Tina drove away from her parents' house in a bad mood. If only she could do something a little crazy tonight, she thought wistfully. Something new and different. As she got off the freeway she stopped and eyed the dingy, old building she passed every day with interest. It was an old roadhouse called The Outpost. She had seen their ads for live music and had always wondered what it was like inside. But it didn't have the best reputation around town-most of the people she knew would never have gone in there, or even wanted to.
Her curiosity and restlessness had her turning right towards the bar instead of left to go home. In a moment she was sitting in her car in the parking lot. She could go in, she thought. No one was stopping her. She scanned the parking lot. Motorcycles, rusty trucks, and beat-up cars surrounded her sedate black Volvo. She sat in her car, wondering what she was doing there, but she couldn't seem to make herself pull out of the parking lot and head home. She desperately wanted to go inside.
She studied herself in the rear-view mirror and sighed. What was she doing? She couldn't just go into a place like that alone. She heard the roar as three guys on motorcycles pulled into the lot. The guys parked their bikes across the lot and didn't seem to notice her sitting in her car. She watched them walk into the bar. She couldn't help but notice that the last guy to go in had a really nice butt.
As if he heard her thoughts, the man suddenly turned around and looked right at her. Her heart skipped a beat as he stared at her with stunning green eyes. For a few seconds they just watched each other. Then he smiled slowly and winked before he walked into the bar. Wow, she thought, his smile was a lethal weapon-charming, handsome, and wicked, all rolled into one. She sat in her car, waiting for her heartbeat to return to normal. It was just another reminder that she did NOT belong in a place like this.
It was just that thought that had her opening the car door and walking stubbornly towards the bar entrance. So what if she always did what she was told? Who cared if this was not her usual type of place? She was going to go in and check it out, no matter what anyone said.
She stepped through the doorway and was hit by the smell of alcohol and sweat. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the artificial light and the haze of cigarette smoke. It took another moment for her to focus enough to hear anything other than the blaring music of the band playing at one end of the room. She looked around warily. The majority of the patrons in the bar were men, and most of them were now staring at her.
She saw that the seats at the bar were full. There were pool tables at the other end of the bar and a few small, round tables set up across from the band. She walked quickly towards an empty table and sat down. She stared at the band like they were the most amazing musicians she'd ever heard and wondered if she'd have to go to the bar to get a drink, or if someone would come ask what she wanted. She busily ignored the stares and mumbled comments from the men at the bar.
She felt like an idiot. She tried to act casual, but she knew she looked stiff and out-of-place. She was just about to get up and leave when a hefty, balding man walked over from the bar and pulled out the chair across from her. He set two glasses of beer on the table and then sat heavily in the chair. She looked up at him, eyes wary, trying to act casual.
"Uh... Hi," she said. Her voice caught in her throat. She smiled weakly. The man pushed one of the glasses of beer towards her.
"Bought'cha a drink, young lady," he said in a deep, rumbling voice. He smiled widely and winked at her. She stared at him, wondering what to do. He sniffed and his eyebrows drew together. "Ain't ya' gonna drink it? It's awful rude to refuse a drink around here."
Hastily she lifted the glass to her lips and took a tiny sip. Frantic thoughts raced through her mind. Who was this man? Why did he bring her a beer? She hated beer. Was he going to hurt her if she said the wrong thing? What if he had put some kind of drugs in the beer? You heard about that on TV all the time.
She set the glass down with a trembling hand and cleared her throat. "Uh, thank you," she mumbled. The man started laughing-a big, hearty belly laugh. She found herself smiling naturally in response. You could learn a lot about someone from their laugh, and his seemed friendly and sincere. She relaxed a little bit.
"My name's Tina," she said, as she held out her hand. He grinned at her and grasped her soft, slender hand with his rough, pudgy one.
"Pleased to meet'cha," he pumped her hand. "Name's Fred."
"Thank you for the drink, Fred." She smiled warmly at him. He seemed nice. Once she looked past the dirty shirt and scruffy beard.
Fred leaned his elbows on the table and crossed his arms. "So," he said slowly. "What brings you in here tonight, young lady? Lose a bet?" His friends at the bar chuckled. Fred smiled. "Cause you don't look much like our regular customers."
Tina felt her cheeks warm as she blushed. "I just wanted a drink," she said carefully.
Fred looked at her practically untouched beer and laughed. "You sure about that?"
"Of course," she said, and took a big swig of the beer. It tasted like dirty socks. She lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eyes. "Nothing wrong with that, is there?"
He grinned. "No, ma'am." His eyes shifted to focus on something behind her.
Cautiously she turned around to see what he was looking at. Her breath caught in her throat when she realized it was the biker from the parking lot. His eyes fixed on hers. She felt a sharp, unexpected twist of desire in her gut.
"Don't let me interrupt," he said in a deep, smooth voice.
"You're not interruptin', Brad. I was just introducing myself to this here young lady." Fred gestured towards Tina. "Why don't you sit down proper and keep 'er company. You're a good one for talkin' fancy." Fred chuckled.
"Don't mind if I do," he replied, and pulled a chair up to the table next to Tina. He turned it around backwards and straddled it.
Brad had been standing by the pool tables, watching her since she had walked in the door. He had gotten a brief look at her in the parking lot, but once she had come inside, he had been able to watch her closely from across the room. He had enjoyed the view.
She had a nice shape to her, he thought, in spite of the prissy clothes. Why did some women insist on covering up their bodies with long skirts and bulky sweaters? She had a subtle, but undeniably sensual way of walking, with a soft sway to her shapely hips and a posture that could only be the result of a privileged upbringing. He had watched her sneak to the table like a deer caught in headlights. Then he had grinned when he saw Fred walk over and hand her a beer. He would have bet a pretty penny that she would have been happier with a glass of Chardonnay.
Now he was sitting in the chair next to her and enjoying the close-up look very much. A slow smile spread over his face when she glanced up at him.
