Chapter 7 #3
We cruised west of Dairyville, past downtown and toward the county line. Maddie kept the radio up and the conversation light, but I could feel her studying me, checking my mood every few minutes.
“You ever been around a bunch of wolves before?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Not unless you count the ones I’ve served scones to.”
She cackled. “Trust me, the scones are the least dangerous thing about them. Just remember: if a guy gets weird, tell him you know the Alpha’s sister. They’ll back off.”
I nodded, but it sounded more like folklore than advice.
“And if you need anything, anything, you tell me,” she added. “Also, dance at least once. It’s required.”
“I don’t know how to dance,” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper.
Maddie gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Neither do most of the guys. Just move. It’s fun if you let yourself.” She glanced over, then grinned again. “Did you tell Papa you were coming out tonight?”
I frowned. “Why would he care?”
She laughed so hard she had to slap the steering wheel. “Oh, he’d care alright. Wait until you see his face if you run into him tonight.”
I blushed so fast I could feel the heat rise up my cheeks and into my scalp.
The parking lot of the bar was packed, mostly pickups and battered SUVs, some bikes lined up in a row near the door. The sign above the building just said “County Line Bar”. From inside, the sound of thumping bass and a hundred loud conversations spilled out every time the door opened.
Maddie parked, looked at me, and did her best to be gentle. “You okay?”
I nodded, then shook my head, then nodded again. “I’ve never even been in a bar before.”
She squeezed my hand, warm and steady. “Just stick close. It’s not so bad. The worst part is the bathrooms, and I know how to jimmy the door if you get locked in.”
With that, she hauled me out of the car and up the walk. The bouncer at the door, a guy who looked like he’d bench-pressed a refrigerator for fun, barely glanced at our IDs before waving us inside. Maddie went first, dragging me along by the wrist.
Inside, it was a blast of color and light and noise.
The air smelled like beer and perfume and those cheap pink urinal cakes.
Tables crowded almost every inch of floor space, with people yelling to be heard over the jukebox.
At least two dozen people were on the dance floor, swaying to a country song I half-recognized.
At the bar itself, a cluster of men in leather jackets drank from giant mugs and watched wrestling on the TV overhead.
I scanned the crowd, looking for anything familiar, but it was just a blur of faces. Maddie leaned in and yelled over the noise, “Let’s get a drink first! Bars are always less scary with a drink in your hand.”
She wedged us through the bodies until we landed at the edge of the bar.
The bartender—a guy Maddie introduced as “Gator,” had a buzz cut and arms covered in tattoos of alligators, naturally.
He grinned when he saw Maddie, and his whole face changed, going from “could crush a beer can in his teeth” to “puppy dog at Christmas.”
“Hey, Mads! You brought the new girl!” Gator said, giving me a look that was friendly but with a clear “don’t fuck with Maddie’s friends” vibe.
“Gator, this is Aspen. She’s never had a real drink before, so be gentle.” Maddie gave him a look, then added, “And can you stash our bags behind the bar? I don’t want anyone snatching ‘em.”
He nodded, took our purses, and slid them behind the bar. “First one’s on me, bakery girl. What’ll it be?”
I looked at Maddie for help.
“She’ll have a Shiner Bock, and I’ll take a whiskey sour,” she declared.
Gator poured, slid the dark bottle to me, and I took a sip before thinking. The taste was awful—bitter, with a weird syrupy finish—but I forced myself to swallow and pretend it was fine.
Maddie saw right through me. “Not a fan?”
I made a face. “Tastes like bread and regret.”
She snorted. “You’ll like the next one better. Beer’s just tradition.”
We found a table wedged between the jukebox and the pool tables. Maddie took the seat facing the room and left me the wall. “Safer this way,” she said. “If anyone starts trouble, you’ve got an escape route.”
I took another sip of beer and tried to look casual.
Maddie chatted, introducing me to two girls she knew from the salon, both wearing more eyeliner than I’d thought possible without permanent marker.
They were nice, though, and we talked about movies and music and who had the best pancakes in town.
I started to relax. By the time the band set up for their first set, I’d even managed to finish half my beer.
Gator brought another drink, pink, in a martini glass, and winked. “Cosmo. You’ll like it.”
He was right. It tasted like lime and cranberry and sugar, and I downed half of it before I realized I should probably pace myself.
Maddie watched me, amused. “Careful, Georgia girl. These sneak up on you.”
I was feeling freer already. “You said I should dance,” I reminded her, finishing my drink. “So let’s do that.”
The dance floor was packed, but the music was loud and bouncy, and nobody seemed to care if you knew what you were doing.
Maddie shimmied and stomped and made me laugh until I forgot to be embarrassed.
I let the music buzz through my veins, let the lights and the crowd and the wildness of it all lift me up.
I even sang along, yelling the words when I didn’t know them.
After a while, more drinks appeared. Sometimes I didn’t even see who brought them; Maddie just grabbed a glass from a passing hand and checked it for me before I took a sip.
“Never drink something you didn’t see poured,” she warned. “Even here.”
“Even in a bar full of wolves?” I asked, giggling.
She looked at me suddenly serious. “Especially in a bar full of wolves. Some of them don’t take ‘no’ so well.”
I nodded, but the warning was hard to hold on to in the blur of music and laughter. The drinks made everything loose, all the sharp edges dulled down.
It was on my third Cosmo that I realized I somehow missed Big Papa. I wanted him to see me like this—alive, happy, not just the bakery girl.
I leaned into Maddie, trying to whisper but probably just yelling, “I wish he were here. Papa, I mean. He’s so big and beautiful. He makes me feel…safe.”
Maddie grinned, wicked. “You got it bad, girl.”
I pouted. “You don’t even know. I love his face. I love his hands. I love his hair, even the way it goes messy when he’s being all grumpy.” I giggled again. “He has a good beard. Like, a really good beard.”
Maddie doubled over with laughter. “Wait, say that again? The last part.”
I repeated all the things I adored about Papa. I took another sip, steadied myself, and declared, “Big Papa has the best beard in Texas. In the world. I want to—” But then a hand landed on my shoulder, heavy and hot even through my sweater.
I whipped around, expecting Papa, but instead it was a man I’d never seen before. He was tall, broad, with black hair pulled into a tight braid and skin like river clay. His eyes were dark, almost black, and he grinned at me in a way that made all my good feelings shrivel.
He didn’t say hello. Just leaned in and said, “Hey beautiful. Why don’t you dance with me?”
I tried to pull back, but his grip tightened, just enough to warn me he wasn’t asking.
Maddie was instantly between us, sharp as a switchblade. “She’s with me, asshole. Move along.”
The man sneered, but Maddie’s voice drew attention. Two men by the bar glanced over, and Gator shot a look like he was ready to vault the counter if needed.
He let go, holding up his hands. “Didn’t mean any offense. Just being friendly.” But his gaze lingered, a silent promise I didn’t like at all.
He disappeared into the crowd. I could feel my heart hammering, the flush of panic colder than the beer in my stomach.
Maddie steadied me. “You okay?”
I nodded, breathless. “Yeah. Thanks.”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Told you. Wolves don’t always play nice.”