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Lone Tavern has been one of my go-to places to meet men the past few years. I started coming here when I was dating a man I’d met on the internet, and when that relationship ended, I kept swinging by.
Located about thirty minutes from my house, the bar has a cowboy vibe with rustic everything—decor, lighting, music, and men. Wrangler jeans and steel-toed boots are the norm here, and it fulfills everyYellowstonefantasy I have—not that there are any ranches within twenty miles of this place. No, the men and women here are playing a role. Me included.
Dressed in my tightest jeans and a formfitting top with lace trim around the revealing neckline, I slid on a pair of cowgirl boots and came out to get my flirt on.
My outfit seems to be doing the job because I am currently talking with Jason. He works for the electric company, has good teeth, and just asked to buy me a drink, which I refused before ordering my own.
The bartender slides my glass to me.
“My friends and I come here for the music. Can’t get a live band at any other bar. What kind of music are you into?” Jason asks.
“I have eclectic taste, but this country music works for me.”
“That doesn’t answer the question. What music do you listen to when you’re alone in the car? That’s the real tell.”
I like his question. You can tell a lot about a man based on the questions he asks in thegetting to know youstage.
“I’ve been known to listen to some ’90s and 2000s pop. Does that scare you off?”
“Of course not. That’s the Backstreet Boys era, right? I can dig that.”
I cross my legs in his direction, angling myself a little more toward him.
“If you can tell me at least one name of a Backstreet Boys song, then maybe I’ll let you buy me my next drink,” I challenge him.
The smirk on his face, paired with the side-eye glance before he looks back at me, shows I just caught him in a teeny-tiny lie.
He bows his head in defeat. “You caught me. I can’t name one. Did I just lose points?”
I laugh. “If I rated every man’s desirability based on if he knew the names of Backstreet Boys songs, then I’d never go on a date again.”
Jason places an elbow on the bar and leans into me. His spearmint breath lingers in my face as he declares, “When you told that bartender to fill ’er up, I thought you were talking about yourself. I was thinking, if she wants to be filled up, I could certainly do the job.”
He adds a slow wink and glances down the front of my shirt.
And that’s where the fun flirtation ends.
“Unfortunately for you, my tank might be filled tonight, but it won’t be by you. You should take a moment to go find another girl to flirt with because I’m no longer interested.”
“Just like that?” he asks, perplexed.
I nod. “Just like that.”
“Tease,” he mutters, and I’m unaffected by his unoriginality.
Jason sulks away, and I’m a little disappointed. I’m disappointed in him for trying to turn this into a one-night stand and disappointed in me because there once was a time I would have been intrigued by his comment. We’d have talked some more at the bar, had a few drinks, danced, and then we’d have made our way back to his place or mine. I don’t sleep with every man who’s talked to me, but I have quite a few regrets. Men who are attractive, easy to talk to, funny, and seemingly interested in my stories—I convinced myself they could be the one. I learned the hard way that sex didn’t equal love. Now that I’m well in my thirties, I’m far more particular about the type of man I’m willing to talk to these days. Jason isn’t one.
I spin around and lean against the bar. One nice thing about Lone Tavern is, it isn’t just filled with twenty-somethings. There’re some thirty-, forty-, and even fifty-year-olds sprinkled throughout, making it a comfortable place to meet new people. I’m casting my visual net around the room, seeing who I want to catch and reel in for my next conversation, when I’m nearly thrown off my stool when I see a man seated at the far end of the bar.
Robert Bronson.
The gorgeous man of steel-plated emotions is sitting alone and drinking from one of those lowball glasses, in which I can only assume is his bourbon. He doesn’t notice me, nor does he appear to truly be noticing anyone else.
A girl in a crop top shirt approaches him. She has her breasts in his face as she angles her body between the bar and him. For a moment, I think this could be his date, yet from the disdain on his face and the way he’s shaking his head, I can see he’s refusing her advances. He’s that opposed to love that he won’t even give a few moments to that sexy thing trying to get into his pants.
I know I just turned down Jason, but I’m looking for something serious. According to Rob, he’ll never get married again, so a one-nighter with a pretty girl should be right up his alley.
The girl walks away, and he resumes sitting by himself in the loud, crowded bar, sipping his bourbon.
