After ditching the shitty after-party, it was a small matter to figure out where to go. I still felt like drinking, but if I’d stepped into any old bar here in the city I’d be recognized and ambushed for autographs and selfies.

Fuck that shit.

I needed something a little more discreet.

That’s why I slipped out and hopped into one of the rentals that were made available for band use. It was nothing special, just a shiny little red jeep – not really my style, but I didn’t really care. After all, who the fuck was I trying to impress out here?

Hitting the road, I found my way to the Interstate and just started driving.

Once I got away from the light pollution, the night sky was beautiful. Crystal clear stars without a cloud in view. It was hard to find the time to appreciate the stars when you were on seemingly permanent tour.

Only two more weeks of this shit.

Another little voice reminded me: for now.

That’s life. Hard work plus luck begets success. A spot of good luck definitely sparks the fire, but the hard work? That’s what keeps the blaze going strong. I knew damn well I’d be back on tour soon enough.

After about thirty minutes cruising down the highway in the rental jeep, I decided to take a chance on the next exit. Out here, the tall, monolithic restaurant and gas station sides were all weeded out, and I was lucky to spot a Chevron station from the interstate.

This particular exit looked like it led to the middle of nowhere. The sign said “Riverton”, but the endless, dark woods all around practically screamed “dilapidated little town.”

Never heard of the place.

Sounded small. Quaint.

Just to my tastes.

But after cruising down the main road into town, I realized that I might have chosen a place a little too small. There wasn’t a lot to this little backwoods town. Hell, I hesitate to even call it a town.

True to its namesake, it was situated on a riverbank. The spot was primarily residential, with a ton of ramshackle houses and borderline huts. Not a whole lot of businesses. You had your hardware stores, combination gas station slash small grocer, and a few tiny, ancient restaurants. This was one of those little commuter towns where everybody drives forty-five minutes to work in the city.

If this place wasn’t the sticks, nothing was.

I’d just about given up on finding this place when I spotted a derelict old bar by the side.

Riverton Bar...

“Alright,” I muttered to myself, flicking on my blinker and slowing down. “So long as they don’t actually piss in the stills, this should be fine…”

Something about the place looked appealing despite its shoddy state. Maybe it was just that it was so different from anywhere I’d been since hitting it big. These days my life was full of big city bars and clubs, and the occasional lavish hotel room after-party.

But that was only really part of it.

It just looked like how I felt inside.

Filthy.

Broken-down.

Borderline functional.

Committed to the cause, I pulled up beside a battered collection of old trucks and crumpled, ancient sedans.

Hopping out of the jeep, I became aware of how clean and pristine the rental looked, especially beside these dirty, sputtering rust-buckets…

And, glancing down at myself, I realized that I was definitely going to stick out like a sore fucking thumb in these parts. I hadn’t even bothered to change from my stage clothes.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside, walking into redneck central dressed like a fucking rockstar.

Which, let’s be honest.

I totally fucking was.

With a glance, I surmised the atmosphere. Not too many people here, maybe a dozen at most, but the ones that were painted a pretty vivid picture for me.

A group of gnarled old bikers.

Couple of sloppy rednecks.

Some older women holed up in the corner.

Yeah…definitely not my speed.

I hesitated at the door, but then my eyes fell on the bartender. She was in the middle of taking a drink order at one of the bar tops and was about as out of place as an angel in hell.

She wasn’t just pretty. She looked fucking beautiful... Her luscious hair barely graced her shoulders. Long, bare legs stretched for miles from her miniskirt down to her cute and almost criminally disheveled pair of red Converse sneakers. Her low-cut blouse hinted at moderately sized breasts – not too big, but not small.

Perfect.

My feet moved of their own volition, stepping closer towards the counter. The patrons were already looking at me with their stupid, judgmental eyes, but I didn’t give a shit.

They could get fucked.

Half of them looked like they could use it.

As I comfortably took my seat, the bartender glanced over her shoulder at me – flashing me a look at her sharp and beautiful eyes.

My cock twitched in my shredded jeans.

That’s when I knew.

I was fucking her tonight.