by HJ Bellus
“Out.” The front door slams and Julie enters.
“Let’s go, asshole.” Peaches lands a palm on my shoulder.
“No way. I’m staying in.”
My mom leans over, placing her hand on top of mine. “Dear, I love you, but I need some alone time with Julie.”
“Yes, we have several books to catch up on.” Julie wags her Kindle in the air.
I blush a bit with the thought of wanting to be in on this talk. When Izzy was a newborn and Cub was on day shift, I was hooked on soap operas. It was an ugly addiction to kick. I still get the itch to see what Ol’ Victor is up to, but it seems I have a new vice. Soft porn books with my mother.
I shake the confusion out of my head. I do need a damn night out.
“Fine.” I stand up from the chair. “Let me throw on some clean clothes.”
“Yeah, you look like shit,” Peaches pipes up.
I wag my finger between my mom and Julie. “You two listen to me. No inviting boys over, booze, or parties while I’m out or your ass will be grass.”
“Go clean up, dipshit.” Peaches slaps me in the back of the head.
I waltz down the hall listening to the giggles from my mother and Julie. I love seeing her younger side come out and I feel blessed that Julie and Peaches have been in her life through this trying time. Stripping out of my three-day-old sweats and t-shirt, I decide on a hot shower. I don’t have time to clean up my scruff, so I towel off quickly.
There’s no better feeling than sliding into a crisp pair of jeans and a tight Henley. I feel half human at this point. I don’t have time to comb through my hair, so I throw that shit up in a man bun which I’ve learned is quite popular amongst the sexy alpha men in the book world.
My chest puffs out with pride knowing I may get a bit of a distraction tonight via the real-life form and not the romance world on an e-reader. I’ve become the master of controlling my chub when reading to my mother. Pretty sure my balls are a royal blue shade at this point.
Peaches is waiting in her old truck drumming her steering wheel by the time I make it to her. She’s clearly agitated, so being a typical jackass, I change her radio station from country to old rock. The old bear needs to learn some sense of musical taste after all.
“You want your nuts chopped off, boy?”
“Want your tits blown off?” I retort then sing to the Steve Miller Band song on the radio.
“Why in the fuck did I think this was a good idea?” Peaches guns her old truck down the road in the direction of her bar. “I need a shot and haven’t even stepped foot in the bar.”
“No, you just need good taste in music and a side of dick to wipe your crank away.”
“Who said dick wipes away problems? In my experience, it causes my problems. I tend to go for vaagginnaas.” She draws out the last word.
“Jesus Christ, woman! Shut the hell up.”
“You wanted my crank wiped away, so I just need a good dose of my sexy pussy.”
“Scarring. Scarring your favorite nephew.” I cover my ears like a young child would.
“Assface, you’re my only nephew, and you think I’m the cool, single aunt in my sixties and have licked a ladylocker or two in my life.”
“You bat for your own team?” I ask in horror.
She responds by sticking out her tongue and curling it. “That’s what you call a well-hung lesbian.”
“Fine, you win and will be paying for my therapy.” I reach out and turn her country music back on.
The guitar and drums serenade us the rest of the way to The Shade Tree. I really, really try like a bastard to scrub the images of my aunt indulging in another female from my brain.
She pulls into the same parking spot she’s always parked in and kills the engine and then shrugs.
“Never know, we may tag team one day, Hart.”
“Are you fucking sick in the head?” I leap from the truck.
Peaches’ evil cackles echo around the dimly lit parking lot. I’m sure glad she’s getting a good kick out of her sick and twisted sense of humor. It’s clear she’s my match in life. I’ve always loved the woman. My first memory of her sneaking me chocolate before dinner will always be my fondest. She was never afraid of my dad and pushed her limits with him. She’s one never to back down.
Walking into the bar with my evil aunt, I notice not much has changed. The full, uneven wooden planks still line the floor with peanut shells filling the cracks. The make-shift stage barely enough to fit a band in the front of the bar, and then there’s the antique bar with worn wood at the back. And that’s where all the magic happens.
Peaches goes from funny asshole to business owner the second she enters her empire. The staff that are on shift stand to attention when she prances through in her black, pleather leggings, tan knee-high cowboy boots, and salt and pepper hair raised to Jesus. I recognize a few faces of old bartenders who’ve been working at The Shade Tree since day one. Shit, they’d probably changed my diapers back in the day.
Londa, who I’m sure used to wipe my nuts clean, sends me a wink while balancing a tray of drinks. Then Liza, who I’m also sure cleaned my crack, hugs me, but I do my best to follow the queen to the bar. I saddle up to a stool while she rounds behind the bar. She goes straight into bartending mode while checking on the rest of the bar. Her entertainment is up on the stage singing away, the crowd is legit, and she’s slinging out drinks.
Peaches slides me a whiskey neat then another. Before I know it, the tip of my black work boot is tapping to the country music blaring throughout the small, crowded bar. Being perched at the end of the bar where the waitresses put in orders has its own perks.
Hello, cowboy boots and shorty shorts while slinging drinks. My mind eases, wiping away all the worries and real life stress as each drink goes down. Peaches leans in every once in awhile letting me know my drink tab, but I just wave her on like I’m going to pay. Her pussy jokes are about to backfire and I smirk as I down the fourth drink.
“Excuse me.” A shoulder nudges mine.
When I look up to the movement, I come eye to eye with a raven-haired beauty. I’m clearly in her space, but the foggy cloud in my judgment is overpowering. She’s pretty, like a shiny nickel pretty.
I stare like a stark ass fool. Her emerald eyes hypnotize me something fierce. I should speak, but it seems all I can do is stare. I know what Tristan, the well-hung hero in the romance books, would do and I know what that badass biker, Trace, would do, yet, I just stare at her, getting drunker on her looks.
“Sit up.” She bites down on her bottom lip to stifle the rest of her message.
I guess dickhead, asshole, or fuckface would follow, but she refrains from using any of these terms all the while plastering on her poker face while trying to get more drinks from the bar.
“Help me.” I can Goddamn right sit up on my own, but her touch would be nice.
“Okay.” She shakes her head, apparently not amused by me.
That’s when I see her tits and my God are they a perfect set of tits. Motherfucking titties. I need my palms, lips, and mouth on those arts of perfection. It’s all about admiration for the perfect work of art. I’m all about being a professor of art and respecting the subject.
My clear admiration of the beauty before me is abruptly interrupted when the stool my ass is perched on is kicked out from underneath me. My ass lands hard on the wood floor. Peering back up at her I finally catch a smile gracing her lips.
“Did that help?” she asks, picking up her tray filled with drinks.
“Got the job done. I guess.” I stand slowly, cupping my nuts and hoping her next move isn’t to jab me there.
Peaches’ cackles join the conversation. “See you met Vannie, Hart.”
I narrow my eyes at the dark-haired goddess. “Vannie. Nice.”
She rolls her eyes with no desire to entertain me any longer. Her ass is entertaining enough as she sways out onto the floor. I’m a tall man, easily over six feet, and this woman in front
of me is tiny in stature, but her attitude more than makes up for it.
“Leave her alone.” Peaches places another whiskey neat in front of me.
“She’s the one that knocked me on my ass.” I pound the entire drink in one long gulp since Little Miss Hot Ass killed my buzz.
“I’m serious, Hart. She’s a roamer. Don’t know her story, but if I had to guess it’s as dark as her black hair.”
“What? Did you hit on her and she turned you down?” I smirk over the glass.
Peaches shakes her head, but she has a glimpse of a smile dancing on her face. “No, too young for me. She’s my best worker so don’t scare her off, asshole.”
“Whatever, Cougar Cakes.”
The band up on the stage isn’t half bad even though country music tends to make my ears bleed. They’re upbeat with an original sound and music. I notice three or four big suits enjoying a drink and listening while tapping their fingers on the table.
I slow down on the drinks knowing my limit. Drinking was my one vice to get me through life after returning home from my deployment. Our band of brothers was hit hard. We had lost a handful before we returned. I saw shit I can never forget. Booze numbed that ache until Izzy came screaming into our world. Then it was all her and keeping up the bed and breakfast I’d bought.
It was a fixer upper at best and super cheap, but it was more therapy to restore and turned out to be a profitable business even though at one point I could only afford air to eat. It was all worth it. Cub and his family now run it for me. They own it. I left the papers behind because I knew he’d never accept.
I’m a roamer like that. My heart grows wild and the desire inside me flairs up with the need to move on. I’ve quit wondering when I’ll strike gold in life and find the one person or place that can keep me rooted. Instead, I float with the breeze and enjoy life as it comes.
“Thank you, everyone. Up next for your entertainment is the very talented Miss Savannah Ray.”
The voice booming over the microphone catches my attention. I look up to see the girl Peaches calls Vannie take the stage with a guitar strapped to her front. I have no idea how much time has floated since our first encounter. She’s changed into a white sundress with dainty straps. Her feet are covered with worn, brown cowboy boots.
She’s pulled her hair up into a ponytail. Her defensive, badass aura has disappeared leaving behind a timid woman up in the spotlight. No band members surround her. It’s just her up there.
“Watch this.” Peaches nudges me in the shoulder.
The moment Vannie opens her mouth, magic happens. Her voice is haunting, delicate, soothing, and beautiful. I’m in awe of the way she sings into the microphone, blocking out the rest of the bar. It’s by far the best voice that’s ever graced my ears.
It’s my new favorite song even though I have no idea what it is. The bar grows eerily silent with everyone hypnotized by her honey-laced voice. The blush that creeps on the apples of her cheeks is adorable. She ducks her head once the song is finished and the bar goes wild with cheers. Some even stand on their feet cheering away.
She removes her guitar for the next song. I recognize it since it’s been played on the radio several times. “Let Her Go” by Passenger has never sounded so seductive. Her voice controls the entire song with her hips swaying softly from side to side. She never makes eye contact while deep in the lyrics. It’s as if she’s pouring all of her soul into the words.
Song after song streams from her and never once does the bar go back to socializing. She keeps their attention the whole time. You could hear a pin drop between songs.
“Thank you.” She drops her head and moves off stage.
Peaches hollers out last call and then sits next to me with a drink in her hand. “So, what do you think now?”
Too stunned to talk, I remain still and quiet.
“Well, that’s a first, somebody finally shut you up.”
“She’s so different up there.” I point to the empty stage.
“Yeah.” Peaches nods sipping from her drink. “Like I said, I don’t know her story, but could guess she’s street smart, but shy when it comes to being on the stage.”
“She’s fucking talented. Why hasn’t she been scooped up yet?” I ask.
“She doesn’t want it.”
“Why?”
Peaches doesn’t get the chance to reply before we’re interrupted by Vannie herself.
“Hey, need help closing up?” She tucks her hands into the front of her shorts pockets.
She’s changed again. Odd.
“You can head home, Vannie, got it covered here.” Peaches hops from the stool and hugs her. “See you tomorrow night.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I don’t miss the fact that she doesn’t make eye contact with me this time. You’d think I had on an invisibility cloak, but it doesn’t stop me from studying that sweet little ass as she waltzes off. She stops near a table, sets down her guitar, and proceeds to put a hoodie over her head. Her dark hair blends into the material of the pitch black hoodie making her allure all the more powerful.
“Vannie,” Peaches hollers out.
She pivots slowly, grabbing her guitar once again and giving Peaches her attention.
“You get your car fixed?”
Shyly she shakes her head.
“Girl, I’m going to beat your ass.”
“I’m only five blocks away.”
“It’s dark. You’re young and gorgeous. I don’t care how close you live.”
Without thinking, I hop up from the stool. “I’ll walk her home.”
“No.” Vannie’s defensive attitude flairs right back up with no hesitation.
“Hey, I’m a good guy.” I hold up both of my hands. “You can even frisk me to make sure I don’t have any weapons.”
I wink at her. I’m beginning to think she has no personality at all. But her voice just a few minutes ago convinced me otherwise.
Peaches convinces Vannie that I will be walking her home. “I’ll apologize in advance, Vannie, but Hart is a good guy. You shouldn’t be out there walking alone.”
“I’ve seen scar…”
Peaches lays her hand on Vannie’s forearm. “I’m sure you have, doll, but not a hair on your head is getting hurt on my watch. Now get going, you two.”
5
Savannah Ray
This guy is too damn much. The sting of hives creeping up my spine warn me to stay far away. Peaches would never lead me astray. Hell, it was her who offered me my first job while I was still living in the shelter.
But this sexy, cocky, confident man walking next to me is something else. I’m used to people staring at me or even tossing out sideways comments, but he’s over the top more.
“Haven’t walked a girl home since junior high.” He tries to strike up a conversation.
He has no idea how closed off I am to the world and how I’ll never open up to anyone, him included. Not even the gallons of sexiness he oozes could tempt me.
“I have a pretty sick ride back at home. I usually pull it out when I want to get in pants. My game is a bit weak tonight.”
He does the unthinkable. I’m not sure if it’s the stray piece of hair that’s fallen from his pony, the masculine scent wafting off him, or the fact he’s downright funny as hell. I burst into laughter imagining him as a young boy walking older girls home or him selling me on his car.
“She laughs.” He stops mid-stride studying me. “Let me hit you with some Rico Suave shit.”
“Stop.” I clutch my belly with my free hand that’s sore from laughing.
I can’t remember the last time genuine laughter escaped me. It’s an odd sensation and liberating at the same time.
“Why stop? You’re beautiful when you laugh.” He brushes away a stray hair stuck to the side of my cheek.
“You are very weird…” Shit, I don’t even know his name.
“Hart Richards, man of your wild dreams, number one in your heart, and…”
We continue walking, and it seems he won the game of talking since he has me immersed deep in conversation.
“You’re fucking incredible up on the stage.”
That makes my cheeks flame with embarrassment. “Thank you.”
“You belong on the big stage that’s for sure.”
“Oh no.” I wave him off. “I just like to sing that’s all.”
“I hate country music,” he blurts out randomly.
For some strange reason, it too makes me laugh. Most men would act like they’re the George Jones of country music to appease me in hopes of getting down my pants.
“What do you like?”
“Good ol’ rock and roll.”
“Like butt rock?” I ask.
“Damn, she laughs and makes jokes. You, Savannah Ray, are going to make an excellent piece of ass one day.”
“Not likely.”
The insecurities and deep-seated monsters threaten to creep out. I’ve run for the majority of my life. When a threat reared its ugly head, I was gone and have never stopped. It was the love of music that made me stay here, and Peaches.
We reach my door all too soon. I find it odd that I’m sorrowful to be parting ways with him.
“How do you know Peaches?” I finally ask him.
“She’s my aunt.”
I gasp then cover my mouth. “Your mom is…”
He cuts me off before I have the chance to finish. “Yes, dying.”
“Oh no, that’s not what I meant.” I shake my head to convince him. “I love her. Peaches invites me over every Sunday night for dinner, but I haven’t made it the last few months.”
His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. Everything falls together putting together the jumbled up puzzle. He’s Hart, her little boy, the one Peaches’ sister talks about all the time. There can only be one reason he’s home. I know why he left and how hard it’s been for his mother not to call him back home.
“That old alley cat must really like you because she doesn’t just let anyone in her house.”
“Yes.” I swallow down the thick lump of pride in my throat. “She’s helped me in more ways than one.”