Page 13 of Inevitable Destruction

“What?” she questions, and I laugh, unable to help it.

“You’re wearing your fucking uniform, Jamie. You wear your uniform every time we go out after work. What the fuck do you mean, ‘what?’”

She looks down at herself, as if just now realizing what she was wearing. “Well, whatever. I don’t even realize I’m wearing it.”

“Clearly,” I scoff. She shoves me as we cross the parking lot to where we’re parked. When we reach my bike and her white Chevy truck, I undo the buttons on my uniform and pull the shirt down my shoulders, leaving me in my plain white tee. I shove it in the small saddle bag before I swing my leg over, resting my ass on the seat.

Jamie rolls down her window. “Meet at Gin River?” I nod and start my bike, smiling when it rumbles to life underneath me. The vibrations travel through me, warming me.

Jame pulls out of her space, and I wait until she’s out of sight before I pull my pack of smokes out and light one. I grip my zippo tightly, the edges of the metal pressing into the soft flesh of my palm.

I let the tang of nicotine settle me before I start toward the bar five blocks down the road. I keep my cigarette between my teeth as I ride, inhaling occasionally and letting the smoke curl through my open lips. Once the cigarette reaches the filter, I flick it into the road, watching it tumble over the concrete before falling down a gutter.

The light in front of me turns red, and I idle at the intersection, the bar directly ahead. I see Jame’s truck parked at the curb with her already inside. I squeeze my hands around the handlebars, and the feel of my zippo between my right hand and the handlebar gives me the smallest sense of comfort.

The lighter was my Pops’s, and it was the only thing he ever owned that meant something to him.

The light switches to green and I roll through the intersection, coming up behind Jamie’s truck. I hop off and force myself to pocket my lighter. After fixing the waistband of the blue slacks I have to wear for work, I cross the road and pull open the heavy door to the bar.

The lights inside are dim to match the dark orange, red, and brown theme throughout, and some Theory of a Deadman song is playing in the background. Passing through the small hallway leading into the opening of the room, I search for Jamie. She’s nowhere to be seen, so I take up residence on a stool at the end of the bar. Fiona, the bartender, comes up to me with a bright-toothed smile plastered on her face.

“What can I get you, Rhett?”

“Budweiser—bottle. And a shot of Jameson. You know what? Make that two.”

“You got it.” She slides my Bud across the bar, and I grab it as I watch her fill two shot glasses to the brim with the famous green Jameson bottle.

She sets them down in front of me with a clank, and I waste no time downing each one, flipping the shot glass upside down on the bar top.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted to get drunk.” Jamie takes a seat beside me, and I shrug. I actually just want to get Dominik out of my head, but that’s proving harder to do every single fucking day that passes. Especially when I know he deserves to pay for what his parents did to my father.

“All right,” she concedes. “Let’s do this shit. Fi, I’ll take two of the same and get Rhett two more.” She takes a quick glance at me. “Actually, just give me the bottle.” She slaps down a hundred dollar bill as Fiona hands her the almost half gone bottle of Jameson.

“Keep the change.” Fiona smiles warmly at Jamie as she takes the money. Jame pours us each a shot, and she slams one of hers back, blowing out a breath after.

“Damn, that shit burns.”

“Looks like Fiona has a thing for you.” I nod in the bartender’s direction, and Jame follows my gaze.

“I’ve got a thing for Fi; I just haven’t the first clue what to do with a woman,” she mutters, then lets out a sigh and takes a sip of my beer, her face twisting at the malt flavor. I laugh and take it back from her.

“You think I knew what to do the first time I was with a guy?” I ask, and she snorts.

“Yes.”

“Well, yeah. I did, but my point still stands. Not everyone does. That’s part of the point—to experiment. Explore. You never know what you like until you try it.”

She nods then tosses back her second shot, her face twisting. Her eyes dart to Fiona before dropping back to the semi-sticky bar top. “I can only imagine what my parents would say about me wanting to kiss a female.” She laughs, but it’s humorless. Sad, really.

Something odd twists in my gut. I take a sip of my beer, then let out a breath of frustration. “Goddamnit.”

“What?” Jamie’s hazel eyes dart up to mine, wide and glassy with unshed tears. I ignore her and shove my stool back, the high pitch scrape of the legs across the wood floor echoing through the half full bar. A few heads turn my way in confusion before quickly darting away when they see my glare aimed at them.

At the other end of the bar, Fiona is filling a glass for some old dude who’s in here all the time. After she slides him his beer, she faces me while wiping down the counter simultaneously. “What can I get you, Rhett?”

“Your number,” I grunt out, shoving my right hand in my pocket and wrapping my fingers around my zippo. Her eyes bulge as she balks at me, then her brow raises, and a smirk pulls at her lips.

“I didn’t think you were into women,” she says confidently, and I pause, staring at her. She looks me in the eye as she tosses the white towel over her shoulder and places her elbows on the bar top, leaning over it to talk to me in a seemingly more personal space.

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