Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
AUSTIN
Maddox is mad at me.
That’s only half as concerning to me as the fact that I actually give a fuck about it.
I kind of make it a point to not care what men think of me. Actually, I go out of my way to piss men off sometimes, so why is that grumpy old cowboy any different?
It’s just the whiplash of it all. One minute, he’s buying me lingerie and praising me over text and the next, he’s ignoring my sexy-as-fuck selfie and not logging in for my show.
Regardless, I can take the hint of three unread text messages in a row. I stop texting and so does he.
He doesn’t log on to my next show either, or the one after that.
Pretty quickly, it becomes apparent that he’s not only avoiding my shows, but avoiding me in real life as well, since I see Jameson and Theo at the bar—and even Bailey one night—but never Maddox.
I’d like to be able to say it only sucks because I’m missing his outrageous tips.
I skip Sunday dinner the next couple of weeks when Kenny invites me, choosing to do extra shows instead. Getting out of Cedar Creek feels even more enticing than it usually does. My skin’s damn near itchy with the urge now.
Dad always seems to know when I’ve got a bit more determination to get out than usual because those are the weeks he stays home as much as possible.
The house is a fucking mess. He doesn’t believe in trash cans and just leaves his empty beer cans on the coffee table until it gets overcrowded and they fall on the floor.
He seems to think we live in a self-cleaning house because after a few days, I always get tired of the mess and the bugs and clean up after him like he’s a fucking toddler. It’s no wonder I don’t want kids.
“Can you at least take your boots off outside so you’re not trudging slush all through the house?
” I demand, like he didn’t just beat the shit out of me last month.
February gave way to March since Maddox and I last spoke, the spring storms and muddy slush almost as annoying to deal with as the wishy-washy cowboy who won’t leave my mind.
With any luck, by the time May arrives, both will be a distant memory.
I've never been very lucky.
Dad grunts, putting the 24-pack in the fridge. The only thing he’s left his recliner for the past week was his daily beer runs. “What’re you making for supper?” he asks, looking into the pot.
“Spaghetti.”
“Again?”
I don’t respond. Yes, again. Because spaghetti is cheap and easy and it feeds us for several meals. That’s how I have to shop for groceries. What I want to eat doesn’t matter much, it’s the cost of the items versus how many meals we can get out of them.
“You’d think all that fucking money you’re making flashing your tits on the internet, you could manage to get us steaks every once in a while or something.”
“I don’t make a ton of money flashing my tits. They’re not that nice.”
He grimaces like he wasn’t the one that started the inappropriate conversation to begin with, grumbling under his breath as he walks back to his recliner with his beer in hand. I don’t bother pointing out that if he’d go back to work, we’d be able to afford more, too. It’ll just get me beat again.
Halfway through supper, my phone goes off and Dale’s on the line asking me if I can come in.
He sounds sorry that he’s having to bother me on my night off, but I’m champing at the bit to get out of here anyway.
Ten minutes later, I’ve finished my food, gotten dressed and said my goodbyes to Dad, not that he cared to hear them.
When I get to the bar and see Maddox at the Whittaker’s usual table with Jameson and Theo, it’s even more obvious he’s been avoiding me.
He looks shocked as shit to see me walking through the front door, which I can only assume means he knew I was supposed to be off tonight. Probably the only reason he came out.
It’s fine. I don’t care. This is what men do, I remind myself as I fit myself behind the bar to relieve Angie. She looks like she’s about to hurl.
“Go home, Ang. You look like shit.”
She snorts. “Thanks, Aus. I can always count on you to keep me humble. Keep your eye on that one,” she warns, her finger down by her thigh as she points towards a man a few stools down so he can’t see.
He’s staring at us with a look in his eye that I, along with every other woman in the world, know very well. I look up at the ceiling with a sigh.
“Incredible. How long’s he been here? Think I’ll be able to cut him off and send him on his way soon?”
She shakes her head with a sympathetic smile, pulling her purse out from under the bar and over her shoulder. “He’s been nursing that same beer the past two hours.”
“Fucking Christ.”
“I’m sorry. I told Dale not to bug you.”
I feel bad, realizing she thinks I’m irritated about having to come in on my day off. It’s actually that I’m just more sick of men than usual. Seeing Maddox here didn’t help.
A shrill whistle sounds through the bar and she flinches, eyes flitting over to me like she’s worried she’s about to witness something that’ll make her have to stay behind to give a statement to the police.
“You’re good, babe. I need the money. You’re doing me a favor,” I tell her with a small smile before heading toward Whistle McGee.
“Hey there, darlin’,” he tries immediately, a grin on his face that looks like he practices it in the mirror to make sure it’s as smarmy as possible. He probably has to practice that Southern drawl, too. It doesn’t sound real.
I smile wide back at him, putting my hands down on the edge of the bar and leaning forward to make very intentional eye contact with him.
“If you ever whistle at me like I’m your fucking dog again, I’ll have you on your knees in the bathroom with your head shoved so far down the toilet you’ll be able to taste what was on the menu and shat out the day I was born. ”
The grin doesn’t leave my face, but it sure leaves his, instead, contorting into an angry disbelief I know well. It doesn’t scare me.
He’s not my dad. This isn’t my house. This is my bar, and I’m in control here.
“Now that we’ve settled that, what can I do for you?”