Page 19 of Confined Space

Twenty minutes later, I walk into a darkened bar. I slip my sunglasses off and into my bag. This makes me nervous. The smell of wood, old alcohol, the hint of body odor, and smoke—even though you can't smoke inside—lingers in the air. The scent triggers a memory to flash behind my eyes, and I try not to gag.

"Oh, poor, Coral. Did you lose something?" The voice mocks. Pain rolls through me, making me gasp. My steps falter. He’s not here. I need to get myself together.

"Hey, you okay?" A gruff, hard smoker's voice comes from the darkness.

I open my eyes and see a tall older gentleman wearing a cowboy hat seated at the bar.

"Yes, I'm fine,” I say as he starts to get up. “I'm Coral Pierce. I have an interview."

"I'm Gus. Come on over, Coral."

I walk across the floor, my heels clicking on the dance floor when I cross it. I've never been in a bar before. I didn't know it would smell so much like a fraternity party room.

"Have a seat." He offers, and I take a seat with a stool between us. I set my bag next to me on the next stool. "How much longer do you have in the brace?” He points at my injured arm.

"Another four weeks. I was in a car accident a couple of weeks ago. I can still work. I can carry trays and waitress." I really need this job, but I’m not going to beg. Until I can get a hold of the attorney, I’m stuck with just my hospital paycheck, and it doesn’t cover everything. Rent isn’t as high here in Arizona as it was in California, but it’s still unaffordable for me.

“Are you really over the age of twenty-one? You look like you’re fifteen."

"Yes. Just a second, I'll show you my ID." I turn back to my bag and rummage through it to get my identification out. It's hard to work it out of the wallet with one hand. I'm about to hand him my wallet when we’re interrupted.

"Hey, Gus, we got a game tonight. You got the jerseys for the new players?" A deep voice I know and recognize booms across the room. I stop and turn, knocking my bag over.

"Shoot." I jump down from the stool and bend down to pick it up.

"Coral, what are you doing here?" Rowdy's voice is tight. I was hoping he didn't recognize me, but I was so wrong.

"Hey, Rowdy," I say, trying for nonchalant.

"This one yours, Rowdy?" the old guy asks.

"No," I say as Rowdy says yes.

"I'm not yours." I huff, and even in my heels he's so much taller than me.

"Were those your lips on mine last night?" he asks me crudely. I can feel the blush wash over my face and down my body.

"How dare you?" I throw my wallet in my bag. "Thank you for your time, Gus, but I need to think about this." I turn and stomp toward the door.

"I'll get back to you, Gus," Rowdy says, and I hear him following behind me.

"She's a cute little feisty one, Rowdy. Better hold on tight ’cause she's not only got a sweet Southern accent, but she's a keeper." Gus chuckles.

I'm almost to the door when I'm lifted and thrown over Rowdy's shoulder, my butt in the air.

"Put me down right now, Rowdy Murphy."

"Can't, little Mouse."

He carries me outside into the bright daylight. I push off his back and try to look around, but my hair impedes my view. His long legs carry us across the parking lot to what must be his truck. When he puts me down, I flip my hair back and adjust my backpack on my shoulder.

"How dare you do that? I'm embarrassed and humiliated right now."

"That's better than you thinking you can work in the worst bar in town."

"Worst bar? Some of the girls at work said it's the only country bar in town."

"That it may be, but it's also known for having the most fights. Besides, you aren't working here, I won't allow it."

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