Loner by Harloe Rae Page 0,43
a bar for a beer. That’s a normal thing to do. But who the hell am I trying to convince?
The desire to be better is driving me faster than before. These needs are chasing me, hounding me with relentless efforts. The familiar path I’m on led me to a very different place two weeks ago. I reach the sidewalk and hang a right. The opposite direction offers a collection of memories that I’ve been trying to erase from existence. That’s an impossible task, especially when a coil tightens in my gut just being in close proximity.
I’m staying the fuck away from Bronco Buck indefinitely, but there’s another bar on this same street that calls to me. It’s a safe spot where I’m guaranteed to be left alone, for the most part. The patrons at Howlers aren’t known for idle chatter or being overly social. I can blend in with the throng without trying. Misfits and outcasts. Bikers and guys from the worst side of the tracks. They find solace in the rundown tavern. I couldn’t ask for a better establishment to escape in.
The thrum of midday traffic vibrates the ground beneath my feet. I dodge a puddle on the cobbled concrete, a sure sign that Wyoming isn’t just blue skies and rainbows. A thick sigh whizzes off my lips when a neon sign flashes at me from the end of this block. That familiar beacon hauls me in, offering a sense of security I would never admit to wanting.
Being isolated at home for days on end remains more grueling as of late. The limited options I’ve managed to entertain myself with in the past have fallen flat. I’ve been leaving more often, for whatever excuses I can create that don’t risk an encounter with a particular breed of wildcat. Running into Keegan would be catastrophic to any semblance of progress I’ve made. A few more weeks, or months, and that woman will be out of my system. I don’t care how fast my heart races at the mere idea of seeing her. Or that my body is strung so damn tight with rampant arousal. There’s no doubt I’m being punished.
I jerk my head in a sharp nod. That’s fitting, and all the more reason to stay on the safe side of town. No way will I risk running into that busty blonde. This afternoon, I’m only looking to enjoy a drink that I don’t have to pour myself. That whole concept of getting shitfaced with a friend circles back to me at this moment. I could definitely see that happening at Howlers.
Am I craving some sort of camaraderie on top of everything else racing through my brain? Maybe. Being a loner is a box I folded myself into. I can blame my father or Grant or any number of people who played a role, but the choice has always been mine. Alone. Much like this sudden shift in my demeanor. Apparently, all I had been missing was the perfect motivational cocktail to kick my ass into public. Fingers fucking crossed this outing doesn’t fail as epically as the last one.
Without further delay, I wrench open the heavy wooden door. The aroma of stale beer and burned pizza welcomes me as I cross over the threshold. There are only a few people littered around the dimly lit space. A lungful of hot air I didn’t realize was trapped rushes out of me. Erik Rhodes waves at me from behind the bar. I haven’t seen him since spring, but that’s because he hasn’t been by my shop. His bike requires little maintenance, and there’s no other reason for him to visit Iron Throttle.
“Well, well, well. Crawford fucking Doxe. I’d be likely to believe this is a hallucination if I wasn’t stone-cold sober.”
“You fantasize about me often, Rhodes? Maybe I was wrong about this place.”
He rubs his nose with a middle finger. “Fuck you for calling me out. Take a load off and let me add to my spank bank.”
An empty stool near the wall is calling my name. Everyone else seems to be congregating on the other end. Perfect. I settle onto the ripped leather cushion and the seat groans under my weight. “Thanks for the five-star greeting.”
He pastes on a fake-ass grin that I’m sure grants him extra tips. “We aim to impress around here. I’m sure you’ve heard.”
I take a glance at the array of outdated decor, peeling paint, and stained tile. A renovation is decades overdue, but probably won’t