Prologue
Lark’s Last Call
Rolling up the sleeves of my flannel shirt, I pull the bib down on my hat and grab another bottle of beer. After setting it in front of the old man on the stool, I look around to make sure no one else needs a refill. We’re down to three customers: the old drunk in front of me, a bar fly, and the man trying to get into her pants.
Normally, seeing an empty bar on a Saturday night would have pissed me off, but not tonight. Today has been totally fucked up from the minute the bar opened. A bunch of damn teenage twits came in, trying to buy beer with fake IDs. Getting rid of them was a headache I do not want to relive, one that ended with me being forced to call their parents. Dealing with the kids was bad enough, but their parents were even worse.
After that, two assholes decided our bar was the best place to start throwing punches. Ripley, my friend and co-owner of the bar, got between them before they could do any damage to each other. He ended up taking a beer bottle to the face and slicing his cheek wide open, sending him to the hospital. The ruckus cleared the bar of our usually packed house. Only those too drunk to care stayed around.
The third owner, my friend and brother at arms, Trip, had the night off, leaving the waitress and I the only two here. So, for tonight, the slower the better. Serena likes working Saturdays because the tips are usually kick ass. She isn’t getting any out of these assholes. At this point, there’s no use keeping her here.
“Serena, you can head out for the night,” I call to her, tilting my head to indicate the register. “Go ahead and cash out.”
“Sounds good to me,” she shouts, rushing to do as I say. “I’ve been tipped once in the last two hours, so there’s not much reason to stay.”
“I’ll pay you through closing,” I mumble, knowing she needs the money.
“Thanks, Lark. That will help a lot.” She shoots me a smile. “I’ll need the extra cash after tonight.”
She cashes out while I start refilling the ice machine. Just as I’m finishing up, she grabs her purse from under the counter. As she walks out the door, I call out a quick goodbye then walk back to the old drunk who always stays until closing time. I lay my forearms against the bar top and nod my head as he rambles on.
For the last two hours, he’s been complaining about his wife. She doesn’t cook, doesn’t clean, doesn’t do much of anything as far as he’s concerned. It’s the same shit he spews every fucking night. It’s also a damn lie.
His woman spends every day slinging hash at the local diner, even though she is closing in on sixty years old, and takes care of his drunken ass every night. Sure, she bitches at him, but who wouldn’t? If I was her, I’d have walked out on his ass a long damn time ago. Instead, she shows up here every night and drags his ass home.
“She’s been on my ass all week long, wanting me to buy her a new stove. What the hell she needs a new one for, I don’t know,” he grumbles, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket. “It isn’t like the woman ever cooks a damn thing.”
“Uh huh,” I mumble, pushing away from the bar to grab him an ashtray. “Maybe she would if she had a new stove.”
“Not likely,” he says, shooting a glare at the door he knows she will be walking through at any moment. “Even if she did, it would taste like shit.”
He keeps talking, but I do my best to ignore him. I’ve heard it all before, too many times. If not from him, then from my father. Dear old Dad spoke the same way about my mom every day of my life. When he wasn’t bitching at her or about her, he was raising his fist to her. When I finally got old enough to put a stop to it, he kicked my ass out. Sadly, my mother decided to stay with him, and turning her back on me was the only choice she had.
I haven’t seen either of them since that day. Other than the occasional call from my younger sister, I don’t have any contact with my family. In fact, the only true family I have are my friends, the men who fought by my side in the sandbox, Ripley and Trip.
“I’m telling you, boy, don’t ever get married,” he mumbles, grabbing my attention. “Once you slide your ring on their finger, they slide a vise on your nuts. Then, you spend the rest of your life trying to get it off.”
I have to bite back my reply, knowing that whatever I say will make his woman’s life harder. Instead, I turn around and grab him another cold one. After plopping it down in front of him, I move down the bar and start tossing empties into the trash.
Before I drop the last bottle, the man’s wife walks in. I stay silent as she pulls a twenty out of her purse and lays it on the bar. Her eyes meet mine, questioning if he owes more. Even though double that wouldn’t cover his tab, I nod my head her way. No reason she should use her last penny to pay for his vices.
She helps him from the stool then leads him out of the bar. I take in the almost empty bar. My eyes move to the clock on the back wall. It’s damn near closing time. Close enough as far as I’m concerned. I’m making the decision to shut down for the night.
“Last call!” I shout. I'm glad this day is almost over.
The douchebag that’s been trying to get into the bar fly’s pants lays a ten on the table and heads to the door. I look around the room as he leaves, realizing the chick must have walked out while I was talking to the old man. Hopefully, she paid her tab to Serena before she left.
Walking to the door, I twist the lock and flip the sign to closed, before reaching for the cord plugged into the outlet by the door to switch the neon open sign off. I want to kick my own ass for letting the waitress go. This place is a fucking mess. Considering it’s Saturday, I have to clean up before going home or come in tomorrow on my day off to clean. I can’t leave this shit sitting until Monday morning.
Knowing it’s best to get some of it out of the way, I pick up empties and dump ashtrays. When the tables are cleared, I stack the chairs on top of them. After this is done, I’m filling the coolers, counting the register, and heading home. Trip can deal with the rest of the shit in the morning. That’s what he gets for not answering when I called earlier, trying to get him to cover Ripley.
Hearing a door squeak from the back, I turn to see where it came from. The bar fly rounds the corner and scans the bar. She stares at the booth the guy was in and looks to the bar. Finally, her eyes come to me.
“Where did everyone go?” she asks, placing her hands on her hips.
I shake my head at my own stupidity. You’d think by now I would know to check the bathrooms before locking up. It wasn’t too long ago that the alarm went off two hours after I left. I had missed some drunk passed out in a bathroom stall. When I got here, I found some yuppie fucker trying to get out of the bar, only he was too drunk to figure out how to turn the damn lock.
“It’s closing time, sugar. Everybody has gone home for the night,” I reply, turning around and unlocking the door. “That means you need to hit the road.”
She gets a pouty look on her face, the one every woman uses to get their way. I have always thought it made a chick look ridiculous, reminding me of my little sister getting ready to throw a tantrum. Either my standards have lowered, the four beers I had during my shift are hitting me harder than normal, or it’s grown on me because my dick hardens in my jeans. It could have something to do with the fact I haven’t gotten laid in more than a month. I’ve been too busy with the bar, but I’m not busy now.
I study her for a minute, taking her in from head to toe. She’s a looker, not beautiful but definitely pretty. She has deep red hair that hangs just past her shoulders and a face that would be gorgeous if it wasn’t covered in so much makeup. She is taller than most women, probably because of her four-inch heels. She’s a little skinny for my taste, not much in the way of curves other than her obviously surgically enhanced tits.
Walking over to the bar, she picks up a glass I assume is hers and says, “I was looking forward to another drink or two. Plus, the man that was here said he’d give me a ride home. I’ve had a few too many to drive myself.”
I don’t know if she means to her house or his, and I don’t ask. “I can call you a cab if you need me to.”
Shaking her head, she sets the glass back down. “No, that’s okay. I don’t live far from here. I can walk home.”
I cock my brow, wondering if I should let her walk on her own. She doesn’t seem drunk. In fact, I can only remember serving her one drink. I doubt Serena served her more than one or two more. She smiles before stepping away from the bar and approaching me. She stops just a few inches away and places her hand on my chest.
“On the other hand, if you want to go home with me, I’ll let you give me a ride,” she purrs, pressing her body against mine. “My mama always said that one good turn deserves another, so I may even give you a ride as a way of saying thanks.”
I have never been one to turn down free pussy, but I’m not going home with her to get it. She sure as hell isn’t coming home with me. To hell with that. If she wants my cock, and I know she does, she will be getting it here. Then I’ll put her in a cab and even pay for it my damn self. That’s as far as this shit is going to go.
Before I can tell her just that, it hits me; I know this woman. She’s been in here before, maybe two or three times. The last time, she left with Trip. He never mentioned her again and didn’t even really acknowledge her when she walked in the bar a day or two later. To him, she was easy pussy, so he wouldn’t mind if I had a piece. It wouldn’t be the first time we shared a woman. Hell, it probably won’t be the last.
“I can give you a ride, sugar, but not to your house,” I tell her, placing my hands on her hips. “After we’re done, I’ll get you a taxi and send you on your way.”
Her eyes scan my body before her tongue peeks out and runs over her lips. She finally meets my stare, her eyes shining with excitement and lust.
“That just may be the best offer I’ve had in a while,” she replies, her smile growing with each word that passes her lips.
Letting go of her, I pop the top button of my jeans. “Then let’s have some fun.”