Chapter 6
Another day, another cowboy that fucking pissed me off.
I honestly thought Hayes was maybe worth giving a chance after coming into the shop so many times just to order a plain ass coffee and to chat with me.
But the world clearly hates me, because the day I decide to admit to him I tossed his number and wouldn’t mind getting it back is, coincidentally, the same day he decides to come in with a girl on his arm.
At first, I was going to blame myself. It would have been weird for him to wait around with little to no attention from me anyways, until another girl came into the shop and caught his stupid ass on a date.
Apparently, the second one thought they were exclusive.
Turns out the only thing he was committed to was the idea of having multiple girls at once.
At this point, life’s done a damn good job of letting me eat my words every time I think I’ve found a man I am willing to give a chance to.
But it’s probably my own damn fault, because I very obviously keep picking the ones with a fucking hat on their head or shit kickers on their feet.
I need a drink and Daisy’s new job puts me in the right place to have one.
The Westmore is the nicest bar on Broadway and arguably the most legit place to find talent, which is why Daisy always wants to be here, but my wardrobe doesn’t always seem to fit the vibe.
Personally, I like to show a little skin—well, a lot of skin—and the people here are considerably more conservative with how they dress.
Even the singers tend to dial back the glam, and to me that makes all of them seem a whole lot less interesting.
But what do I know? The place is drenched in red velvet, from the curtains that cover the windows to the ones that frame the stage, and for whatever reason, it seems to be all of the female performers’ favorite color to toss on once they hit the stage.
If I were to go up there, I’d try to stand out.
Maybe an all white outfit, some gold or some glitter, and a bright teal colored guitar, or whatever.
I scoff as yet another performer graces the stage with a plain red dress.
Predictable. Boring.
I almost physically wave off the stage, but decide to regain focus where it matters: my drink.
We approach the dark oak-stained bar where my favorite barmaid always seems to reside—Nancy.
Her gray hair is wrapped up in an effortless French twist, small curly pieces cascading down in front of her ears.
She has the warmest gaze I’ve ever seen, and contrary to it, her eyes are a cool slate blue.
Her smile brightens the entire place, and the moment she speaks, it feels like being embraced with a warm, welcoming hug.
Her presence alone makes me smile even on days like today when I want to scream instead.
As she tends to other customers, Daisy takes in tonight’s crowd.
Her eyes are filled with wonder, as if she’s stepped right into one of the stories I used to read as a kid.
Her dreamer attitude reminds me that they still exist, but years of being alone has made me cold to the idea that fairytales are anything beyond that.
Sliding in between the large cognac leather stools, I trace my finger over the filigree imprinted into them.
The same filigree that not only runs down their legs but across the front of the bar, is carved into other wood elements within the building as well.
Whoever designed this place really left no detail unturned, each item connecting one way or another to create an environment that feels larger than life even if the rooms themself are not.
“I’ll take something fruity tonight, Miss Nancy.” My eyes glide over the drink menu that stands on the counter as I hum to the music playing in the bar around us. “Some Beach sounds perfect.”
Nancy nods, her smile shining all the way to her eyes. “Got it, hon.” She turns to Daisy who, of course, orders a water since her purpose for being here is always a bit more business focused.
“Evenin’, ladies.” I hear the fake drawl and stifle a groan. Without even looking, I can already tell I’m not going to like whoever this is. What does a girl have to do to have a moment of peace?
Just try and ignore him. He’ll probably leave.
He clears his throat in the most obnoxious way. “Excuse me sexy, Big Daddy requires attention.”
Big Daddy? Boy, he really picked the wrong line.
I take a deep breath, preparing myself for whatever bullshit interaction is about to ensue. Readying myself to make this dumbass regret bothering us in the first place. He can thank Hayes for the extra sass tonight.
Turning in tandem, Daisy and I are met with a short man.
The type of pipsqueak you find pretending to be at least six feet tall online with a fake Friendspace picture because he was blessed—no cursed—with a face only his mother would love.
And he repulses me so much I’d be tempted to say even she questions it.
If I were to guess, he’s older than us by at least five years; I can spot a gray or two in the loose strands of misty brown hair that hang out from the sides of his…
messy bun? What an odd choice to pair with his shitty little beer logo cowboy hat, floral button up, and cargo shorts.
He looks ridiculous, but I’d bet ten to one that he thinks the total opposite.
I consider turning away because even thinking this was the move is laughable, but then he clears his throat as he eyes us up and down like a gluttonous pig, and something about that pushes me over the edge.
“I couldn’t help but notice ya from across the bar, and I’m sure had ya been turned the other way, ya woulda noticed me too, so I figured I’d save your tight little asses the trouble and make my way over to you.”
For being probably one of the most unappealing men I’ve ever laid my eyes on, I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
Standing multiple inches shorter than Daisy and I, the wannabe cowboy really has a massive set of balls with every line that passes through that nasty little mustache on his thin, crusty lips.
I consider silencing him, but my sour mood has me looking for a fight today and I find his gall to be rather entertaining.
Daisy is too kind and, of course, questions him, hoping that will be enough to make him stop.
But that is just not how Nashville works.
Men here are different. Less worried about how stupid they look because there are so many overly intoxicated women just hoping to find a cowboy.
Half the time they don’t even realize that the hat perched on said cowboy’s head is one they bought on the very same street as this bar.
“…all I have to do is wink and I have women on their knees.” I have no clue what the prick said prior to my zone out, but everything I’ve heard is enough for me to knock him on his stupid ass.
Holding back a cackle, I open my mouth to egg the idiot on. It’ll be that much more fun to ruin his day by telling him to get lost. But before I can speak, some other dumbass chimes in.
I turn to look at the makeshift Robin Hood, only to meet the familiar warm brown eyes of a tall sandy blond haired cowboy. His face is unforgettable. Though, I’d probably never admit that to him. No doubt the champion, from months ago.
Great, now there are two idiots that I have to make disappear.
This one at least knows how to properly place his hat on his head, but apparently still can’t tell when to mind his own fucking business.
I didn’t need saving then, and I sure as hell don’t need saving now.
Especially from him. Not now, not ever. I can’t decide who to tell to fuck off first while I half listen to their idiotic banter.
Again, snapping out of my daze when I quite literally hear the shorter guy stomp his foot like a child.
“Do either of these broads belong to you?” He pauses for a very brief moment, adjusting his bent up hat, not giving any of us a chance to answer.
“No? Okay, then let me work my magic and continue giving blondie over here butterflies.” He winks in my direction, and a swell of disgust courses through me.
My hands clench at my sides as he continues, “The name’s Russ, baby.
” He scoots closer toward me and strokes the side of my arm, wrapping his little sausage fingers around my wrist. His touch sends me over the edge.
What is it with men thinking this is okay?
I cannot wait to ruin whatever delusional world this fucker lives in.
I wrench my arm from his hold, and, to no surprise at all, his grasp is as weak as he looks. A vicious smile remains on my lips as I lean in to meet his gaze.
“That’s real cute of you to assume.” I keep my tone sweet, but laced with venom.
Leaning forward, I pat the top of his hat, making sure that his childish outburst is rewarded with a gesture only a child would receive.
I decide to lay on how I feel extra thick, so I add, “And you sure are making me feel something, but it sure as hell isn’t butterflies.
So how about you find your Momma, since I can only assume you got in here with someone who actually meets the height requirement of an adult, and get the fuck away from us. ”
His mouth gapes open, but words don’t come out.
Whatever confidence this pitiful excuse of a man possessed seconds ago dies like a flame being snuffed.
It’s like the cat got his tongue as he accepts his defeat and scurries away from us.
I hope he not only learned his lesson, but that he tells everyone he possibly can to stay away from us.
Maybe then I can actually enjoy my night.
Unfortunately for us, the other guy doesn’t follow suit.
“I’m Rhett.” He shakes Daisy’s hand then aims for me.
My gaze flicks to his outstretched palm then back up to his stupidly handsome face.
I school my features into the most unfriendly scowl I can muster.
One I hope silently says, leave. I’ve been touched enough for tonight, or a lifetime really, and I hope that’s abundantly clear.
“So, what brings y’all here? I’m sure that dumbshit wasn’t on tonight’s agenda,” he says, glancing toward where the previous asshole skittered off to. And while I fully agree with him, I don’t laugh at his joke. No need to stroke this guy’s ego since he’s just as unwelcome as the last one.
I take a long sip from my glass. I know his type: his looks alone would make any girl interested and then he uses his talent to do the rest of the heavy lifting.
Always excited to share how wonderful he is in every way, only to turn around and prove the opposite.
Hayes was my final straw, and my drink makes it that much easier to tell this guy where to shove it.
“Listen, Cowboy, we didn’t need any kinda saving, and we sure as shit don’t need you to replace the last asshole to cross our path. Why don’t you just mind your own business and leave us alone?”
His grin deepens along with my anger towards him. “Well, ain’t she a firecracker?” he says, earning a soft chuckle from my wonderful, but oblivious friend.
It only takes Daisy five seconds to decide she likes this shithead, and even less time for me to decide I don’t.
I look around the room for an excuse to get him away from us.
But it’s no use. Daisy’s too trusting and already dishing about what she does for a living.
An obvious mistake since I now hear hope in his voice as he pitches the idea of us potentially going somewhere with him.
“... The Red Fern.” I hear him mention another bar and my anger boils even hotter. A serious feat since I was pissed long before we ever stepped into this bar. Is he seriously trying to secure himself a record deal now too?
Apparently, there’s nothing he can’t do.
People literally have no shame these days. This conversation is over. I know Daisy’s too kind to stop this, even if the hesitation is written all over her face, but lucky for her, I’m not and this ends now.
“Listen, Cowboy, we don’t want to join in on whatever bullshit scheme you have going, and tonight I’m not in the mood to just be polite about it. At the very least, pretend you don’t just see Daisy as an opportunity for fame,” I snap. Maybe he’ll take the hint and escape before I make this ugly.
“Hey now, angel outlaw, there ain’t a doubt in my mind that if I sang for Miss Daisy here—” He gestures to my friend as I ball up my fist again, ready to punch him for the nickname he finds so cute. “—that she would wish we had never met. So, don’t ya worry, I’m not lookin’ to get famous.”
Right. I can’t imagine he doesn’t see her as another avenue, and yet I do find it intriguing that he admits that he lacks talent somewhere in his life.
“She mentioned not findin’ anyone with a spark.
And as luck would have it, I believe I know someone with what she’s lookin’ for, specifically someone who no one important has heard.
And just so y’all don’t feel any pressure, I won’t say who they are or when they play.
” He glances over to a huge clock on the wall, then back to us.
“Sets start in thirty minutes. I’m headed that way now.
Offer still stands, y’all are welcome to join… Or don’t,” he adds, winking at me.
I exhale sharply, not amused or flattered by him at all. Just as I ready myself to decline him again, Daisy agrees.
What the hell? I whirl toward her, my gaze pleading to revoke her response.
This is a terrible idea. How does she not see through his bullshit?
But her expression is filled with so much hope that something in my calloused heart gives.
As much as I don’t agree, I can’t be the one who steals that hope away from her.
Not when I know she would do anything I asked with no hesitation at all.
Stifling a sigh, I nod, letting her have this moment, knowing that if it goes sour, at least I’ll be there to get out of it.
My eyes return to his, and I gesture for him to lead the way, more so because I’d prefer to have someone I don’t trust in front of me rather than behind.