Trent looked a little disappointed.
“I figured,” he murmured with dejected irritation. “If you didn’t recognize me when I came in, you probably weren’t going to, anyway.”
“So, enough with the bullshit. Who are you? What’s this about whiplash?”
Trent grinned cockily. “We’re a rock band.”
“Funny,” I chuckled. When his grin only grew wider, my face only hardened. “Wait, you’re serious? But I’ve never heard of you…”
“You’re right. I clearly made that up. I mean, I can’t imagine how a tiny, backwater town halfway up the ass of Alabama might have missed a band that tops the hottest Top 40 stations.”
“I’m more of a country girl,” I conceded. “But we get radio here. Wait…”
It started to dawn on me.
“Wait, no, there’s this one rock song that comes on every once in a while, what is it…I can never hear the name, they never announce the band or the song title…”
“How’s it go?” He asked.
“Nuh-uh. I can’t sing.”
He shrugged. “Recite some lyrics.”
“Um.”
I thought for a second.
“Reeeeaad my bones, whispered, taken?”
Trent laughed with amusement.
“That’s…wrong. That’s really wrong. But yeah, that’d be us. You’re talking about a song I wrote, Wicked Wilds.”
“I see,” I thought aloud. “So, that’s you?”
His eyes glistened with delight. His voice began to sound more familiar now – it could definitely be close enough to be behind that song. I mean, I hadn’t heard it often, but it was one of the few rock songs that really drew my attention.
It had always been sung so soulfully.
The singer’s voice really rang with emotion.
But he could still be making this shit up. Wouldn’t be the first time some asshole came into my bar pretending to be something he wasn’t.
“Sing it,” I demanded, crossing my arms.
He looked surprised. “You want me to sing for you?”
“If you expect me to actually believe this bullshit you’re spewing, then yeah, I definitely do.”
“You do realize that people usually pay me thousands of dollars to sing, right? And I just saved you from, from…”
“Classy as fuck, Trent,” I laughed. “You’re right. You just saved me from being raped. Low blow, much? But I distinctly remember whipping out a shotgun when you went down, so I think you and I are one for one. Besides. I don’t think it’s that big a request. You’re making a total fuss over a few lyrics?”
Trent flashed a grin. “Good point.”
“So, go on, then,” I waved at him with my wrist. “Prove that it’s you. Work your magic.”
“What if I’m an impersonator?”
“I’ll know if you’re full of shit.”
Trent shook his head, smiling softly. He looked deep into my eyes, as if searching to see if I was being serious. After a moment, he smile settled in a big, arrogant grin.
“Fine. Have it your way, then.”
While I sat next to Trent Masters, he turned to me, looking deep into my being, and his sturdy voice yarled the rugged chorus to his alleged rock hit single:
“Reeee-yee-yee-ead my bones… broken, laid, and / Heeee-yee-yee-eed my moans… whispered, taken / Seee-yee-yee-eee my frown… buried, bathed in / Feee-yee-yee-eel my crown… dust and vapor”
Trent’s deep voice rang in the small space, digging into a dark octave and pouring out his very soul against the walls.
My head flashed to the alternative rock heroes of the Nineties – Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Stone Temple Pilots, guys like that. They’d never been my jam, but as I listened, I knew the truth. I was tending to the wounds of a real-life rock star.
He was so young, and oh so fucking hot.
Maybe I could give up on country… Just this once…
“You believe me now,” he smiled cockily.
“That’s…definitely you, on the radio.”
“Me, and my band,” he added.
“What the fuck are you guys doing here in the middle of nowhere?” I asked breathlessly. “I mean, what brought you to Riverton? How did you wind up in my bar?”
“We’re playing the RipFest, just an hour or so over from here. It’s the biggest music festival in the state. The after-party wasn’t my scene. I decided to hit the road and find somewhere a little quieter to nurse a beer.”
“Well, if you wanted quiet, I guess you probably picked the wrong bar…” I told him.
“No...” Trent said, his hand covering mine, “I think I came to the right place.”
I gulped. It was a total move, but it was working.
“Is that so,” I strained to say dispassionately.
“Yeah,” he agreed, his widening smile exposing a few bright white teeth. “That’s so.”
I knew how he was looking at me. His eyes tenderly slid along the curvature of my skin. I could have stopped him… I should have stopped him… The problem was, I wanted him to look at me like that.
Goddammit, I want him.
I want him BAD.
And the worst part is…he knows it.
As my throat grew tight and my cheeks reddened, I became suddenly aware that I was still dressed for work… Barely. My shirt was torn half open by the bikers, exposing the pink bra beneath. The miniskirt had hiked itself up my thighs as I patched Trent up. Now I was sitting in bed beside the hottest hunk of man flesh I’d ever laid my eyes on.
And the very same man had an infuriating, damning look plastered on his face. I could feel it, burning down in his gaze as he looked at me.
That smug look that just screamed victory.
Fuck me.
Chapter 7
Trent
This bartender chick was putty in my hands, gazing at me with widened eyes and heaving breasts. Her lips subtly formed that slight little ‘O’ that I like so much, and I couldn’t help but smile deeper.
She only seemed more aroused.
But I wasn’t going to overplay the charm.
My knuckles brushed lightly against her cheek, pushing a few strands of hair aside. She quivered beneath my touch, her eyes locked onto mine.
“Thank you for cleaning me up,” I whispered.
“Mhmm,” she nodded softly.
“How could I possibly repay you?”
“You’ll…think of something.”
“I think I already have.”
I leaned down towards her.
Down towards my prize…
And suddenly, the distant clang of a door.
She leapt up from the bed, from me, and hesitantly wandered to the doorway. With a hand against the wall, she carefully peered out.
A voice called out, distantly.
“Angel… Angel?”
It was the sound of an old man, older and raspier than the bikers. Sounded like it was probably an old bag of bones, at least from first impression.
At his calling, she immediately left.
So, THAT’S her name, I thought to myself. It was fitting…
It was only then that I realized that I’d never learned it. Any immediate shame got dismissed with a quick shrug. Hell, half the groupies I’d fucked never had a name to their faces.
And the ones that did…well, I usually forgot those names by the morning.
I let a few moments idly saunter past, waiting for her to come back and tell me that everything was fine. As the seconds dragged on to minutes, I realized that this was a little more serious…