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“You know, you’re not an asshole,” I mutter next to his ear. “You just try really hard to make everyone think you are.”
“Yeah? Tell that to Courtney. I don’t even think she knows my real name anymore. She calls me asshole like it’s on my birth certificate.” Roger tips his hat at some ladies that pass by. “She might come by later. Wants to say howdy to her brother-from-another-mother.”
Courtney is Roger’s sister. She’s almost my sister. She’s rough around the edges and keeps Roger’s ass in line.
“Sounds good. She’s doin’ okay?”
“She’s fine. Just broke up with her girlfriend, so she’s a little bitchy, but what’s new. Just don’t be surprised tonight when she comes barreling through the door with a tackle hug for you. Just sayin’, be prepared. She’s like a fucking hurricane in heels.”
With that, we’re in the door. The bar is a massive space, even bigger than when I left. Enormous vaulted ceilings with old barn beams holding up the peak of the roof. The dance floor is covered with a variety of city and country types all fighting for space, and there’s a smell of beer, testosterone and too much perfume.
Unfortunately, I hate bars. Even nice ones like Crutches.
Back when Roger and I were sixteen, old man Reynolds who worked as a hand on Roger’s family farm bought us a fifth of Jack one Friday night. We proceeded to down the whole thing in a matter of a couple hours and I puked for the rest of the night. I’m telling you, puking in the ditch at the side of a cornfield with my best friend next to me moaning for his mamma isn’t my idea of a good time.
Since then, drinking never held any interest for me, and neither did meaningless hook-ups. Roger, on the other hand, is perfectly at home in this establishment as we wind through the crowd to an abandoned table not far from the back bar and thankfully a good distance from the dance floor speakers.
“I want a rum and Diet Coke.” Sally chirps us her order, flips her head around to Roger, then back scanning the crowd looking like an excited toddler.
Brunette turns and holds up two fingers then leans down to whisper and giggle in Sally’s ear as they soak up the abundance of the male selection in the crowd. I jerk the chair out from the table and sit my grumpy ass down.
Roger chuckles as he plops down in a wooden chair next to me. He sweeps the wide-brimmed hat from his head and settles it on the table, then rakes a hand through his close-cropped hair and grins at Sally as she wiggles herself into the chair next to me.
I puff out a deep breath I’ve been holding and press my fingers into my eye sockets. Making eye contact would only encourage her.
“Can we get some service over here?” She snaps across the table into the crowd. When I look up, I see her flapping her hand impatiently at someone.
I look where she’s looking but all I see is a tray filled with drinks being maneuvered through the crowd. I shift my body weight in an attempt to gain a few more inches of space between myself and Sally.
Her hand shoots up higher in the air and this time her voice takes on a bitchy tone that makes me embarrassed to be sitting at the same table.
“Girl!” Her gums flap along with her hand. “Hey, are you working or not? How long do we have to wait to get a damn drink?” She’s shouting now and I shove my chair back popping up and away from her. I’m not sitting next to this all fucking night and Roger catches the look in my eye. He gives me a sympathetic blink. Even for him, this is too much.
I turn to walk away from the table, but there’s no way I can let it pass. “Hey,” I snap, then I check myself, remembering Sally is a woman and even if she does look like a blond Oompa-Loompa, she deserves respect. I gather my restraint before I continue. “Don’t talk to people like that.” I rap my knuckles on the table in front of her, making sure she’s paying attention. “Don’t be rude, it’s busy in here.”
I heave a deep breath out and consider going outside and hitching a ride home.
“What the fuck do you care?” Sally’s snarky tone tightens the muscles down my back. “She’s a waitress, for crissake.” Sally laughs and suddenly leaving is not on the agenda.
She needs to learn some manners. Part of me wants to tear into her, but the soft spoken, gentleman part of me takes a seat on the other side of the table, because few things piss me off more than people deciding how they should treat someone based on some false hierarchy of importance.
And on top of that, from what I’d overheard of their jabbering in the Rover, Sally is unemployed. The irony rakes on my nerves and my fuse is rapidly burning down. My antsy ass is back on my feet ready to take that walk again but I have a few words before I go.
“Everyone deserves—” I’m ready to lay into her with both barrels when I see the waitress’ tray start our way and I catch the first glimpse of her face.
I never knew what people meant when they said they felt the ground shift under their feet, but sure as shit do right now. Don’t ask me to explain it, because I can’t, but there’s this soft jolt in my chest, pulling me up sharp. And when I lock my eyes on her I see something I’ve never seen before.
I’ve felt it before though. Once. The moment I laid my eyes on Arabelle in the auction ring that day, I knew something was about to happen, like I know something right now. I’m just not fucking sure exactly what it is.
“What can I get you folks?” The voice of an angel rings in my head like chapel bells.
You can get yourself under me.
The words that rocket through my head shock me. The sweetest face I’ve ever seen is looking back at me. Warm home grown innocence and curves that light up parts of me left dark for too long have me blinking trying to make sure this isn’t a dream.
Her name tag reads Lori, but she doesn’t look like a Lori. Everything about her says mine and I shake my head trying to get a grip.
She’s staring at me and her eyes catch mine for a long moment. They are not just looking at me, they’re tagging me, and my cock decides his long winter is over.
