I’m drunk out of my fucking mind. Usually, I can deal, but my past came nipping at my heels relentlessly. Painful memories bombarded me until I couldn’t take it anymore.
My mother, Grace Carolyn Carter, hanged herself eleven years ago today, taking the coward’s way out.Fucking bitch. She should’ve killed me too, instead of leaving me in the clutches of my sperm donor.
I crave numbness, so I find myself at Duke’s, the bar on the outskirts of town. I have no clue how many beers I’ve chugged down—enough to let some cougar reeking of cigarette smoke and strong, musky perfume drag me into a bathroom stall, sit me down, and ride my cock.
Fortunately, I did have enough functioning brain cells to snag the condom stashed in my wallet and sheath my length.
The woman looks rough—leathery skin, deep wrinkles, brittle box-colored bright red hair… let’s just say she won’t be winning any beauty pageants. What the hell did she say her name is?
Shit, I forgot. I do recall her mentioning her age.
Thirty-six, but damn if she doesn’t look fifty. It’s clear life hasn’t been kind to her. The universe is a fickle motherfucker. In the end, the bastard fucks us all over. My vision doubles. Goddamn, my head is spinning. I blink rapidly in an attempt to regain focus. Fuck me… still seeing two of everything. I’m going to have a bitch of a hangover in the morning.
“Your cock is amazing,” the woman purrs.
Too bad I can’t say the same about her pussy. She has the loosest cunt I have ever had the displeasure of fucking. It’s no easy task to stay hard, but I’m desperate for a nut.
“Yes, baby!” she shouts, bouncing up and down on my dick. “You like this wet pussy? Argh, I’m coming!”
She orgasms, screaming at the top of her lungs.
My erection deflates. Guess I’ll be relieving myself later.
“Baby, that was fantastic,” she moans.
I grunt in response.
“Wanna come by my place tomorrow night?” She stands, tugging down her skirt. “My husband goes to work at seven.”
“Nope, your pussy is horrible,” I slur.
“You little piece of shit!” she shrieks in outrage and storms out of the stall.
I pull the condom off and drop it into the toilet. That was the easy part. Standing and getting my jeans up is a completely different story. Fifteen minutes later, I stumble to the bar and plop my ass onto a stool. Ralph, the bartender, regards me warily.
“Give me another beer.”
“You’re shitfaced, Maverick.” He shakes his head. “I’m cutting you off.”
I slam my fist on the scarred wooden surface. “Give me another goddamn beer.”
“No can do, and I’m gonna need your car keys.”
I reach across the bar and latch on to his collar. “You going to take them from me?”
“Come on, Mav.” The bar’s namesake slides onto the stool beside me. He’s a big, burly motherfucker—pushing six seven, bald head, beard, and covered in tattoos—not the type of dude a girl brings home to meet her folks, but would give up the pussy to. “Can’t have you roughing up my employee.”
“Small disagreement,” I say, relinquishing my hold on said employee.
Duke’s an outcast because he doesn’t conform to the townspeople’s standards. He’s always played by his own set of rules. For that, he has my respect—something I don’t give lightly. Being a former juvenile delinquent himself, he allows underage drinking in his bar, but has no problem banging heads together at the first sign of trouble. Fighting isn’t allowed under any circumstances. He calls the apartment upstairs home, so he’ll protect this place at all costs, even with his life.
“Demons riding you hard today?”
“The fuckers won’t leave me alone.” I sigh, rubbing the nape of my neck.
“Ralph, tequila, please.”
“Coming right up.”
