King Hunt (Boys of Brisley 1)

Chapter Two:

Tiny Devil

Two weeks.

Two weeks since I’d driven away from that dreadful town. Sure, I hadn’t really left my hotel, but that wasn’t the point. The point was I left ... and thanks to that, I was free.

What the fuck is free again? I argued with myself. Not whatever this is. It smells like stale fries in here, and you need to find a job before you start smelling even worse.

I’d always felt like I had my own tiny devil’s advocate living in my brain, and sometimes, that little devil was a dick.

“No one asked you, devil.” I collapsed onto my bed with a sigh. “And now I’m talking to myself. Shit, I need human contact that isn’t a GrubHub driver.”

Brisley, Colorado was a decent sized city — not so big that a person would feel small, but big enough that they wouldn’t run into random neighbors every time they had to go to the store. I hated bumping into the creepy guy from the corner every time I needed milk at 10pm... which I needed a lot. Cereal was my go-to bedtime snack, and with my crazy work schedule, I forgot to stop by the store at a decent hour more times than I could count. But here in Brisley, the hotel happened to be in the same lot as a grocery store and a Target, so I really couldn’t complain.

It was a nice enough hotel: bright walls, faux wooden floors, vintage style appliances with a modern washer and dryer unit two doors down. Definitely no five star, but I knew better than to waste money on those anyway. My tiny devil was right, I didn’t have a job and the money in my savings was going to have to last me until I found a new one.

In a city like this, who knew how long that might take.

Tomorrow. That’s a job for Tomorrow Me. Tonight Me is going to a damn bar to see how badly I’d lost my touch. It had been so long since I’d gone out and even longer since I’d gotten laid. The dry spell I was currently experiencing was embarrassing, and now that I wasn’t seeing David’s face every few days, I was starting to understand that I was over him. He’d been like a scab I couldn’t stop picking at — every time I started to heal, I’d see him and be reminded of everything I’d almost had, and the wound would open again. I didn’t miss him or the life we shared, I’d simply been sick of looking at his dumb face and hearing those three words echo inside my head every day.

“We’re good here.”

“Damn right we are.” I stood up, refusing to mope around any longer. I’d left Point Isly so I wouldn’t have to look in the past anymore, and I wasn’t going to.

It was time to look forward.

~

ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I stared up at the rotten wooden door in dismay before I double checked the address. Yelp had let me down. “Four stars, my ass. This looks nothing like the place in the photo,” I said aloud, jumping when a man’s voice spoke up behind me.

“It’s nicer on the inside.”

“Oh.” I blushed. “I wasn’t... being judgy.” Yes, you were. “I’m just new in town and when I looked at the five bars within a mile of me, I thought this one looked the nicest. Didn’t want to get roofied.” Christ on a cracker, that was darker than I intended. Tall and broad-shouldered, he chuckled at whatever look was on my face and reached for the handle. “Well, I haven’t heard of anyone getting roofied around here, but—”

“Isn’t that something a guy with roofies in his pocket would say?” I challenged, hating myself by that point, but since I was already knee-deep in this horrible conversation I figured I should make sure I wasn’t walking into a trap.

“I wouldn’t know... don’t know many of those types. I’ll just let you... yeah.”

The man left without another word and I tossed my head back with an exasperated breath. First man I talk to outside of work in months and I scared him away talking about that. Good going, Zepp. Let's go see how many more we can make run away.

After one last breath, I walked in the bar and glanced around, and I was shocked at how nice it was inside. It seemed like it had been recently remodeled into a western theme, yet the speaker was playing classic rock, which was something I was absolutely on board with. I grew up listening to these bands with my dad, and no matter what kind of day I was having, there was no world where Traveling Riverside Blues didn’t make me smile. Even if I wasn’t on speaking terms with the man.

My name was Zeppelin for a reason.

“Hi. Margarita, please?”

The bartender was a woman slightly taller than me, skinnier too, with bright-red curly hair. She was gorgeous in every sense of the word with dark skin and a nose ring that reminded me of my eighteenth birthday. My nose ring hadn’t made it past a week, but I still had moments where I missed it when I saw a gorgeous woman with one.

If only I was bolder.

“Long day?” she asked, ripping me from my thoughts.

“Long couple of weeks... hell, long couple years. But I have a feeling things are looking up.” I smiled, thanked her for the drink, and took a sip. “And if they’re not, you might be seeing a whole lot more of me here. Maybe one day I’ll ride that fucker in the corner.”

“Rex? Yeah, he’s a fucker, alright.”

I blushed. “Oh, I didn’t mean a person. I meant the mechanical bull.”