowd was lighter tonight than last night. Dinner crowd (if there was one) gone, people home in front of their TVs.
Two men sitting at a square table, not across from each other, beside each other. Slumped over the table, shoulders curved in, bottles of beer on the table held between both hands. Their conversation was quiet and probably not interesting. They either had women at home they didn’t want to be home with or, by the looks of them, they had no women and no prospects. Both heads of hair needed to be cut. Both sets of clothes needed to be tended better, cleaned more. Both bodies were not temples. The shoulders curved in meant they didn’t want attention and/or they were trying to detract it away from the unhealthy bulk on their frames. They were there last night. They were probably pretty, trim, big-boobed, genuinely friendly, happy bartender’s best customers. They were probably there every night mostly because they had nothing good to go home to and didn’t want to be reminded of that fact.
My eyes moved and I saw her at the bar. I didn’t want to see her, didn’t want to look at her but I did. I’d seen a lot of her kind in my life, what with my profession. A shade too much makeup. Not put on well mainly because she was drunk when she put it on and this was because, in some way, she was always drunk. Decent clothes also not well-taken care of but she tried. She had a cardigan on now, a tight skirt. Later that cardigan would come off, she’d show skin. She’d try for attention or spend some time when she was relatively sober telling herself she wasn’t going to go for it, wasn’t going to do that to herself again. Then she’d get drunker and she’d want company, she’d want to talk, she’d want someone to convince her that her life wasn’t in the toilet and swirling. She’d want someone, even if for an hour, to make her think she was pretty. She’d give him a blowjob for it. She’d do anything. She’d do more if he bought her a couple of drinks.