Kristen Ashley - Play It Safe

My life was filled with not good. It happened a lot. And a lot of when it happened was when Casey got this way.

“Jesus, Ivey, what the fuck? It’s just one night!” he clipped loudly.

“Casey –”

“No,” he shook his head. “Fuck that. I liked her. She made me laugh. Spendin’ time with you, love you, sis, you know it,” he thumped his chest, “bottom of my heart, you know it,” he said the last three words leaning in, emphasis made in his tone, his body, his face, emphasis he made often, “but you aren’t about shits and grins, honey. She made me laugh. I had fun. I don’t get that a lot. I’m not askin’ for a week, I’m askin’ for one night. The least you could give me.”

Over the last ten years there were a lot of “the least I could give Casey”.

And just like then, I gave them.

“One night.”

He wasn’t done being angry.

“Jesus,” he muttered, moving away, “why you make me jump through these hoops…” he trailed off and I closed my eyes.

I did it because I learned a long time ago. I kept our bank. I paid attention. I kept us on target. Casey wasn’t good at that.

Casey wasn’t good at a lot of things.

Except taking care of me.

In his way.

And I knew exactly how far five hundred, twelve dollars and thirteen cents would get us in food, gas and hotels.

We had a week.

We didn’t have a day to blow.

But I’d blow it for Casey. I owed him that. I owed him everything.

“Tonight, need you to make yourself scarce,” he declared, lifting the phone out of its cradle.

Oh no.

I was giving him his night, he didn’t get the room.

“No way,” I replied, turning to face him fully.

His still angry eyes came to me. “What?”

“No way,” I said. “You had the room last night. Not again. I was sitting in a bar for three hours and then I was out in the cold. You need a visit with your hot one, you get creative but I get the room.”

He put the phone back in the cradle and returned, “I can hardly bang her in the car. She’s a class piece.”

Right. She was a class piece.

I didn’t believe that for a second.

My brother nailed his fair share of pieces and none of them had been class.

“Then, like I said, get creative,” I replied.

“That is uncool,” he bit out.

“What?” I asked. “We should not be staying an extra day and you know it. You want to have a little fun, laugh a little, enjoy her company, you got it. I gave in. We can’t afford it but it’s yours. You also got the hotel room last night. Tonight, it’s mine. I know you can be creative, Casey. So be creative.”

He scowled at me.

I let him.

I gave in a lot, most of the time I let him walk all over me. I owed him so I gave it to him.

But I wasn’t going to sit in that bar, not tonight, not when Gray could walk in. A Gray who knew what Casey was, what I was. No way. No stinking way.

Casey waited, hoping I’d melt. I did this a lot so he had a lot of hope.

I held his scowl and didn’t melt.

“Fuck,” he hissed, snatched the phone out of the receiver, dug into his back pocket and took out a wisp of paper. Then he looked at it and started punching buttons.

“I’ll give you a second to talk to your girl,” I muttered and his eyes cut to me.

“Thanks, big of you,” he said sarcastically.

I sighed.

Then his eyes went to his feet and his face split in a grin. “Hey beautiful, it’s Casey,” he said into the phone.

I got out of there.

“Kitchen still open?” I asked the bartender.

I was back at the bar. It was a stupid place to be. It was the last place I should be. The last place I wanted to be. But there I was.

And I knew why.

Because I was lying to myself.

It wasn’t the last place I wanted to be. It was the only place I knew he might be.

Stupid.

She was the same bartender. Lots of thick, dark hair that flowed over her shoulders and down her back, nearly as long as mine. Even though it was January, she was wearing a skintight tank and skintight jeans. Better tips that way, I’d guess. She was long and strangely very trim, no meat on her yet she had large breasts. They didn’t appear fake though obviously I wouldn’t know. Either someone did a phenomenal job or God liked her a whole lot.

I figured God liked her a whole lot. Up close and closely inspecting, she wasn’t five years older than Gray, seven to ten years older than me. She was ten years older than Gray but wore it well. Didn’t hide it well. Wore it well.

Comfortable in her skin. Comfortable in her place.

She either owned the bar or was sleeping with the person who owned it. It was her space and she liked to be there.

“Five minutes, hon,” she told me on a genuine welcoming grin. “You’re in luck.”

I nodded and grinned back, mine probably not genuine or welcoming but I wanted it to be.

“Then can I have a cold one, bottle, and whatever is easiest for them seeing as I’m not picky and they’ll be closing the kitchen after making it?”

Her grin turned to a smile. “Pulled pork sandwich,” she replied. “I don’t know whether it’s easiest or not but you can’t leave Mustang without eating one of The Rambler’s pulled pork sandwiches. And we got those curly fries, can’t be beat.”

My grin got bigger too and I nodded again. “Sounds perfect.”

She tipped her head to the side, “No preference, like last night?”

Yep. Her tips were huge. She paid attention. It was mid-week but there were two bars in this burg and only this one in walking distance or close to the courthouse square and residential areas so I had no doubt there were nights and even days when it got busy. In fact, it was on the courthouse square. The other bar was where Casey and I were going to do our business. Still in the town limits but removed. When we’d made our first pass, I’d told Casey I was not going to work in The Rambler. The other bar was seedier, not as welcoming, not nearly as nice and the people in it were the same way. I didn’t mind taking that money. Anyone who came into The Rambler, though, different story.

But she remembered me from last night even if there weren’t a load of folks in. It was a nice thing to do, remembering me, letting me know it.

She was nice.

She liked Gray.

Gray liked her.

Her smiles were genuine.

And again I found myself wishing my life was different.

“No preference,” I confirmed. “Whatever beer is closest at hand.”

“Wish all my customers were like you,” she said through her perpetual grin.

But she didn’t. She didn’t know me. If she knew me, she’d probably kick me out.

She pulled out a Corona, popped the top and placed it in front of me. “I’ll go put in your order. Lucky for you, it’s late, they won’t mess around.”

I nodded yet again then muttered, “Thanks.”

She took off to the middle of the bar and then through some swinging half doors to the kitchen.

My eyes slid around the room.

It was five to nine. Our hotel room had cable but not many channels. I didn’t want to be bored but I was.

Casey and I traveled light. I’d read the three books I kept with me at least a dozen times. We didn’t have money for me to hit the bookstore I saw on the square and buy another one. Casey had stormed out in a huff after his call and told me not to wait up for him. I suspected this meant he wouldn’t be home until dawn. This also meant I got the first shift on driving the next day.

This was not unusual.

I should have stayed in, stayed warm, just stayed.

I didn’t. I moved. I did stupid stuff like refreshing my makeup. Fluffing out my hair. Spritzing on perfume. Putting on my slightly nicer cowboy boots.

Then I did even more stupid stuff like walking down to the bar.

I didn’t do stupid stuff. Careful. Played it safe. Always.

I didn’t know what came over me.

But I was hungry and I was bored and I’d been in that hotel room all day and nothing was on TV and the bar was warm, I’d smelled and seen the food last night and it looked good.

And Gray could be there.

He wasn’t.

I told myself I was relieved.

I wasn’t.

The crowd was lighter tonight than last night. Dinner crowd (if there was one) gone, people home in front of their TVs.

Two men sitting at a square table, not across from each other, beside each other. Slumped over the table, shoulders curved in, bottles of beer on the table held between both hands. Their conversation was quiet and probably not interesting. They either had women at home they didn’t want to be home with or, by the looks of them, they had no women and no prospects. Both heads of hair needed to be cut. Both sets of clothes needed to be tended better, cleaned more. Both bodies were not temples. The shoulders curved in meant they didn’t want attention and/or they were trying to detract it away from the unhealthy bulk on their frames. They were there last night. They were probably pretty, trim, big-boobed, genuinely friendly, happy bartender’s best customers. They were probably there every night mostly because they had nothing good to go home to and didn’t want to be reminded of that fact.

My eyes moved and I saw her at the bar. I didn’t want to see her, didn’t want to look at her but I did. I’d seen a lot of her kind in my life, what with my profession. A shade too much makeup. Not put on well mainly because she was drunk when she put it on and this was because, in some way, she was always drunk. Decent clothes also not well-taken care of but she tried. She had a cardigan on now, a tight skirt. Later that cardigan would come off, she’d show skin. She’d try for attention or spend some time when she was relatively sober telling herself she wasn’t going to go for it, wasn’t going to do that to herself again. Then she’d get drunker and she’d want company, she’d want to talk, she’d want someone to convince her that her life wasn’t in the toilet and swirling. She’d want someone, even if for an hour, to make her think she was pretty. She’d give him a blowjob for it. She’d do anything. She’d do more if he bought her a couple of drinks.

Barfly.

I saw that in my future like I had a crystal ball and the gift.

I saw it and it terrified me.

I looked down at my beer. Then I lifted it as if to extend a big middle finger to my life and my future and took a drag.

Happy bartender came back then leaned into me. “Order’s in.”

“Cool,” I said quietly. “Thanks but sorry. They probably weren’t happy getting a last minute order.”

Her twinkling, hazel eyes left me and scanned the bar then came back to me. “Thursday. They haven’t exactly been run off their feet and they need me to have the extra five bucks in my cash register.”

Her cash register. As usual, I was right. She owned the joint.

“Right,” I said and took a sip of beer.

Her brows drew slightly together. “You the new waitress at Jenkins?”

I shook my head and dropped my hand.

“The new teacher?” she went on.

I wish.

I didn’t even have a high school diploma. I could hardly be a teacher.

“Nope,” I answered.

“I’m Janie,” she introduced herself, stretching out a hand I took and squeezed while she kept talking. “Good place to settle, Mustang.” I let go of her hand and she dropped it but kept going. “Followed a man here, got shot of that man, he got shot of Mustang, thank God. I got the town in the break up.”

“So you came out on top,” I noted and she grinned again.

“Definitely. Also got me a Mustang man. He’s way better.”

I again grinned back. I liked that for her.

“You got a man?” she asked curiously but still friendly. I was in her bar the night before, came in alone, left alone. The same tonight. I was young. She thought I was new in town. She probably wanted to fix me up with someone.

But I didn’t have a man. I didn’t have anything. I had three pairs of jeans, four t-shirts, five long-sleeved shirts two of those being henleys like what I had on now, a heavy sweater, a lighter cardigan, two tank tops, half a dozen pairs of undies, three bras, two nightshirts, seven pairs of socks, two pairs of cowboy boots, one pair of flip-flops, three pairs of shorts, a bikini, three books, a watch, a jeans jacket, a scarf, seven bottles of perfume (my only splurge, I loved scent), some makeup, assorted cheap jewelry and not much of it and a brother.