Sidecar Crush

Back when she’d still been Leah Mae, she’d been one of my only friends. Maybe my best friend.

I hadn’t seen her in a long time. And it wasn’t like I was harboring any foolish unrequited feelings for her. She was basically a celebrity now. I was only interested in what she was up to because it wasn’t every day that a Bootlegger was on TV.

Shifting in my seat, I looked at the screen. There was Leah Mae, standing in front of a mirror, pulling all that long blond hair up into a ponytail. She’d always wanted to be on TV. When we were kids, we’d spent more hours than I could count with her making up plays and starring in them. Playing dress-up and twirling around. Telling me how she was going to be a famous actress.

The scene cut to the cast going out to the nearby lake to fish. Maybe it was one of those challenges they were always putting them through. People got voted off the show each week, and so far, Leah Mae had made it every time.

I tried not to pay attention, but they kept showing Leah Mae struggling with her fishing pole. Kinda looked like she didn’t know which end was which, but that couldn’t be the case. Leah Mae could out-fish anyone, and we all knew it. Sure, with her glamorous lifestyle now, posing for pictures and walking in fashion shows, she probably didn’t get out fishing much. But fishing was like riding a bike. You didn’t just up and forget.

The guy in the boat with her asked if she needed help. Brock Winston. That guitar-toting pansy-ass. His music wasn’t terrible, but I’d hated him from the first minute I saw him on that show with Leah Mae. He was married to some actress, but he sure seemed to be cozying up to Leah Mae in a way a man shouldn’t if he already had a girl.

Damn celebrities. One famous girl wasn’t enough for that guy? He had to go flirting with another?

Brock got her pole fixed and the camera zoomed in. Her eyes caught me, held me fast. Back when we were kids, she’d always had this sparkle in her eyes when she was acting. But there was no sparkle now. They were flat. Still damn pretty, but this wasn’t Leah Mae. It didn’t look like her, the girl I’d once known. She looked like a girl in a cage, being made to do tricks.

Leah Mae turned her gaze to Brock and the camera panned in on him. He was giving her a look I knew all too well. A distinct I want to fuck you tonight look. All men had one, and we could spot them in each other if we were paying attention. And that was exactly how Brock Winston was looking at Leah Mae Larkin on Nicolette’s stupid big-screen TV.

I turned back to my beer. Didn’t much want to see the rest.

“I bet those two are gettin’ busy in the back when the cameras are off,” Rhett Ginsler said behind me.

“You think?” Trent McCulty asked.

“Sure as shit,” Rhett said. “She’s actin’ all coy, but I’d bet ten bucks and a jar of moonshine she’s spending her nights getting plowed by that Brock guy.”

The muscles in my back clenched and I tightened my grip on my beer.

“Maybe she’s just playing it up for the camera,” Trent said.

“Could be,” Rhett said. “Leah Mae’s an attention whore anyway.”

I rose so fast my stool fell backward behind me, crashing to the floor with a loud bang. Without much awareness of how I got there, I stood behind Rhett and Trent, my hands balled into fists.

“I reckon you need to stop talking shit about her,” I said, my voice a low growl.

Before I finished speaking, Bowie and Gibs were already flanking me, ready to throw down. They probably didn’t know what had me so riled, but they wouldn’t care. This was how we did things. Backed each other. They might kick my ass later if I got them into something stupid—although it was usually Gibson getting the rest of us into something stupid, not me. I was prepared to deal with the consequences. No one used the word whore in a sentence with Leah Mae’s name. Not in my hearing.

Rhett shifted on his stool, turning to face me. “What’s it to you?”

“She’s one of ours.”

He snorted and took a swig of his beer. “I guess. How long since she’s even set foot in Bootleg, though?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bowie said, and Gibson growled in agreement. “Jameson’s right.”