Something called to her about this place. She’d like to think it was the sturdy, albeit in need of some love, wood bar and custom carved stools—hey, her brother wasn’t the only one with a thing for wood. However, she was willing to bet it was actually the memories of a misspent youth, drinking and partying with the bikers passing through town that spurred her decision to reopen the bar.
She’d started by getting the front room up and running—the booze in place and Porkers band available to rock & roll, but she needed additional acts and to get the kitchen in working order. Beer drinkers loved their meat, especially the carnies around here. Thus, her night being spent dragging the charcoal cleaning brick over this bad boy instead of partying with the leather clads that were stopping in.
“This reminds me of New Year’s…only then you were working hard and begging me to go deeper. That is until I hit the right spot and your demands turned to cries of yes…”
“Fucking Lupa!” Reetha figured she’d jumped at least a foot in the air before turning to the tool, a damn sexy and beyond awesome in the sack tool, but a tool nonetheless. “How does a freaking ambulance chaser walk so quietly? Was it your mama or daddy who had the touch of pussy in them?”
“Probably both, but then we can’t all have the Mississippi Leg Hound that runs in your genes, now can we.”
Reetha turned back to the grill and continued to scrub, waiting for the hate she’d built up for the damn wolf at her back to flair inside her. Only, there was no hate to be found, just a longing, which pissed her off more than a little bit.
“What do you want, Rafe?”
“I’d heard you’d fixed up this old backwoods bar and I had to see it for myself.”
“Why? We fucked at New Year’s, but that was weeks ago…shouldn’t you be gone by now? I don’t know, maybe killing someone else’s love?”
“Low blow, Reetha. You know I loved her too, in my own way.”
She did know that, but it didn’t change the fact that the dirt bags he worked and continues to work for, provided the death needle for her sweet deer. “Whatever.”
“We need to talk, mate.”
Reetha ripped off the yellow gloves keeping her hands from being abused and threw them on the counter before turning to face the rat bastard fate had thrown her together with. “No, we really don’t. Thanks for the fuck, go have a beer or get the hell out,” she said, moving around him and heading for her office. He didn’t say another word, but watched her every step of the way.
When she shut the door the music became muted along with the thoughts of her mate on the other side. It was a tough task, dismissing the pain and frustration she felt each time she saw her mate, but this time she engrossed herself in a task she’d been working diligently on over the last few weeks.
What the hell would she name her bar?
~~~
Have a wonderful weekend!
Serena
2 comments:
I kind of like Reethlandia, though it would be tough to fit on a matchbook cover. :)
Life is shaping up well for the Peak. This is going to be a great year.
LOL...Reethlandia is too much for a matchbook, and also a mouthful! We need something snappy, yet boss enough to bring in the bikers. Thinking cap on! :)
This is going to be a great year...lots of new and unique folks and places coming to town!
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