by Imani King
Madison and Kayla stole sneaky little glances in Dallas's direction and Madison rolled her eyes. "Right on time. He's like clockwork, isn't he? I mean, he's easy on the eyes and all but, God, predictable much?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, trying hard to keep my tone cool.
"He only comes here twice a month, always on a Friday," Madison replied. "And he's only here for one thing – everyone knows Dallas Corbett wouldn't lower himself to hanging out in a place like this if there wasn't a good reason."
"Yeah," Marcy agreed. "Pussy."
Just then, Amber came back with drinks and handed one to each of us before taking a seat. Marcy filled her in on what we were discussing and she laughed. "Well it wouldn't be Friday in River Bend if he wasn't here hitting on tourists now, would it?"
I took a tentative sip of my drink, making sure not to wince or make a face. I'd had a drink before, but I was something of a bookworm back in Philly, more focused on my studies than anything else. Most of my friends had been like that, too. I don't know what the drink was – something pink and fruity – but it was tasty. I took another sip, a bigger one that time, as the girls gossiped about Dallas. The fact that they were very interested was plain to see – not that any part of me could really blame them for it.
"Only tourists?" I asked during a pause in conversation. "I mean, he only picks up tourists? Why?"
Amber shrugged. "Because he thinks he's better than the girls in River Bend."
"Well," Kayla giggled, looking pointedly at Marcy. "He doesn't always think that."
Marcy flushed and bit her lip. "Yeah, but that was so not a thing. We danced, we made out, you guys know nothing more than that happened."
"Yeah, but not because you didn't want it to!" Amber cackled.
At that moment, the man himself walked by our table on his way to the bar, not taking the slightest bit of notice of any of us. We waited until he was out of earshot before striking up the conversation again and before I knew it, my drink was gone and a rather pleasant feeling of hazy warmth was making its way through my body. It was nice. I wanted it to last. And I was so inexperienced with alcohol that pacing myself didn't even occur to me.
I went to the bar myself and got another pink drink. And then another, less than fifteen minutes later. Amber eyed me when I got back with the third one.
"Slow down, Tia, it's not a race."
When I looked up at her I noticed my neck felt strangely weak, like my head had suddenly become very heavy. "Oh, I know," I said. "I'm OK."
After some more gossip about people I'd never heard of, Marcy suggested dancing. There wasn't really a dance floor, it was more a free for all of drunk people getting their groove on wherever they saw fit. But my level of intoxication combined nicely with my natural love of dancing and I jumped up enthusiastically. "Yes!"
It soon became obvious that I was by far the best dancer in River Bend that night. Within a minute or two the other girls had moved away from me a little, giving me room and watching me with impressed smiles on their faces. There were other eyes on me, too – male eyes. I could feel them, but I didn't care. It was the first time I'd felt truly unburdened since the accident and I seized the moment.
"Oh my God!" Amber yelled over the sound of the music and other people's shouted conversations when we sat back down again fifteen or so minutes later. "Tia, you're really good!"
I grinned and thanked her. None of them knew how much I needed to feel the way it made me feel to just dance, to let the happy, bouncy music take me away from myself, even briefly. Everything that had happened was still there in the back of my mind, but that was just it – the back of my mind. Not right there in front, overshadowing every emotion and every experience the way it had been for weeks.
Of course, it was only a few seconds later that Kayla stumbled, without any bad intentions, onto the very topic I was praying wouldn't come up.
"So, Tia," she said, "what brings you to River Bend? Are you just taking the summer off?"
The sensation was one of my very soul deflating like a popped balloon. "I – uh," I started, breathing deeply. "I just – something happened back home and I, yeah, I needed to take some time off."
All five of us had already had too much to drink. If we hadn't, maybe Kayla would have noticed the abrupt change in my expression. But we had, and she didn't.
"Oh yeah?" she asked brightly. "What's that? Boy trouble?"
I looked down at the table. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. You're in the middle of a bar on a Friday night. Do. Not. Cry.
But there was that feeling again – the hot, wet sting of tears in my eyes. I blinked and swallowed before looking up. "My parents were killed in a car crash six weeks ago. Jenny and John are my only living family. There wasn't really anywhere else for me to go."
There was no need to look at their faces, I could feel the reaction around the table, the sudden pulling back, the shock. A few seconds passed and then I felt arms around me from both sides.
"Tia..." Amber said, squeezing me tightly. "I'm sorry."
Kayla teared up immediately. "Oh no!" she exclaimed, covering her mouth with one hand. "I'm – Tia, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
I wanted to stay at the table. I wanted to accept the hugs and the human sympathy the girls were offering me. But it was the kindness itself that ultimately sent me stumbling blindly towards the back of the bar and out the back door, where I bent over, barely able to stand, and half-gasped, half-sobbed in the mild evening air. I tried to keep it together, I really did. But it was as much use as trying to stop a landslide. The emotions, so much rawer and huger than anything I'd ever experienced before, simply ran me over, an ocean of grief dragging me out to sea. Knowing that it was going to be this way for a long time, that this tidal wave was going to knock me over again and again, just made me feel even more hopeless. The alcohol didn't help, either.
Who knows how long I was out there after I fell to my knees in the dirty gravel, bawling and wiping my eyes furiously, as if that would help. A noise to my left startled me just as I was about to get up. I jerked my head up and there he was – Dallas. He was with a woman and both of them were staring at me like I was some kind of crazy person. Which I suppose, to them, is exactly what I appeared to be. We stayed there, frozen in the moment, looking at each other. For a brief second it looked like Dallas was going to say something, but I wasn't going to wait to find out. The night was already ruined and the last thing I wanted was the insincere attentions of a man who'd been an arrogant asshole the two previous times I'd run into him.
Amber appeared as I got to my feet and Dallas and the woman scuttled off to the parking lot.
"Hey," she said, rubbing my back. "Hey, Tia. We thought you might need a few minutes to be alone."
"Yes," I sniffled, nodding. "Yes, thank-you."
It was all so embarrassing. I'd only just met Amber's friends and now I was that chick who started crying in the middle of the bar. I couldn't even look her in the eye.
"Why don't we call you a cab? We're going to head home, too – this place is dead tonight."
Madison joined us as I apologized pathetically for ruining their evening and wiped my eyes again, aware that I probably had mascara smeared all over my face.
"Stop it," she said gently, putting her arm around me. "You didn't ruin anything. Do you think we don't understand how difficult this must be for you? To go out like this after something so terrible has happened? We do, OK? We do. Let's do something this weekend, alright? Something quieter, something that might be easier for you."
I nodded, still barely keeping it together, and squeaked out that I would very much like to do something that weekend. Amber flagged down one of the taxis idling in the parking lot, waiting for drunken customers to spill out of the bar, and the other two girls joined them in giving me hugs before making sure I was safely inside and giving the driver my address.
I thought I might start crying again in the cab but I didn't. I just sat there staring out the window at
the trees and the dark silhouettes of the mountains against the moonlit summer sky, feeling an emptiness that was made all the worse by the fact that I knew – I just knew – that I was never really going to be rid of it, as long as I lived.
Four
Dallas
I considered not going down to River Bend's one rinky-dink little bar on that particular Friday night, but even after a day of hard work hauling hay up into the barn I was feeling antsy. I don't like feeling antsy – part of the reason I came to Montana in the first place was to lower my stress levels. And it worked. Mostly. But there was something I needed that night and it wasn't a cold beer, an early night or a beautiful sunset slipping down over the mountains. It was a woman. Not just somewhere warm and wet to put my cock – although that was definitely part of it. No, it was more than that. I needed to feel the presence of femininity, the smell of a woman's hair as it brushed against my cheek, the music of a naughty giggle.
So I saddled Ranger up and headed into town, tying him up outside Parson's Grocery and ignoring the dirty looks an older couple shot my way. If there's any doubt in a woman's mind when she decides to come home with me, it usually disappears after a horseback ride in the dark.
The party was already well underway by the time I walked through the door, instantly scanning the room for faces I didn't recognize. Within thirty seconds I'd spotted her. Dyed blonde hair, late 20s, maybe early 30s, sitting alone by the bar with a pouty look on her face. Probably some tourist who'd had a fight with her boyfriend. I approached immediately – because why waste time? – and took a seat on the barstool next to her, ordering a scotch, neat, when the bartender asked what I was having.
Before he'd even put the drink in front of me the woman was eying me. When I ignored her, forcing her to make the first move, she complied.
"Scotch guy, huh? My daddy drinks scotch."
Ah, first sentence out of her mouth and she was talking about her father. Daddy issues make my job easier.
I sipped my scotch and waited a few seconds before turning and fixing my eyes on hers. "He does, huh? Smart man. He's not here tonight, is he?"
The blonde giggled and batted her eyelashes. "No. I'm all by myself."
"Are you now? Just passing through?"
It was on. I always know when it's on. Women get all soft and smiley and responsive when they're open to being picked up, and that particular woman was sending loud signals.
"Yeah. On my way to Vegas – I'm moving there for work and it was cheaper to drive rather than pay to have all my stuff shipped. Besides, I'm adventurous, and there's always a lot of adventures to be had on the road."
Oh yeah, it was definitely on. I raised a single eyebrow, holding back a little, giving her just enough attention to sink my hooks in deeper.
"What's your name?" she asked, when I showed no sign of commenting on her road-trip. "I'm Brittany."
She offered me her hand and I took it. "Dallas."
"Dallas, huh? Aren't you in the wrong state?"
I chuckled at the joke I'd heard a thousand times. "I think I'm in exactly the right state, to be honest. And exactly the right bar."
Brittany tilted her head to the side and smiled, flattered. I worked on her for the next twenty minutes or so, pushing and pulling, slowly giving her the room to admit to herself that she wanted to go home with me. When I finally reached out and put a hand on her thigh she made only the weakest attempt to push it away.
"Hey," she scolded, clearly not serious. "I'm not that kind of girl."
I kept my eyes locked on hers. "Aren't you? Well, I'm sorry about that, you're just so goddamned sexy, I couldn't help myself."
Her skirt was very short – short enough that all I'd have to do was lean back a little to see if she was wearing panties or not – and my sense that she was very close to leaving with me had my cock stirring to life in my jeans.
"Wellll..." Brittany whispered, biting her lower lip. "I'm not usually that type of girl."
I knew it was a lie. She probably knew I knew it was a lie, but it didn't matter. When I slid my hand up her leg again, almost far enough to touch the edge of her pussy, she opened her knees a little and a jolt of desire ran through my cock.
"Can you give me a second?" she asked coyly. "I just need to freshen up."
"Sure, honey," I responded, making sure to play up the country-boy accent and keeping my eyes glued to her ass as she walked away.
Damn, that didn't take long. I mean, it usually doesn't but twenty minutes? Thank God for lonely, bored tourists. I grabbed my scotch and turned around on the barstool, surveying the crowd.
And suddenly there she was, that girl who'd almost let half my herd out onto the Old Ware Road, the one who Ranger seemed to have taken a shine to. She looked fucking amazing, too, in a light strapless dress that made her dark caramel-colored skin glow under the lights. I didn't see many girls like her in River Bend, even as tourists. Sure, she was gorgeous, but it wasn't just how she looked - she had a kind of presence I wasn't used to seeing in someone so young. Others had noticed her, too. I sat back on my barstool and watched her for awhile, being careful not to get caught, as she talked animatedly with her friends. Her dark curls bounced around her pretty face as she spoke and damn if there wasn't just something compelling about her.
Compelling. Doesn't sound like much, right? At that point it had literally been years since I found another human being genuinely interesting – and I didn't even know quite what it was about that girl from the city, but it was real. I liked the way she craned her neck to the side when she leaned in to talk to one of the other women. Such a graceful neck, so smooth and –
"Dallas?"
I jerked my head up, taken out of my reverie. Brittany was back from the bathroom, smiling shyly at me like a virgin on prom night. "Yeah, uh, hey. You ready to go?"
She nodded and then, to my surprise, took me by the hand and led me out the bar's back door. Was I going to get blown in the parking lot? Not the classiest move, I admit, but it did mean I could go home alone afterwards. I'm all about the little conveniences.
We stood there looking at each other for a few seconds, standing so close I could smell her hairspray. My hard-on, so ready to go a few short minutes ago, was suddenly feeling ambiguous. I reached out and cupped one of her breasts, squeezing almost experimentally to see if I could wake my dick up again. It worked, a bit. And then she was kissing me, mashing those glossy, messy lips up against mine in a way that might be charitably described as 'sloppy.' Why don't more women know how to kiss? I let it go on for a few minutes but it was actually starting to make things worse. The time had come for Brittany the blonde to do what we both knew she was there to do. I guided her hand down to my cock and she started to unzip my jeans. That was when the back door of the bar slammed open and she – the babe in the strapless dress – stumbled out, looking decidedly worse for wear.
She hadn't seen us. For a moment I thought she was going to vomit, but it soon became apparent that she was crying. Not just crying, either, but really sobbing. I've been around drunk, emotional women before. I've also been around a few people during the worst moments of their lives – and the immediate aftermath. What I was seeing honestly looked more like the latter but, given the context – a bar, alcohol – I just assumed it was the former. Brittany noticed my attention being pulled away from her and tugged at my sleeve.
"Hey," she whispered in my ear. "Dallas, hey."
I turned back to her just as the sobbing girl sank to her knees, her shoulders heaving with emotion. No, that wasn't drunkenness, that was something else. Fuck. I took a step towards her, driven by some instinct I didn't know I still possessed, before stopping myself at the last moment. That's when she looked up, realizing she wasn't alone. There was recognition on her face – she knew who I was – and hostility in her eyes. Couldn't blame her for that, I know I can be a little gruff.
When Amber Ketcher appeared and bent down over her friend I, oddly relieved, allowed Brittany to drag me away from
the scene. Only problem then was that whatever urges I'd been trying to meet that night had pretty much died. My dick was in full retreat and my skin crawled with a sudden feeling of revulsion when she touched my arm.
"You know what?" I said, when she tried to go for my zipper again.
"What?"
"I think I'm just gonna head home. Had a bit too much to drink tonight, I'm afraid. Sorry about that."
Brittany giggled, assuming I was joking. The giggles soon faded away when it became apparent that I wasn't.
"What the fuck?" she demanded, annoyed. "You're going home? Alone?"
I should have been more polite. Story of my life. But the sudden desperation to just get the fuck away from that bar and that girl was intense.
"Well can I get your number?" she asked, pulling out her phone. "You know, if you're ever in –"
"Nah," I cut her off. "I'm sorry. It's not you. But I've got to go. Have a good night."
I left her there, mouth hanging open in shock, phone clutched limply in one hand, and high-tailed it down the street to where Ranger was tied up, not really understanding my haste any more than poor Brittany.
After I got back from my second tour in Iraq, I pretty much decided that certain emotions were useless. And, based on their uselessness, further decided that I was not going to feel them anymore. One of those emotions? Concern for strangers. Another? Shame. So it took me by surprise to realize, as Ranger plodded through the dark woods back to my cabin, that shame was exactly what I was feeling.
"What the fuck?" I said out loud, echoing Brittany's words to me outside the bar. Ranger snorted and twitched his ears.
Shame? Because – why? Because some girl had too much to drink and started crying? But it wasn't that, and I knew it. I knew what I'd just seen was more than alcohol intoxication. Still, it didn't make sense. What they say about war hardening boys into men is true, for better and for worse. I'd walked away from members of my own family since then, in just as much distress, and felt nothing. So why that girl? And why was I trying so hard to avoid admitting that I hated the fact that she'd seen me with Brittany?