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“Sometimes, honey, that’s exactly what people need. Too many snowflakes these days that believe the smoke being blown up their asses. Everyone is so scared of hurting someone’s feelings that they keep their mouths shut. Now nobody talks anymore.”
I shrug. He’s not wrong, though. I mostly avoid people these days. Unless I’m handcuffing them—and not in a kinky way.
I lean back as he continues to talk. By the time we pull up, I know he has a teenage daughter who has just discovered boys and a wife who won’t let him eat burgers anymore, thanks to his cholesterol levels.
It’s funny, but just this little interaction with a stranger has taken the edge off how I’m feeling tonight. I’m almost tempted to tell him to turn around and head back. But I don’t, knowing that as soon as I close my front door, the walls will feel like they’re caving in on me again.
“Thanks for the ride and the chat.” I pull out a few bills and hand them over.
“Thanks for the company. Here.” He hands me a business card. “You ever need a ride, give me a call.”
“Thanks.”
I open the door and take my time getting out so I don’t fall. Because rocking up to a place like this and then face-planting will not help me blend in. He says goodbye as I close the door and step back, and I watch him disappear before turning to look up at the hole in the wall. I’m not sure I would have even known it was here if he hadn’t dropped me off.
It’s at the far end of an industrial park where only a handful of businesses are still open. And even those will likely be closing soon, and then the area will be deserted. It seems like an odd place to have a bar, but then, if you want quiet, I guess this works.
The building itself looks like a storage unit made up of corrugated metal. The large sign above the door is the only thing telling me I’m in the right place. The Watering Hole. It’s neither unique nor unusual, yet it does exactly what it says on the tin.
I walk toward it. The closer I get, the more sounds I can hear as the door opens and closes. Soft rock plays, but it’s not overly loud. The proof of that being the mix of voices I can hear over it. The parking lot around it has a mix of cars, but nothing flashy. The few bikes I see parked at the end of the lot are most likely more expensive than anything here.
So, I’m looking at blue-collar, working-class, which is making me rethink the sparkly halter. But fuck it. I am who I am, and I don’t think anyone here will complain about me showing a little skin.
I reach the door and tug it open, walking into the wall of noise. I realize immediately that this place is much bigger than I thought from the outside, but that’s actually kind of perfect. It’s easier to get lost in a crowd. Now I just need to find someone to get lost with for a little while.
I make my way to the bar, ignoring the glances thrown my way. I find an empty spot at the far end, using the bar for balance as I climb up onto the stool. The bartender, who is serving a man halfway down the bar, clocks me and holds up his finger, indicating for me to give him a second. The person not far from me, waving a twenty-dollar bill, turns to me and glares.
I shrug. “You should have gone with a sparkly halter top.”
The guy is about three hundred pounds, or more, with a belly that suggests he likes beer. His lips twitch at my comment as he ambles closer.
Oh boy. Now, I’m not a dick snob, not by any stretch of the imagination. I’ve slept with guys with tiny dicks and guys with monster cocks. Size doesn’t matter to me as long as they know how to use it. Though I will say a man with a small cock is all about the foreplay. A monster cock is usually attached to a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am guy who thinks his trouser snake is going to make up for his utter lack of effort.
Fun fact: it doesn’t.
My point is, I don’t seek out the hottest guy in the room or the most in shape, and I sure as shit don’t pick someone because of what they may or may not be packing. But I do have to feel some kind of attraction. A spark would be nice, but I’ll settle for a quiver in my nether regions.
This guy moves to sit beside me, and though he smells nice, he has zero effect on me. My nipples don’t even perk up to greet him. And let me tell you, those girls are not picky at all.
“What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”
“Just taking a break from work.”
“Oh, and what do you do?”
“I’m a coroner.”
He jolts before a look of disgust crosses his features. “What, you cut up dead bodies and shit?”
I nod and clap my hands in excitement. “Yep, and there was a drive-by yesterday, so I’ve got a freezer full of gangbangers to play with. Want to know something funny? They all had pizza as their last meal. I wonder if they had known they were going to die if they would have still chosen pizza as their last meal or if they’d have had a steak or something. Anyway, it’s hard to tell what their favorite toppings were because all the stomach acid breaks everything down, but sometimes you can smell—”
He holds his hand up, looking a little green.
I reach for his hand but freeze when I grab it before pulling my hand free and wiping it on my pant leg. “Sorry, I’ve been so busy I forgot to wash my hands. I don’t suppose you have any sanitizer, do you?”
“I’ve gotta go.” He hurries away so quickly that he almost falls.
Laughter behind me has me turning with a smile on my face that quickly slips away. Seriously? What are the fucking odds?
