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I see him. Harley. He’s wiping down the bar. His biceps flex, and I stare at the dark, swirling tattoos on his skin. He stands out almost as much as me. The light above glints off his gold lip ring. I stare at it for a heartbeat too long.
Compared to the simple country boys in this town, he is practically the opposite. And yet the town didn’t turn their back on him as they did me. Or perhaps they did, and he was simply stronger than me.
My heart seems to beat sideways. I hate how he makes me feel.
When I lean on the bar, he turns his attention to me and flinches. I ignore the heat that rises in my cheeks when those gorgeous eyes connect with mine.
“Bourbon and coke.”
He nods. He pours it quickly and pushes it towards me. When I hand him a ten-dollar note, our fingers brush. He swallows, stepping back to the cash register. It whirrs and clunks before the drawer flings open. He retrieves my change, and looks anywhere but at me when he places it in my hand.
“You here long?” he eventually asks when I don’t move.
“As in tonight, or in general?”
“Um.” He scratches his head. “Both.”
“I don’t know, and I don’t know.”
“Listen …” he says. Every pair of eyes is glued to us. Watching. Waiting. “Can we talk?”
“We’re talking right now.”
He gives me a deadpan look.There he is, I think.The Harley I remember.
“You know what I mean,” he mutters. “I clock off in half an hour.”
“And you want me to wait?” I ask. “To talk?”
“Yeah.”
“Well.” I shrug, spinning the glass slowly in my fingertips. “I guess I have nothing better to do. Pour me another.”
He glances at my full drink before turning his back to me. By the time he’s poured the second, my glass is empty.
I move into the pokies room. The air is hot and stuffy, filled with smoke. The smoker’s area is meant to be outside, but every second person in here has one in their hand.
I take a seat far from anyone else, as much as I can in the small room, and slide a five-dollar note into the machine. I watch the money go down and down until there isn’t anything left. I half-laugh to myself as I sip. Just like Fern Grove. It takes everything you have.
I place a cigarette between my lips and light the end. I feel eyes watching me. I take a long drag and stare down at the cigarette, a red kiss mark painting it. I’ve wanted to kick the habit, given my profession and all, but it’s something that has stuck with me when I drink.
“Hey.”
I’ve just finished my drink and stubbed out the cigarette when Harley appears by me. His eyes flick to the ashtray curiously for a moment.
I sigh, getting to my feet. “Where are we going?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Aren’t you the one that wants to talk? You make the decision,” I snap at him in a huff, tasting the smoke on my tongue as it escapes my mouth.
He blinks at my words. I resist a smile. I’m not the girl he remembers, that’s for sure.
A few pairs of eyes blink at us as we pass through the main area, out to the front entrance. I hold my head high, not meeting anyone’s gaze. They can stare and talk as much as they want.
Harley’s truck is shiny and a lot flashier than I expected. I slide into the passenger seat, the leather cool on my skin. His dashboard is lit red when he turns the car on, and I glance at him, hating how good he looks in the dim lighting. Well. Any sort of lighting.
He drives to the skatepark, a place we all used to hang around. He leaves the engine running. I’m relieved as the air-conditioning cools my body.
