over him.”
The
words echoed across the room and Layla slung a pillow at the wall,
that small act did nothing to relieve her stormy emotions.
She
hadn’t gotten over Lucas. Not
at all.
***
The
moon hung heavy and full over the parking lot of Good Time Charlie’s.
Layla knew she shouldn’t be there, she was too angry and
saddened by the death of her grandmother and the sight of Lucas had
sent that anger and sorrow spiraling into a depressing fog that
seemed to grip her tightly, too tightly. She had decided on the spur
of the moment to head to the next county over to the tiny little
cinderblock bar, a favorite for the local bad element.
The
place looked far worse than it had the last time she had seen it.
Back then she had been an adventurous teenager, looking out at the
little building squatting there in the dark she realized she didn’t
really want to be there.
She
knew she should just turn around and head on back to the cottage, but
she couldn’t bring herself to leave. She didn’t want to
be alone in the lonely cottage stuck with nothing more than her
memories. With a deep sigh, she got out of her car and made her way
across the parking lot carefully, her stiletto heels made walking
difficult, but she finally navigated past the buckled asphalt and
scattered pools of broken glass and made it to the heavy steel door.
When
she opened it the soured whiff of beer, cheap perfume and sweat
mingled with cologne hit her like a stone wall. The bar still allowed
cigarettes and a greyish-blue haze drifted along the low ceilings.
Eyes locked onto her and she paused, suddenly very conscious of just
how short her black tank dress was. Her breasts strained at the
fabric, she had foresworn a bra and she could feel her nipples
rubbing almost painfully against the dress.
A
man shaped like a fireplug detached his bulk form the bar and came
toward her, a predatory smile eating across his moon-like face. “Hey
pretty lady,” he began in a guttural voice that brought a whiff
of his rank breath to her nose.
Layla
backpedaled. Her ass hit the edge of a bar stool and it toppled to
the floor just as the jukebox died. Every head turned toward her. In
the dimness, lit only by strings of garish lights, they all looked
terrifying, she felt fear seize her and she would have run if she had
not spotted a familiar face in the crowd huddled at a table near the
miniscule dance floor.
Lucas,
and he was sitting terribly close to a blowsy looking blonde with a
drunken glaze in her eyes and her scarlet lipstick smeared around her
mouth so that she resembled a circus clown that had stumbled into the
crowd.
Ire
ate into Layla. So that was the kind of woman he preferred? She flung
her head back, her long blond hair rippled across her shoulders and
she heard an appreciative sigh from a few of the patrons. Putting a
deliberate strut into her walk she made her way to the end of the
bar, not looking over to see if Lucas were watching was the hardest
thing she had ever done. Everyone else was watching though so she
figured the odds were pretty good he was.
“ Can
I get a lemon drop martini?”
The
bartender gave her a stunned look at those words. He was a rotund guy
with tattoos snaking their way down both of his burly arms. “I
got beer and tequila, vodka and whisky.”
A
hand reached below her elbow and lifted her from her seat. Before she
could do more than kick out with one highly heeled foot she realized
that that hand belonged to Lucas and that he was steadily hauling her
to the door. Embarrassed she reacted by kicking out harder with both
feet, a grim satisfaction filling her when she felt her toes
connecting with his shins. Laughter sprang up from somewhere and
echoed throughout the room.
“ Stop,”
Lucas’s breath tickled her ear and a strange little squiggle of
sensation ran down her spine, reversed and ran back up it again. She
wriggled against him, a hardness lay between them, nudging against
the cheeks of her ass and she felt a
The
words echoed across the room and Layla slung a pillow at the wall,
that small act did nothing to relieve her stormy emotions.
She
hadn’t gotten over Lucas. Not
at all.
***
The
moon hung heavy and full over the parking lot of Good Time Charlie’s.
Layla knew she shouldn’t be there, she was too angry and
saddened by the death of her grandmother and the sight of Lucas had
sent that anger and sorrow spiraling into a depressing fog that
seemed to grip her tightly, too tightly. She had decided on the spur
of the moment to head to the next county over to the tiny little
cinderblock bar, a favorite for the local bad element.
The
place looked far worse than it had the last time she had seen it.
Back then she had been an adventurous teenager, looking out at the
little building squatting there in the dark she realized she didn’t
really want to be there.
She
knew she should just turn around and head on back to the cottage, but
she couldn’t bring herself to leave. She didn’t want to
be alone in the lonely cottage stuck with nothing more than her
memories. With a deep sigh, she got out of her car and made her way
across the parking lot carefully, her stiletto heels made walking
difficult, but she finally navigated past the buckled asphalt and
scattered pools of broken glass and made it to the heavy steel door.
When
she opened it the soured whiff of beer, cheap perfume and sweat
mingled with cologne hit her like a stone wall. The bar still allowed
cigarettes and a greyish-blue haze drifted along the low ceilings.
Eyes locked onto her and she paused, suddenly very conscious of just
how short her black tank dress was. Her breasts strained at the
fabric, she had foresworn a bra and she could feel her nipples
rubbing almost painfully against the dress.
A
man shaped like a fireplug detached his bulk form the bar and came
toward her, a predatory smile eating across his moon-like face. “Hey
pretty lady,” he began in a guttural voice that brought a whiff
of his rank breath to her nose.
Layla
backpedaled. Her ass hit the edge of a bar stool and it toppled to
the floor just as the jukebox died. Every head turned toward her. In
the dimness, lit only by strings of garish lights, they all looked
terrifying, she felt fear seize her and she would have run if she had
not spotted a familiar face in the crowd huddled at a table near the
miniscule dance floor.
Lucas,
and he was sitting terribly close to a blowsy looking blonde with a
drunken glaze in her eyes and her scarlet lipstick smeared around her
mouth so that she resembled a circus clown that had stumbled into the
crowd.
Ire
ate into Layla. So that was the kind of woman he preferred? She flung
her head back, her long blond hair rippled across her shoulders and
she heard an appreciative sigh from a few of the patrons. Putting a
deliberate strut into her walk she made her way to the end of the
bar, not looking over to see if Lucas were watching was the hardest
thing she had ever done. Everyone else was watching though so she
figured the odds were pretty good he was.
“ Can
I get a lemon drop martini?”
The
bartender gave her a stunned look at those words. He was a rotund guy
with tattoos snaking their way down both of his burly arms. “I
got beer and tequila, vodka and whisky.”
A
hand reached below her elbow and lifted her from her seat. Before she
could do more than kick out with one highly heeled foot she realized
that that hand belonged to Lucas and that he was steadily hauling her
to the door. Embarrassed she reacted by kicking out harder with both
feet, a grim satisfaction filling her when she felt her toes
connecting with his shins. Laughter sprang up from somewhere and
echoed throughout the room.
“ Stop,”
Lucas’s breath tickled her ear and a strange little squiggle of
sensation ran down her spine, reversed and ran back up it again. She
wriggled against him, a hardness lay between them, nudging against
the cheeks of her ass and she felt a
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