Best Friends, Tennessee (Hard Spot Saloon #1)

2. Finn

2

FINN

Ever just need to go out and find someone to fuck after a tense conversation?

Maybe that’s the beer talking.

I polished off my second IPA of the night, setting the pint glass down on the thin cork coaster. I leaned back on the cool leather of the bar stool, finally feeling like the hundreds of butterflies in my chest were starting to calm down.

So much for my reunion with my best friend.

There wasn’t enough citrus IPA in this bar to make me feel better about how things had gone with Ori.

My plan had been to hug him. To tell him how much I’d missed him. To wave a magic wand and make everything how it used to be.

But we’d gotten right back under each other’s skin, quicker than fuckin’ whiplash.

Now I was pent-up, and I needed a fuckin’ release.

Max, the bartender on duty, was already grabbing my glass and refilling it.

“Good man,” I told him.

“You look comfy,” Danielle said as she returned from the restroom, taking the seat next to me.

“Beer definitely doesn’t cure all my problems, but sitting in this bar almost does,” I said. “Thanks for meeting me.”

A country western saloon wasn’t Ori’s vibe, but I fucking loved this place. The building used to be an old independent bookstore, but when it had gone out of business, Kane had bought the place for a steal and turned it into a bar. Tall, built-in bookshelves still lined the tucked-in alcoves along the walls, reaching all the way to the ceiling. Each alcove had its own comfy booth or pool table, and the leather worked perfectly against the dark wood of the shelves.

Even the big, U-shaped bar top used to be the front counter when it was a bookstore. The bookshelves around the place now held tacked-up photos of bar regulars, as well as Hard Spot T-shirts and hats for sale.

“Did you guys see that?” Max said suddenly, pointing toward the other side of the bar. “That light by the patio was on earlier tonight. Flickered off. Now it’s back on again.”

“Tell Kane it needs to be replaced,” Danielle said, pushing back a lock of her dark hair.

Max stared at us, leaning over the bar as if he was expecting more of a reaction. He was only a few years younger than me, but he’d just graduated college and still very much acted like life was one big fraternity.

“What?” I asked.

“Haunted,” he said in a hushed tone. “This place is haunted.” He looked back down, shoveling some ice into a glass.

Danielle and I exchanged a look.

“Or maybe the light socket is faulty,” I pointed out, “because this building is a hundred years old and has been about ten other businesses before it was the Hard Spot Saloon. How ‘bout that?”

“Hey,” Max said, holding his hands up. “I’ve been working here for long enough now. Cabinets open up, when they weren’t before. Last week after my shift, the jukebox started playing a random song—”

“That jukebox is ancient, too,” I said.

“But the random song was an old blues song that mentioned a bookstore, ” Max said.

Danielle leaned back, squinting at Max. “So that one line means that there’s a ghost trying to tell you… what, exactly?”

“The ghost misses when this place was a bookstore,” Max said, duh written all over his face. “Everyone loved that store. The ghost did too.”

“I miss it, sometimes,” I said. “But Kane’s made a good home of this place, too.”

“Cheers to that,” Dani said, and we clinked our glasses together.

It was true. It still had some of the bookstore charm from the built-in shelves, but Kane had transformed the place into something of his own. The Hard Spot had saloon style for days . Kane had added a set of swinging half-doors toward the back kitchen, old Western style photos all over the walls, and plenty of classic circular wood tables, perfect for poker nights.

“The ghost can haunt me as much as it wants, as long as I can keep coming here,” I said. “I could use a little excitement in my life anyway.”

“The ghost definitely doesn’t seem evil or angry,” Max said. “Maybe it’s a cat.”

Max walked off toward the back. Kane brushed past him as he walked out, carrying a wide case full of beer bottles, eyeing me and Danielle. “Shut up about ghosts, Max,” he said. “Evenin’, Finn. Nice to see you, Danielle.”

If the Hard Spot Saloon was haunted, the ghosts must have been doing something right.

And it was everything Ori hated.

I pictured him back at home—at my house—probably happy as a clam making some sort of spinach smoothie or listening to godawful experimental music that sounded like dental drills over an electronic beat.

I wished I could press rewind on the whole day.

There was so much I should have said when he got back.

And some things that I may never tell him, anyway.

“Okay,” Dani said, bringing me back to reality. “So you’re doing the coupons after Sunday’s riding lesson?”

“Got a big stack of Red Fox Diner coupons ready to go in the front seat of my truck,” I told her. “Get ready for a swarm of about kids and parents coming in to get 50% off.”

I promised Dani I’d hand out coupons for her parents’ diner after Sunday’s horse riding lesson. Mason always needed an extra hand on the ranch, and I’d volunteered to help with lessons this weekend.

Dani pulled in a breath, nodding. “Guess I’ll be selling a whole lot of chicken tenders and grilled cheese that day. I hope it’s enough.”

“The diner will be fine, Dani,” I said. “The time coming out of winter is always a little bit of a slump, isn’t it?”

She bit her lower lip. “Not always as bad as this year was. Mom and Dad just don’t like change.”

“Replacing tables is such a good change, though.”

“You’re telling me,” she said. “They also refuse to put a single new item on the menu. After six weeks they finally let Thomas put cinnamon rolls on it.”

“Do you guys still have liver and onions on the menu?”

She grimaced. “Sure do.”

I nodded. “Can’t imagine that sells very much.”

“There is one man who orders it,” Danielle said pointedly. “Once a month. And even he says it’s too salty.”

“It would be funny if it wasn’t sad,” I said. “I’ll try to talk to your parents again, too.”

Ori and Dani’s parents’ diner wasn’t in danger of closing yet, but it had been in need of some help over the past few years. I’d always felt more at home with Rob and Patty than I was with my own parents, and I wanted to help.

They were good people, and I’d always needed more good people in my life.

Dani lifted an eyebrow at me. “You’re always too nice to my parents, too,” she said. “Don’t worry. Ori will get way too real with them, I’m sure, and maybe something will actually change.”

She was damn right about that.

“Want to take bets on how long it takes for Ori’s filter to drop around them?” I asked.

Danielle laughed, leaning on the bar with her elbows. “I’d say my brother will be back in the diner for less than two hours before he’s mouthing off.”

“Two?” I said. “I give it an hour. He gives opinions like it’s his job.”

“Remember that time in school when he told Principal Daniels that his tie looked like a dog threw up on it?”

I snorted. “Ori actually thought he was trying to help the man with his style. Bless his fuckin’ heart.”

“Only Ori,” Danielle said. “That got him two weeks of detention, I think.”

“Only Ori, indeed,” I said. “He’ll be blunt with your parents.”

“Having him back might actually be good,” Danielle agreed.

“Maybe.”

She was silent for a moment. “How… how was it with him, today?”

I hated hearing how hesitant she was even asking about Ori. My heart felt like it was being slowly wrung out.

I always wanted everyone to think that things between me and Ori were fine .

I wanted them to think that not much had changed.

And that just like back in the day, we fought sometimes, but we were best friends until the end.

But Dani had seen how the last handful of years had been, ever since Ori ended up in Los Angeles. We talked less and less on the phone. When Ori visited each Christmas, we had dinner together and caught up, but nothing was like it used to be.

But I hadn’t fucking given up.

There was so much I wanted to tell him. Things I wanted to say. Things I didn’t even know how to bring up with him, but—how did I get to that point with him now?

How could I tell him some of the things that had happened this past year?

I set my jaw, then took a deep breath and relaxed.

“It was fine,” I said. “We’re going to be fine.”

“Did he seem mad to be back in town?”

Yes.

He practically looked like he was walking into a jail cell.

“He was okay,” I told her, knowing it was nearly a complete lie. “Ori isn’t, uh, dwelling on the past too much. He’ll do well in Bestens now that he’s older.”

Lie, lie, lie.

“Shit. I’ve got to get out of here,” Danielle said, standing up and throwing on her sweater. “Mom’s going to kill me if I’m not back in time for her bedtime.”

“Olivia’s bedtime is at ten o’clock?”

Danielle snorted. “Not Olivia’s. Mom’s . I guess both of them sleep like babies, though, despite the fact that only Olivia is an actual baby.”

I stood up to give her a hug. “See you soon. Good luck Sunday.”

After Dani left, I ordered another citrus IPA. I settled in, seeing if I could muster the energy to meet a cute girl tonight. Kane was behind the bar counting cash in one of the registers, and Max came through again with a basket of limes ready to slice. He looked up at me, leaning over the bar like he was about to give me a secret tip.

“It happens with the front doors, too,” Max said. “Randomly opening, just a little. It’s got to be the ghost cat going in and out—”

“Max, stuff it,” Kane said from the register, not even looking up from his task.

If Max was a dreamer, Kane was a realist.

Max glanced up toward the doors, then did a double take. “Look. Holy shit, it’s doing it right now.”

Even Kane looked over toward the front doors of the bar. I turned to look, and sure enough, one of the front doors had opened slightly and then closed again.

“I need to post this online,” Max said, pulling his phone out to take a video.

But a moment later, the door swung open completely, and we saw that it wasn’t a cat ghost at all.

Nothing even close.

“ Fuck ,” I muttered under my breath.

Ori was here.

Ori fuckin’ Adams.

Seeing him walk in was more surprising than if Taylor Swift herself had just walked through those doors. The energy in the place felt different all at once.

He was carrying a giant bottle of champagne that had a big, decorative gold ribbon attached to the top of it, along with an envelope. In the other hand, he had a couple of notebooks and his cell phone on top.

I clicked my tongue.

The nerve on him. Waltzing in here like this, after shitting on the idea earlier tonight, acting like he was above it all?

He walked over and I saw that his jacket was coated in a thin dusting of gold glitter.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but you don’t have to bring your own alcohol to bars,” I joked, looking down and running my finger through a particularly gold-dusted portion of his sleeve. “What the hell is this?”

“If I’d known this ribbon would shed this much glitter, I’d have gotten a six-pack of Bud instead,” Ori said, setting the champagne in front of me. “Here. It’s for you.”

The gold bow on top was so big that when he set it down, it almost hit one of the green pendant lights hanging above the bar.

“For me?” I asked.

“I didn’t have a thank-you gift ready when I got to your place, but… better late than never,” he said, sliding onto the bar stool next to mine.

“You don’t have to get me a gift,” I said. “Jesus Christ, what is this—”

I opened the envelope to see a gift certificate for Archie May’s, the nearby animal feed store. The amount on the certificate was two hundred dollars.

“For the horses,” Ori said. “I know you always talk about having to make trips to Archie’s.”

Fuck.

That was a really nice gift.

I was surprised he was thinking of me at all, after I left for the bar.

I stared at Ori in disbelief, but he acted like everything was normal. Even on Christmas, he’d always been the type to give handmade art as gifts, but this was above and beyond.

I slid the bottle over toward Ori. “Hey. I know you can’t afford this right now. You can return it.”

Ori waved me off. “I’m not returning your gift. I know you don’t want me in your house, and it’s the least I can do.”

I shook my head, pausing for a moment. “You don’t have to buy me expensive shit every time you feel guilty about mouthing off to me.”

He puffed out a laugh. “Trust me, I don’t feel guilty about that.”

Ori ordered a margarita and Kane slid it across the bar a minute later. I looked at him sidelong, taking him in.

His hair was the same as always—dark, a little shaggy on top, and probably still softer than a bunny. Ori really had filled out since high school. He sure as shit wasn’t gangly anymore. He’d showered and changed since I left home, and the cut of his black jacket was stylish, worn over a pristine white T-shirt, black jeans, and white sneakers.

Covered in fuckin’ gold glitter, now, though.

Don’t make fun of the glitter.

Or how clean his shoes are.

Or about how quickly they’re going to get dirty working at the diner.

Back in the day, I’d have made jokes about any one of those things, but I knew better now. When I was a teenager, my sense of humor had been clumsier, and more brash. It was part of what had caused us to fight too much.

In those times I’d tell him something he wore looked too fancy, then he’d tell me to piss off and that my “football bro” clothes were dumb. No, they’re stylish , I’d say, and I look damn good . It made sense why he got the impression I had a big ego.

I didn’t want to make fun of him now, anyway.

These days, I just wanted to know who he was, again.

“What are the notebooks?” I asked him.

“Mini sketchbooks, with little watercolor palettes attached,” he said, showing me the inside.

It was a tiny spiral-bound book, each page about the size of a Polaroid. On the first few pages, Ori had painted various little watercolor scenes from his road trip—one of a motel, one of the Beetle, one of a sunset.

“They’re really good,” I said.

“I try to do one tiny painting a day,” he said. “Kind of like a watercolor diary. I miss some days, but it’s fun.”

“You could have just painted me one instead of buying me crazy gifts.”

“This stuff shouldn’t seem all that expensive to you, anyway, Finn,” he said, shutting the sketchbook and looking back up at me. “Aren’t you Mr. Successful these days?”

“I do alright,” I said. “Wouldn’t exactly call myself Mr. Successful , but I’m doing well for my standards, at least.”

“You’re internet famous,” Ori said, lifting an eyebrow.

I snorted. “Not even close. I’ve got a few thousand followers. People who are interested in the human body.”

“I think they’re interested in your human body,” he said.

“Some people do like how my arms look in the videos. But they’re educational massage therapy videos. It’s not about eye candy.”

Ori gave me a dubious look.

“Internet famous? Who’s internet famous?” Max said, coming back up behind the bar.

I felt a slight heat creeping up to my cheeks. “No one.”

“Finn,” Ori said. “He’s started posting about his massage therapy online. He has one follower who comments on every video.”

I ran my hand through my hair. “She’s nice, but a bit cuckoo.”

“Ooh, Finn,” Max said. “You’ve got yourself an e-girl, huh?”

“She’s 82 and she said I remind her of her ex-husband,” I told him. “Not exactly a ‘love is in the air’ situation.”

I’d worked as a professional massage therapist for a few years now after getting my license. I was freelance, and I did in-home massages all around the area.

Some clients were just looking for a relaxing afternoon massage, but lots of them were people with serious injuries from working on local farms, former construction workers with intense strain, or truck drivers with screwed-up posture. I only recorded portions of sessions when clients were okay with it. I was trying to make educational videos about technique, but Ori thought they would make me famous.

I’d never been able to convince him that not everyone wanted to fuck me.

“So are there any eligible gay guys in Bestens yet, other than Mason?” he asked, scanning the room. “I need my dick sucked. I’d even be happy to just suck someone’s dick.”

“You want to suck someone’s dick, huh?” I asked. “Any ol’ dick?”

“Maybe not any dick,” he said, a slight smile tugging at his mouth.

I clicked my tongue. “Like I said. You’ll be sicking mine, to thank me for the guest room.”

“I wouldn’t suck your dick if someone held a gun to my head,” Ori said.

I leaned back a little on my chair. “Yeah, that’s a usual occurrence in Bestens now. Someone’s going to come into my house, force me into your room, and kill you if you don’t suck me off.”

Ori stared at me. “You’d put the gun to your own head at the prospect of my mouth around you.”

I ran my thumb through the cold condensation on the outside of my beer glass.

Don’t start saying weird shit.

He just got back to town.

Just fuckin’ chill, hold your horses, and let things simmer.

“Back in town for less than a few hours and you’re already looking for a hookup,” I said, taking a swig of citrusy beer.

“Damn right,” he told me.

God, I fuckin’ envied that.

One thing had been true about Ori forever: he didn’t look for long-term commitment. I wished I could be more like him—wild, free, and up for anything.

He said I was rigid, but really, I was just too…

Fine. Fuck it.

Maybe I was too nice.

Anytime I hooked up with a woman, I felt like I had to give her the full boyfriend treatment, even if she was the casual type. I was too old-school, and Ori was anything but.

I got the impression that Ori hooked up with a lot of hot guys back in LA. He seemed like he could get action whenever he wanted.

Not surprising. Finally, once we’d left high school, he’d realized how attractive he could be.

A minute later, a Dolly song came on the jukebox, and at last, I had an excuse to get up and blow off some steam.

“Fuck, I love this song,” I said.

I got up out of my seat and swayed my head to the music.

Yeah, the alcohol had definitely given me a little buzz.

“You’re cute when you’re drunk,” Ori said offhandedly, taking a sip of his margarita. “Even if your taste in music sucks.”

“I’ll smack you if you say that again,” I said, pointing at him. “People know Dolly Parton for ‘Jolene,’ but this song? Her best.”

“Which one is this?”

“This is ‘Old Flames.’ My favorite,” I said. I started to sing along to the chorus. “ Old flames can't hold a candle to you. No one can light up the night like you do… flickering embers of love, I've known one or two, but old flames can't hold a candle to you. ”

Ori was looking at me like he wanted that gun to his head right about now. I didn’t relent, watching him squirm as I sang, tipsy and warm.

“Never heard it,” Ori said.

“I’m no good at singing,” I said, waving my hand through the air.

“Nah. You know your voice is good,” he said before glancing back up at me. “Not that you should let that get to your head.”

“Mmm,” I hummed. “A compliment from Ori? Pigs are fuckin’ flying in heaven tonight.”

He was smiling a little, despite himself. “It’s just…”

“I know. You don’t like anything that sounds too Tennessee .”

He nodded once, shifting in his seat. “This song isn’t half bad, though. I’ll give you that. For a Dolly Parton song.”

I sang along to the second verse, not giving a damn. “You better shut your mouth,” I drawled at Ori, laying it on thick. “You’re the only person from Tennessee who would dare say a bad word about Dolly. Dance with me.”

Ori made a face. “I’m not dancing to country music and you know it.”

“Dance with me,” I said again, holding out my hand.