****
"There sure does seem to be a lot of trucks here," she said as she came to Damian's side.
He made an affirmative sound that she did not find terribly reassuring and took her by the elbow to guide her toward the back of the building. This was a place he had obviously been many times before because he led her directly to a door on the back brick wall that she would never have noticed in the darkness and pulled it open.
Immediately a wave of yellow light, the smell of cigarette smoke and beer, and the sound of a country song being fed through a meat grinder washed over her. She hesitated and Damian eased around her, giving her a gentle tug so that she would follow him inside. They stepped into a brightly lit area with a cracked linoleum floor and wood paneled walls. A door to one side marked the entrance to a kitchen and two doors on the other wall had little vinyl stick figure drawings that indicated the men's and women's restrooms. In between these doors was a tiny table with a single chair and a dusty-looking silk flower in a narrow bud vase.
"What is that?" Nixie asked.
"The non-smoking section," Damian replied.
"Charming."
"Come on," he said, smiling as he reached for the handle of a second door in front of them.
As he pulled the door open, the smell and sound intensified and Nixie had to take a moment to assimilate herself. She had spent plenty of time in bars, but they had been more of the cocktails-and-flashing-lights-type bars. This one had the distinct feeling of the corner destination that wives would often lose their husbands to and that was the receptacle for countless drowned hopes, dreams, and sorrows.
They walked up a dark blue-carpeted ramp into the main section of the bar. Just as they reached the top, the horrific song ended and a smattering of applause rippled through the room. Nixie took another step into the bar and suddenly she felt every pair of eyes in the space turn to face her.
She stood in a sea of cowboys and women of ambiguous ages who appeared to be made of tanned leather that had been lightly tinted with fluorescent orange. They all stared at her intensely, taking in her long black hair, brief black dress, fishnet hose, and high heels to Jesus. A few eyes flickered to her red fingernails and matching lipstick. The bravest settled on the black crystal drop pendant that nestled in the swell of her ample cleavage.
"Oh, lord, they look like they think the Angel of Death has come for them," she muttered to Damian.
He laughed and reached down to take her hand. His hand felt warm despite the chill of the air outside and she enjoyed the rougher texture of his skin against hers. She let him guide her further into the bar. As they walked she noticed that someone had climbed up onto a small carpeted platform at the far end of the bar and was clutching the microphone in front of him like he was preparing to breathe life into it.
Holy hell, it's a karaoke bar. A karaoke bar filled with cowboys. At least that explained the frightful music when they first came inside.
"So, this is your idea of fun?" she asked as they slipped onto the stools around a high-top table toward the front of the bar.
"Yes."
"Fantastic," she said, glancing around for a drink list, "and do you sing?"
"Only once I have enough tequila in me."
"What, you don't drink moonshine?" she cracked.
He narrowed his eyes at her.
"You don’t drink blood?"
"Fair enough. Speaking of libations, how do we get service around here? The bartender seems to be a little on the busy side."
Damian scoffed.
"You only use the bartender if you are sitting at the bar ordering a beer. If you are sitting at a table, you use Missy."
He gestured and seemingly out of nowhere a woman with approximately six shades of blond hair and a chest that made Dolly Parton look dainty appeared beside our table.
"Damian! How're you doing, Honey?"
"I'm good, Missy. How's about a couple of shots?"
Missy turned to evaluate Nixie and Nixie had the sudden feeling that she was continuously being stripped down and brought up for inspection. She glanced at Damian who smirked at her. Maybe being stripped naked wouldn't be so bad as long as he was in the room.
"And who's this?"
"This is my new friend Nixie."
"I'm just sure she is," Missy said, pivoting and walking away.
"What did she mean by that?" Nixie asked.
"I’m sure she didn't mean anything by it."
"No woman ever says anything without meaning something by it."
"Oh, really? And why do you say that?"
"Because all women are bitches. All of them. Every single last one of them."
"That seems like a fairly pessimistic perception of your own sex."
Missy sidled back up to the table and settled two shots along with a bowl of lime wedges between them. Nixie picked up one of the shots and tossed it back.
"I'm just a realist," she said, hissing through the burn of the tequila.
Damian laughed and took his shot with a bit more poise and control than Nixie had, sucking a lime wedge after. His eyes met hers as his mouth pulled across the wedge, the tip of his tongue slipping out to run across it as he took it from his lips. Her body tightened and she licked her lips unconsciously.
Missy appeared back by the side of the table and put two more shots on the table, this time with a touch more force than was probably necessary, but even the clink of the glass hitting the wood didn't pull Nixie's attention away from Damian's mouth and hot chocolate eyes. He reached over and took her fingers in his hand again, gently pulling her off the stool toward him.