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  Copyright 2018 Piper Frost

  Cover design © 2018 Inked Imprints

  Four years ago I left this town. Four years ago I thought I was finally getting away. I thought, 'This is it. I'm going to do something with my life.' Small towns be damned! I was going to a big city to become more than a part-time tattoo artist in a shitty town with less than five hundred people in it. Well, I was fucking wrong. I should have known though. Hell, even Bo Hart ended up back in this hellhole. There's no escaping this place. After Vegas I coulda decided to go somewhere else in the country, but somehow I found myself back at home.

  For a while all I did was fuck around in Vegas, that is until shit got out of hand. I was staying with my twin sister, living it up. Her husband didn't like me, but who the fuck cares? Her kids love Uncle Chase. I lived in their basement for a year until I saved up enough to get my own place. That was the best feeling in the world, finally having shit in order to buy my own place. At twenty-seven, I was officially a homeowner. Finally, I was going somewhere with my life.

  The tattoo artist gig started getting me in with some important people. I'm great at what I do and I was finally becoming recognized for it. After training under some of the top names in Vegas, I built up my clientele and made a good living. I was hot fucking shit... And then it all went to shit. How the fuck was I supposed to know my most recent big-titted conquest was married to my boss? I barely saw the guy; only met him face to face a handful of times. Our interactions about work were mostly done over the phone. I knew nothing about him except he signed my paycheck. Hell, if I didn't hear his distinguishable voice booming through the hallway of their house while I ran away from his fists, I probably wouldn't have recognized him.

  After that, it took him twelve hours to crumble my career. Twelve hours to ruin my reputation and put a hit out on me. The man's not stable. Being in that city any longer would have brought Milano Sverzneck and his hit men my way, and possibly my sister's.

  So…I ran.

  And now at thirty years young, I've returned to this fucking town. Vegas changed me. Maybe not for the better, but I'm more grown than I was. I realized some grudges I was holding really served no purpose other than to make myself miserable. I let all that shit go and I'm back as the proud owner of Disposable Ink. The only tattoo shop within a hundred-mile radius of this place. The building is mine, the apartment over it is my home again, and the bar across the street is, yet again, my second job.

  Nobody here appreciates the work I did in Vegas. Nobody here cares; they just want some redneck bullshit to add to their list of other regrets inked into their flesh. Not that I really fucking give a shit what I'm putting on them, as long as it helps pay the bills, but sometimes it'd be nice to tattoo someone that cared a little more about the craft. I'll survive. At least until I've laid low long enough to move again and start over somewhere bigger. Somewhere with a little more potential. Maybe. That, or turn this place around. The familiarity of it all is comforting at times.

  The bar isn't a bad gig either. Willie, the owner, was more than happy to take me back even after all this time, and I stepped in like I'd never left. I was gone for four fucking years and it's still the same faces day in and day out. Just the other day a patron that's been coming to Willies since I can remember walked up to me and tried to carry on a conversation we started before I left.

  People here are so afraid of change it makes me want to rip my hair out. I was more than happy to change when I got out of here. Like I said, maybe it all wasn't for the better. For instance, I walked back into this town in shoes that cost about the same as a month's worth of mortgage on my building. I had a suitcase full of designer clothes you can't even find in this state. That isn't shit I'm too proud of, but I deserved the lavish life I was living. I worked hard for it. There's nothing lavish about living in this town though. The paint on my building's faded and chipped. The door to my apartment gets stuck if you close it too hard. Not to mention the tattoo shop really needs an interior decorator or something. This backwoods motif has got to go. But, the money ain't rolling in like it was in Vegas. I gotta use my talent to make me money, and tattooing will bring me more money than me becoming a farmhand or something worse. Not that I don't respect a hardworking rancher like the Kenshaws, but that shit ain't for me.

  Speaking of the Kenshaws, I had two separate groups of friends growing up here. The 'Kenshaw' clan was one, as I always called them. It was me, Bo, Brandt, Kinlee, and a few other guys I'm glad I don't see anymore. They're good people, but we drifted apart. I was holding grudges about shit that didn't matter and it took me a bit to realize it. I talk to Kinlee often but not near as much as we used to. Saturday night bonfires with the clan are a thing of the past. Sunday morning breakfasts with Kinlee only became memories at some point. We all grew up and now they're all busy chasing kids and the men are so deep in love it makes me feel sorry for them.

  Then there's my other group of friends. The guys. Grant, Tommy, and Felder. They're a little older than me but we all went to the same school growing up. When I wasn't with the Kenshaw clan, I hung out with these three goons. Grant and Tommy both work at the shop. Usually we alter days so we can all make some profit, and even though I own the place, I'm not their boss. We're equals here, they just pay me rent. I wouldn't have it any other way. Felder's a hotshot salesman and he found himself a wife. He talks a big game, acting like he's got his shit together unlike we do, but he's a mess. Him and his girl are a mess of breakups and make-ups and the guy can drink himself into a three-day blackout. But I wouldn't expect anything less from him.

  These three are the closest I've got to family in this small town anymore. That's why it's not abnormal for at least one of them to be sitting at Willies with me at ten a.m. while I stock the quiet bar.

  “The fuck's your problem this morning?” I ask Felder while he mopes across my bar top.

  “I have the craziest wife on the face of this earth,” he grumbles.

  Not denying it, I chuckle and hand him a cup of coffee. The bar doesn't open for a couple hours still but I gotta get inventory done and the new taps installed. Once we open, I won't be getting anything done because its homecoming weekend at the local high school and for some reason parents celebrate it with alcohol.

  “And that's why I'm never getting married, my friend.” I smirk when he groans.

  “I can't say it's all bad. Women are just nuts. But I refuse to take a D in the B, so here we are.” He takes a long drink of coffee like he's chugging something that'll make him forget he just told me that.

  Turning my back, I try to avoid that conversation but I can feel his eyes on me as I try to count the shelf liquor. Setting my clipboard down, I look at the poor schlep. This is obviously a conversation he wants to get off his chest.

&nb
sp; “Well…” I glance around, not really having words of wisdom for one of my closest guy friends when it comes to taking a D in the B. “Maybe you should be more adventurous?” I mumble and rub my forehead, really hoping he changes the subject.

  We sit in silence a minute and before I'm about to get back to work, he lets out a chuckle. “I still can't believe you didn't find anyone in Vegas, man. Someone that looks like you? A pretty boy? Still single?”

  “First.” I point at him. “I'm not a pretty boy. And second, if this is your way of buttering me up before asking me to have a threesome with you and your wife, you can go fuck yourself.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” He laughs, slapping the bar. “I'm being serious. There's ass-loads of hot chicks in Vegas. How didn't you end up snagging one?”

  “Vegas isn't all it's cracked up to be, Felder. It's a lot of one-night stands and chicks flying out in the morning to go home to their lives. Plus, I never really cared to look.” I shrug and grab my clipboard. “We done having a Dr. Phil moment? Can you get off your ass and help me?”

  “One of these days you're gonna meet someone you can't stop thinking about, dude. Chicks are evil. They cast spells on men.”

  “One of these days pigs will fly too,” I mumble, marking off another list of bottles.

  I love women. I love enjoying women. But I've never really thought of myself as the type of guy that could get married and live that American dream. Trust me, I've seen it all. I've seen single parents struggle. I've seen households with married parents still struggle. I'm watching my friend struggle through his marriage.

  My mom's a little distraught over my lifestyle choice, but I'm doing what gets me by. She has a kid she can be proud of for getting married and giving her grandbabies, and that's how it'll stay. I'll remain the hopeless son that not only chases his dreams, but the tail of any sexy girl that walks past. Fi can be my mom's golden child. I think it's funny Fiona turned out how she did, considering how we acted as teenagers. I love my sister to death, but she caused some riffs in this town when we were growing up. She's my twin and I always had her back, but that's not to say she wasn't starting shit just to start it. Doesn't matter, we ruled this town. Then, she moved away and left me here to fend for myself. She somehow mentally grew up practically over a summer and split. She succeeded in life while I refused to let go and I struggled to find air in the sea of small town dead ends. Well, now I'm back and I'm determined to either turn my life around or find my way out again.

  I have yet to decide what I want to do, really. I'm coasting, and it'll only be fun for a few more years.

  When the bar opens, the regular Saturday morning flow starts in. Soon this place will be crawling with drunks while they celebrate the beginning of the school year before going home to get their kids ready for the dance. Traffic is heavier than expected today and before I know it the sun's sinking into the horizon and I prepare myself for the drunks that'll come from the high school football game. This is the busiest we've been since I came back to town. These people will come up with any reason to get shitfaced, I guess.

  The door clicks again and I groan, wondering how full this tiny bar will get until we're over legal capacity. I look up and when my eyes hit the girl that just walked in, I forget all about drunk parents, bar capacities, and the fact I need to change our most popular tap already. The cutest redhead I've ever seen just waltzed in with some guy on her arm and there's no way she's from around here. The tool she's with doesn't look like he belongs here either, with a popped collar on a baby blue polo; they have to be visiting someone, maybe for the dance tonight.

  “What can I get ya?” I yell to her as she approaches the bar, but before she can respond, Gary, who's been here since noon and already drunk, pushes in front of her and slides his arm out to me.

  “'Nother round for the table over there, Chase,” he slurs, shoving a wad of cash at me.

  My eyes hit the girl and she smiles, casually looking around while waiting patiently behind Gary. Then another asshole slides in right behind Gary and she takes a step back to give him space. One asshole is too many in my book, and the fact two have practically shoved her out of the way annoys me, but she doesn't look like she gives a damn. I roll my eyes, grabbing Gary's drinks before taking Asshole Number Two's order. All the while, this chick keeps a smile on her face, but her companion looks like he's about to blow his top.

  “What'll it be?” I ask the two of them while grabbing a few empty glasses off the bar. The bar back can't fucking keep up tonight and I'm going to have to wash these fucking glasses before we run out. I've never seen us this slammed!

  The cute redhead steps forward and opens her mouth to say something, but doesn't get words out before another patron shoves her aside and pushes an empty glass at me. “Fill'er up!” he yells.

  I look at the girl, waiting for her order and trying to ignore the dick that just pushed his way in front of her, but dude's getting impatient and this girl isn't standing up for herself. That smile on her face hasn't cracked as she moves for the drunken dick to cut in front of her.

  “Come on!” the guy yells at me and I grind my jaw before letting out an annoyed chuckle.

  “She's next, man.” I take his empty glass and set it into the soapy water. When he starts to grumble, I try my hardest not to snap on this idiot. Hasn't anyone ever heard of fucking manners around here? Fuck, even in Vegas people weren't so rude!

  “Asshole,” the dude the hot chick's with says before shoving the drunk out of the way.

  When he stumbles into another person, people start pushing back. The drunk rights himself and gets in the dude's face. They're staring eye to eye, one waiting for the other to even flinch. I should break this up before it escalates, but maybe a fight will clear this place out some. The showdown between the two brutes doesn't last long before the redhead's squeezing between them and nudging her preppy boyfriend away.

  “It's okay, you can order,” she says to the drunk before looking at me with a reassuring smile. “He can order,” she tells me then turns to the guy she's with. “We'll order next.”

  “Fuck that! We've been in line forever!”

  “What'll you two have,” I say, ignoring the drunk who tried to take her up on her offer. I'm done serving rude assholes tonight.

  “Bud light and... What do you want?” He looks at her and her pink lips open to tell him but he turns to me before she has a chance to answer. “Tequila sunrise for her.”

  Like I said, I'm done serving rude assholes, so I look at her, waiting for her to actually tell me what she wants.

  “That's fine.” A damn cute shrug backs her words, and she's still smiling.

  “You sure?” Not that I'm one to judge, but she doesn't look like the type of girl that's going to enjoy that drink. “I can make ya anything you want.” Ignoring her boyfriend's eye roll, I smile at her.

  “I really like that pumpkin ale beer.” She points to the new tap I installed before the bar opened.

  “But tequila will get you drunk faster,” the dude counters.

  “Yeah. Okay. That's fine.” She looks at me again. “It's okay, I'll take what he ordered.”

  I take a deep breath, hating assholes that think they can dictate what a woman wants, and turn to grab a couple glasses. Fuck this jerk.

  “Bud Light for you,” I murmur, pushing the glass toward him then walk over to the tap and pour her a pint of pumpkin ale. Grinning to myself, I approach the bar again and lock eyes with her. She has beautiful, almost unreal green eyes that drop from my face to the beer before her smile brightens and her eyes find mine again. “A pumpkin ale for the lady.” I wink.

  The fuck she's with scoffs. “That's not what we ordered. We're not paying for that.”

  “It's on the house for her. Thanks for being so patient, doll. Yours is five fifty.” I cross my arms in front of me and glare at the asshole.

  “Thank you.” The smile on her face and bounce she does when she grabs her beer proves she wanted this more than
the bullshit drink he tried to order for her.

  “Give her what she ordered then I'll pay!” The guy pushes closer to the bar to get in my face.

  Shoving my hands into my pockets, I smirk and shrug. “The girl told me she wanted pumpkin ale. I got her what she told me she wanted.”

  “It's okay, Tim.” Digging through her purse, she pulls out a ten then smiles at me. “Thanks, it's good.”

  Tim's not done getting in my face though, apparently, because he yanks the money from her grip then leans his chest farther over the bar top.

  “Tim,” she says, but another guy that looks like he crawled out of Tim's ass takes her arm and walks her away.

  “What the hell does it matter what she's drinking, Tim?” I ask, my lips purse together while I try to keep myself from laughing in this guy's face. He's such a fucking douche. “Girl's happy. Happy wife, happy life, right?”

  “She ain't my wife, man. I just met her and I'm trying to score tonight. Tequila was gonna guarantee that,” he snarls at me.

  What a fuckin' winner.

  “You think you have to liquor her up to sleep with you? You're a decent looking man, Tim. Why take advantage of pretty girls like that?” I cross my arms, really wanting to knock the douche out.

  “Just give me the fuckin' drink and now you can make it a double for the inconvenience.”

  People are waiting to order and this asshole's holding everything up, trying to make sure he can date rape his date tonight.

  I lean toward him, making damn sure he'll be able to hear me. “I hold the right to refuse drinks to anyone in this bar, Tim,” I growl. “So how about you take your beer and go be with your date before I call the cops for you trying to drug and date rape that girl over there?”

  “Fuck you, asshole! I ain't drugging no one!”

  I ignore him, taking the next person and he finally storms off with a grunt.

  I'm not usually a confrontational person, but a guy like him with a girl like her makes me angry. It shouldn't. I don't know her, but first impressions tell a lot. She's too sweet for him. Hell, she's too sweet for ninety percent of the people in the bar. She's proved it over and over again tonight. Over the course of the evening I've watched her get pushed aside, ignored, and left alone at the table more times than I could count, but that damn cute smile on her face hasn't waned. Every time I've gotten a free moment to glance out at the room, she's had that smile plastered on her full lips. Each time she's tried getting up to the bar for a drink, she's been cut in front of, bumped into, and practically shoved out of the way, and yet she's still smiling.