Page 33 of Corrupting Ivy

I picked up my pace when a hand grabbed my shoulder and spun me around. My heart lodged in my throat, and I screamed.

Screaming. That’s all I heard when I saw Otis’ face staring back at me, that is until I recognized him.

I grabbed hold of my chest, willing it to stop beating because that would be better than it trying to jump out of my chest cavity.

“Whoa. Are you okay?” he asked, pumping his hand in front of me. It was something these cowboys did to their wild horses as they calmed them down. I slugged him in the shoulder, and he stumbled back, holding his arm laughing. “Ow. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Well, you did. You should know better.”

He pointed to the empty theater. “I’m seeing the movie tonight and saw you walking by. Thought maybe I’d walk you the rest of the way. But I see you can handle yourself.” He laughed, finding my near heart attack funny.

Having Otis walk me to the bar in the near dark would only add fuel to the fire that was under Rachel’s ass. I think not.

“I’m—'' I turned my head in the direction of the bar. I could already see the lights and hear the faint music in the distance.

He placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it with a smile, just as Rachel stepped outside.

Great.

I hung my head. “I’ve gotta go. Have a good night.” I spun on my heel and quickened my pace.

She’s never going to get over her jealousy in this town. She’ll see everyone as a threat, although it only seems like I am right now.

As I dredged closer to the bar, the honky-tonk music became louder, drowning out the crickets and anything else that might creep in the darkness. Motorcycles filled the gravel parking lot, meaning more out-of-towners to deal with tonight, along with the prideful regulars.

In Greenville, regulars kicked out the visitors. They didn’t take too kindly to strangers drinking their whiskey and beer. That’s why there was only one bar that acted as a burger joint, and across the street from that was the Mercantile.

I bit my lip as nostalgia came over me.

Melanie and Addison, two newly turned twenty-one-year-old women and best friends since high school, sat on the porch with the newcomers, wearing short shorts with their shirts tucked into the top of their pants. Tina, who was my age and a regular already, sat on a man’s lap wearing a jean mini-skirt, holding her belly from laughter, her beer spilling over.

“Ivy,” Tina said, getting up and wrapping her arms around my shoulders, her boozy breath assaulting my senses. I stepped onto the porch towards the ragged bunch.

“Hey, who’s this tall drink of water?” said a man clad in leather. He held a Corona long neck in his hand while his other stroked the long goatee he sported.

“She’s the bartender,” Tina said.

I picked her hand up and ducked away from her arm.

“Well, gentlemen, it looks like we have something gorgeous to look at tonight,” said the biker with a goatee.

The women slapped him, their faces contorting into offended frowns.

Ahh,drunk men. They talk dirty, rarely use a filter, and always find a place to piss that isn’t the toilet. No, thank you. I grew up with thick skin, developing it over the years. It grew even thicker when I methim. Besides, country girls grew up tom-boy tough. We got just as muddy and worked just as hard as the men, and when we cleaned up, we did it well.

“Hey now,” Addison said.

“Of course, I meant you too, baby.” He bound his arm around her waist and pulled her in for a wet kiss. I walked inside, leaving them to their bad choices. The icy fear that froze my veins walking over here melted the moment I stepped foot inside the crowded bar. This was just the distraction I needed.

Gretchen Wilson’s heavy twang blared through the speakers that had people kicking up their cowboy boots on the dance floor, whooping and hollering in time with the music.

Remy flipped off a bottle top and handed it to John, then grabbed a cup and filled one from the tap.

“Hot damn, Ivy. I needed you here like two hours ago. You really need a phone, girl.”

“Sorry.” I winced, then helped the patron beside her with his money wedged between the bar top and his hand.

I handed him the whiskey he’d asked for, then moved onto the next and then the next. Before I knew it, the time had slipped through my fingers, and four hours had passed.

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