Read Online Roxy (Pandemic Sorrow #3) by Stevie J. Cole - Free Book Online

bartender glanced up at me. I’d only come in here twice with Sean after his band had finished playing at the run-down bar a few streets over. I’d never told him who I was, and Sean had never introduced me to him.
    That man was one of the reasons Sean had continued coming to this place. He loved that old man because he said he was an absolute dick. He’d even started calling him “Dick” and the old man hadn’t seemed to mind, from what Sean had told me.
    Sean reveled in Dick’s ability to offend anyone that walked through the door. It was like the old man didn’t want anyone to ever come back.
    “Ladies aren’t supposed to drink, you know that, right?” he asked in a gruff smoker’s voice. “Your livers are too dainty for this poison.”
    I sat my ragged purse up on the bar. “I never said I was a lady. Actually, I’m anything but.”
    Curling the corners of his thin lips, he laughed. “So, what do you want? I don’t do any of those froufrou drinks. Remember?”
    “Vodka tonic’s fine.”
    Dick picked his cigarette up from the tin ashtray, took a puff, then blew the smoke out through his nostrils like a bull as he grabbed a glass.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Phil nodded off over his empty glass.
    I watched Dick’s wrinkled, shaky hands pour my drink before I looked down at the worn wood counter and found the “S.S.” carved in it. Running my fingertip over the indention, I fought back anger, I fought back tears; I forced myself to not feel.
    I’d come here to feel…but not this. I wanted to feel him , not emotions.
    I held so much anger inside of me for the loss I’d experienced. I was bitter. I was filled with regret. But more than anything, I was broken. All I wanted was to have a normal life. I just wanted to know what it was like to have happiness—to be able to hold onto love, onto life. Sad that something as simple as that was a dream.
    The reality was that my life was just fucked up. Plain and simple. Life hated me.
    When Dick placed my drink in front of me, the thud of the heavy glass resonated through my ears. The old man stared at me, his hooded eyes narrowing as he peered at me. “This won’t bring him back, darlin’. Mourn as long as you need. He was one of those special people you don’t find often in the walk of life. Heart of gold, he just had demons. We all do.” He paused and grabbed my chin in his clammy hands. “And did he ever love you.” Dick shook his head. “Such a shame. Makes me sad for you. Life’s not been fair to you, but it’ll make up for it one day.”
    Without another word he spun around and trotted to the end of the bar, popping his Playboy magazine back out and covering his face. That comment hit me hard. I sucked in several deep breaths and took a sip of my drink, and as I did I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
    Everything inside of me shook when I realized Jag Steele was standing next to me. I couldn’t help but stare at him out of disbelief, although I somehow managed to keep my jaw from dropping. What in the hell was he doing in a shithole like this? This place wasn’t packed with half-naked girls ready to spread their legs in the bathroom for him.
    I obviously had the worst luck in the world, because I couldn’t get rid of him. He was like a fucking plague without even realizing it. This was bad karma, mojo, anything that had a negative connotation, because at that point in my life, I refused to believe in fate.
    When Jag caught me gawking at him, he forced a grin. In an effort to avert my eyes from that wickedly sexy fake-ass smile of his, I made eye contact with him. And when I did I saw something I’d never seen in them before. That arrogant, assholish, sex-crazed glaze had faded and underneath it he looked vulnerable—lost, hurt.
    He looked human.
    Suddenly he seemed real.
    As ridiculous as it sounds, I think that was the first time I realized he was a person; not a title, not a tabloid headline, but a person. In a moment