Baby Blue (Small Town Southern Boys #2)

Chapter 1

I t was a Tuesday night just like every other Tuesday night in Blue Wallace’s world.

“Key of D. Just watch me for the changes, okay?” As soon as Byron, the drummer, tapped out the rhythm, Blue hit the strings on his old bass.

Less than thirty seconds passed before Devon and Gary had managed to get in sync with him and away they went on the old cover song.

Damn, Blue hated playing those things, but it was money in the bank at the run-down bars they played on weekends.

Two more songs and they were finished for the night. “Thanks, guys. Good practice.”

“We playing The Hilltop Inn this weekend?” Byron asked. They’d just about run out of places to play in Bryan, Georgia. Regardless the fact that it was part of the Macon metropolitan area, it was still a small place―too small for a bunch of guys trying to make a dollar.

“Yeah, and Kilroy’s next weekend. The weekend after that…” Blue stopped. “Gary, where are we two weekends from now?”

“Rumpshakers.”

“Shit, I hate that name,” Byron mumbled under his breath.

“Takes everything I have just to say it out loud,” Devon added.

“Yeah, but money’s money, although I think they’d have bigger crowds if the name wasn’t so fucking stupid.

I mean, who’s going to say, ‘Hey, wanna go to Rumpshakers tonight?’ Damn ridiculous,” Blue said and snickered.

“Anyway, meet here next Tuesday?” Everyone nodded.

“See you then.” He headed to his old pickup and turned out onto the street, rolling toward home.

Wednesday morning was horrible. Mr.Wentworth wanted his Cadillac serviced immediately. No one could seem to make him understand that there were other cars in line before his―no, he wanted his done right that minute.

Turner bellowed, “What the fuck are you doing?” as he passed Blue, who was working as fast as he could on Mr.Wentworth’s car.

“I’m doing his service.”

“He has to wait his turn.”

“Look,” Blue argued, turning his face to Turner, “the guy’s a good customer. He’s in here at least every other week, most of the time wanting cosmetic shit done to his car. He pays good money.”

“You mean tips good money,” Turner corrected.

“Whatever, man! Hell, he’s a good customer.

If someone else has to wait a few minutes more, that’ll be okay.

I’m doing his service right now.” Blue went back to work and listened to Turner muttering as he walked away.

What Blue was doing was just good business, no way around it.

They could lose three occasional customers and wouldn’t feel the sting, but losing Mr.Wentworth would hurt and hurt badly.

Lunch came and Blue looked in his pocket: Thirty-seven cents and a mint from a fast-food joint. “Hey, Turdbucket!” he yelled toward Turner, using his favorite pet name for the cantankerous owner. “Where’s my tip from Wentworth?”

Turner wandered past him and held out a twenty. “Fucking service was only twenty-nine dollars and he tipped you twenty. What the hell? You blowing that old fucker on the side?”

“Watch your mouth, asshole. I won’t be taking that kind of shit from you,” Blue barked. “He appreciates my work. Is that so fucking hard to believe?”

“Maybe.” Blue watched Turner’s back recede into the office and then the door slammed shut. At least he’d have some lunch and if that door stayed closed, maybe some peace and quiet.

As soon as he got off work at the shop, Blue made his way straight to Hotel Elsinore. It wasn’t a hotel, just a bar, and he’d never really understood why Max had named it that. Stupid name for a bar, that and Rumpshakers. God. Stupid people everywhere.

Two beers in and he and Frank from down the street were having a spirited conversation about the TennesseeTitans and the GreenBay Packers.

The only thing that kept it from being a fight was the absence of fists, and it degraded to that in about fifteen minutes.

It took Max and his trusty baseball bat to stop that, and Blue and Frank spent the rest of the evening glaring at each other.

Ten minutes before last call, a girl Blue had never seen wandered up and sat down beside him. “Almost time to go, huh?” she murmured with a smile.

“Yeah, looks like it.” Blue took the last swallow off his mug.

“Looking for some company?” she asked, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously.

“Sure. Whaddya have in mind?” Blue slurred, feeling pretty damn lucky.

The girl grinned. “Wanna go back to your place?”

Oh, holy hell, it’s my lucky day! Blue told himself.

He hadn’t gotten laid in over a week, and that last one didn’t count.

It was only a blow job, although he had to admit, it was a good one.

Shame he couldn’t remember the woman’s name.

Oh, well, she was a little older than he really liked, so it didn’t matter.

“Sounds good. Let me pay my tab.” When he pulled out his wallet, he knew he didn’t have enough cash, so he just threw down what he had left, grabbed the girl around the waist, and moved toward the door.

“Hey, Blue, get your ass back here!” Max called out. “That doesn’t cover it!”

Blue just waved behind him. “I’ll settle up Friday.”

He could hear Max mumbling as he walked out, “I should’ve let Frank beat the shit out of you.” Blue just chuckled.

He hadn’t managed to get more than a block away before the girl’s fingers were tugging on the zipper of his fly, and by the time he pulled up in the driveway, she had a handful of him out of his jeans and was working to beat the band.

“Hey, let’s go inside,” he whispered to her.

“Come on.” He slipped his dick back into his jeans and opened the driver’s side door, knowing full well his fly was still open.

The girl hadn’t climbed out of the truck, and he motioned for her to follow him.

Go around and open her door? Nah. What was the point to that?

She just wanted a fucking. It wasn’t like she was a date or anything.

When she got out and made her way to him, Blue looked up and saw a car pulling in next door.

The woman got out and headed toward the house, glaring at Blue the whole way.

What the hell was her name? Blue couldn’t remember.

He knew she worked at a hospital or old folks’ home or something, but he didn’t know for sure.

And he knew she hated him with a passion.

Maybe it was the beer cans on her lawn, or the way he cussed and carried on out in the yard when her kids were out playing, or possibly the aroma of pot wafting out his windows, accompanied by loud music, that set her off.

Whatever it was, she despised him, and he could honestly say the feeling was mutual.

She was a bitch, no question about it, and he’d gotten tired of her calling the cops and the city commission on him every time she thought he’d violated some ordinance, like the one that said his grass couldn’t be knee high.

Fuck that shit. It was just grass. What was the damn problem?

The two of them stumbled through the front door, and in just a few seconds, Blue had the girl completely undressed, his hands roaming all over her.

Firm tits, firm ass, big blue eyes. It was turning out to be a good evening, and Blue was pretty excited about that.

The large brandy snifter beside his bed was only about half full of condoms, and he made a mental note to get refills soon.

Couldn’t run out of those bad boys. He rolled one on and fucked the hell out of the girl, listening to her shrieking and screaming in what had to be ecstasy.

As soon as he came, he pulled out, slipped the condom off, and pushed her to her knees.

She knew what she was doing, he’d give her that.

Swallowing his length wasn’t a challenge for her, not at all.

After he’d come down her throat, he flipped her over the end of the sofa, rolled on another condom, and fucked her ass.

“So, you do this often?” Blue panted out.

“Seriously? You want to talk?” she huffed.

That made Blue chuckle. “Just trying to be polite.”

“Just fuck me. You don’t have to like me. I don’t have to like you.”

“Okay then.” That was that. Was he satisfying her? He didn’t know and he didn’t care.

Blue kept going, then reached around the girl’s hip and started stroking her sweet little bud.

He felt her tighten up and in minutes, she shrieked out a climax that sent him over the edge.

Spent, he dropped down over her back and wrapped his arms around her, then kissed her temple. “That was good,” he moaned.

“It was okay,” she snapped.

“Don’t be like that, baby,” Blue whispered, trying hard not to laugh. He could play the good guy when he wanted to. “Want something to drink?”

“Yeah, sure, why not.” She struggled under him, so he rose and let her up, then stumbled into the kitchen, his jeans still around his thighs.

After he’d taken a second to pull them up, he reached into the fridge and got two beers, twisting the caps off and tossing them into the overflowing garbage can.

When he stepped back into the living room, she was sitting on the sofa, naked and sprawled out.

She does this all the time , he couldn’t help but think.

“So, you live around here?” Blue asked, attempting to make conversation of some sort.

“Yeah. Over in Ridgewood.” The girl took a sip of the beer and made a face. “Hell, cheap-ass shit.”

“But it’ll still get your drunk on,” Blue announced, tipping the bottle toward her in a salute before downing half of it. What the hell was she complaining about? If she lived in Ridgewood, his cheap-ass beer was champagne to her.

“You haven’t even asked my name,” she pointed out, brow furrowed and eyebrows slanted toward her nose.

Blue just shrugged. “Why would I? I thought we didn’t have to like each other.”

The girl shook her head, sending her bleach blond hair weaving back and forth. “You got a big tee shirt or something?”