1. Liquid I Don’t Give A Fuck
LIQUID I DON’T GIVE A FUCK
P resent Day
Aspen
What in the actual fuck was I looking at?
I was sitting on the living room floor of my studio apartment—at least what would be the living room. Truly, it was just a small love seat pushed against the wall, and a drop cloth on the floor that forced my “living room” to double as my paint studio, which is what it was serving as at the moment.
I looked down at the canvas in front of me.
I had roughly two hours before I needed to be at Ivy’s to get ready, which wasn’t nearly enough time to fix the current mess on my studio floor.
I felt as if the canvas was laughing at me, which wouldn’t be a first. But it could also just be my inner mean girl stirring up self-doubt.
I’d painted everything from dogs, to sunsets, to snow-covered barns, to the naked human form over my twenty-three years on this earth—sixteen of which I’d spent painting and creating art.
The first time I picked up a paintbrush, I was seven years old and living in my first foster home.
My foster parents thought art and creating things helped with trauma, so they had built an entire art room for all the kids in their home.
It was definitely one of the better homes I’d been in.
Ever since then, painting has been my escape from life—sometimes my way to just cope. The older I’d gotten, the more I’d veered into abstract or expressionism. It had been a way for me to express how I was feeling, without being forced into a box of how I should feel about life.
Just letting it all out through my brush and having the ability to create art out of my emotional baggage.
However, at the moment, it wasn’t working. The canvas in front of me was a mess of orange and white. It wasn’t what I had seen in my head at all.
I took a deep breath. Maybe it was time for a break.
Getting up, I headed into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee, because caffeine never let me down.
While waiting for the coffee to brew, I glanced down at my now vibrating cell phone, realizing that it was an unknown number. My heart stopped for a moment. There was no way he found me. I’d been gone for almost six months now. My phone plan wasn’t even under my real name.
Taking a shaky breath, I watched as it finally timed out and went to voicemail. I flipped it over, so the screen was flat on my countertop—not going to worry about it. I picked up my mug of freshly brewed coffee and took a slow sip, letting the familiar taste calm my growing nerves.
Walking back over to my canvas, I realized what it needed—indigo.
Standing in front of a floor-length mirror, looking over my outfit, I took a moment to appreciate how far I’d come since leaving home.
I was in a pair of cut-off jean shorts, a black The Ghost Inside band t-shirt that I’d cropped to just under my rib cage, and my black high-top chucks.
I’d curled my dark hair into loose waves and put a small amount of black eyeliner around my light blue eyes, at the insistence of my best friend.
Ivy was dragging me out to some little bar in the middle of Raven Creek.
I’d done my best not to explore since moving to Colorado.
My goal here was to escape. To start over.
To…yeah nope. Not going there. I was supposed to be having fun, but the unknown call earlier had thrown me off and left my nerves a bit frazzled.
“Aspen, come on, boo. We’re going to have a great time. We’re going to hit on cute men we’ll hopefully never talk to again, dance to horrible bar music, and drink tequila we won’t have to pay for. It’ll be magical!” Ivy said with her normal bouncy excitement.
She was dressed in a baby blue sundress with thin straps and white cowgirl boots.
Her long blonde hair was curled like mine, and she’d donned a little mascara around her stunning round green eyes.
She fit into the scene tonight perfectly.
Me? Not so much at a local country bar, but I didn’t want to feel uncomfortable dressing in something I wasn’t used to being in. I refused. Not anymore.
I took a deep breath—my fiftieth of the day—and looked at myself in the mirror once more. I was going to go out with Ivy and have a great time. No second-guessing it.
I’d met Ivy as soon as I’d moved to Raven Creek.
When I left Vegas almost six months ago, I drove until I had no gas money left in the budget, and I ended up here.
Almost eleven hours away from home. Raven Creek, Colorado.
It seemed like a nice small town where I could easily hide away.
It had just under ten thousand people in it, and it gave off that quaint “everyone knows everyone”, without “ everyone ” only being two-hundred people who thrived off of knowing your life story.
I didn’t need that. Not again.
So I found an apartment for rent, went into a bar and grill—The Roadhouse—down the street, and applied for a waitressing position. Ivy was working, and we’d instantly hit it off.
Ivy was everything I’d wanted to be. Light, bubbly, carefree.
The type of girl who’d grown up with loving parents and a secure group of friends.
She was someone who knew what she wanted and went after it.
I wasn’t resentful—I was envious. I’d never had that life, and I didn’t have that type of family or those friends.
I’d never had that kind of security. But that was okay because I was making up for lost time now.
Again, Aspen, we’re going to have a good time. End of anxiety. Pep talk is complete.
“I’m sure Todd will be there patiently waiting for you.
So, probably no boys tonight,” I finally replied.
Todd was Ivy’s sometimes boyfriend. They’d get serious, and then fight, and he’d bail.
Only to come crawling back a week later begging for her back.
I honestly couldn’t stand the man, but Ivy loved him.
So, I bit my tongue because who was I to judge someone’s taste in men?
Ivy rolled her eyes playfully. “Yeah, but we’re off again. Am I ready to forgive him? Maybe. Maybe not! He may need to grovel more.”
I laughed and changed the subject because I knew she’d forgive him way quicker than he deserved.
“Okay, I’m ready. Let’s do this,” I said after one more deep breath. I hadn’t been to the bar we were going to yet. Normally, I went to The Roadhouse, worked, hung out with Ivy there for after-work drinks, and then went home to paint.
Ivy rolled her eyes playfully at me and laughed, linking our arms together while walking towards the door. “Come on, beautiful. The world awaits us lovely creatures of the night!”
I smiled, despite my anxiety, shaking my head at her. But I followed her, nonetheless.
The Raven was everything I’d expected in the small town of Raven Creek—it was clearly named after the town for one.
It was a decently sized country bar with a great deal of wood paneling, tall wooden barrels, and different beer company signs on the walls, along with old photos of different local rodeo teams throughout the years.
The bar itself was off to the left side of the room, with wooden bar stools, and on the right side, it had a few small high-top tables with matching chairs around them.
But the rest of the room? A wide-open hardwood floor full of people line dancing.
This was what had brought Ivy here. Every Thursday night, they had ladies’ night, so the drinks were discounted.
However, they also had the line dancing locals out in full force.
I laughed silently to myself as I looked over at my best friend’s face. She was beyond excited. She looked forward to this all week long—literally. She talked about it all the time, trying to persuade me to come along, so like any good best friend, here I was.
“We’re doing drinks first, right?” I wondered how hopeful I sounded because, damn, did I feel hopeful.
She looked over at me with a smile on her face.
“Of course we are, Aspen. Don’t be ridiculous.
You and I both know I’ll need to pour multiple shots of tequila down your throat before I can drag you out onto that floor.
” She winked, and I just stared at her, saying nothing in reply.
I’d let her believe whatever she needed to, but there was no way I’d be getting out there on that dance floor.
We walked over to the bar and grabbed two open seats.
“Hey, Damien! Can we get two shots of tequila?” Ivy yelled over the music.
He nodded and grabbed our drinks. Damien was a tall man, maybe around six foot three, with a dark chestnut skin tone and close-cropped black hair.
Every time I’d seen the man, he was all smiles, but sometimes, I’d notice when no one was watching, he had a distant look in his eyes.
Like the smiles were all for show. But Ivy told me he owned The Raven and was also technically my landlord since he owned my apartment building as well.
After he set the drinks down, Ivy and I faced each other, doing a quick cheers before throwing the shots back.
The liquid burn was exactly what I needed, and after two more shots of liquid I don’t give a fuck , I was on the dance floor learning how to line dance after all.
Dancing with Ivy was everything I needed to just wash away all of the self-doubt, worry, and other bullshit coursing through my head tonight. No stalker ex-boyfriend drama. No self-doubt or worry about my art. It was going to be fine. It had to be.
Thankfully, Ivy had taken the time to teach me how to do these dances, or as she said, “the steps,” so I wasn’t fumbling around like an absolute buffoon across the dance floor. I was surprisingly feeling good—confident even.
Everything felt as if it was going just fine. That was until Ivy leaned into my ear with a giggle and the last words I was expecting. “Looks like someone has eyes for you this evening.”
I looked over at her and followed her gaze, only to end up with my mouth hanging open like a pre-teen girl seeing her favorite movie star, because holy fuck.
“There is no way in this world he’s looking at me.
He’s probably staring at you.” I shook my head in complete disbelief at what I was seeing and what she was saying.
I honestly wasn’t sure if I’d ever seen a more menacing, yet handsome man in my entire life.
He was easily over six feet, with sun-kissed tan skin, dressed in dark jeans, a black t-shirt, and black cowboy boots with a backwards black baseball cap.
His entire left arm was covered in tattoos that disappeared beneath his t-shirt, and he was most definitely working the light bit of scruff on his face.
His dark hair was pulled back in a bun below the bill of his hat, and I immediately started to wonder how long it was when it was down, and what those tattoos looked like beyond the cotton t-shirt.
Fuck me. Stop it, Aspen.
But honestly, Clark Kent would be jealous of this man’s jawline.
Ivy bumped into me in the midst of me eye-fucking the stranger and glanced over at me. “What are you doing? I thought you were getting the hang of this. Or is a certain someone distracting?” The smirk on her face told me she knew the answer already, so my reply wasn’t actually mandatory.
“Oh, I uhm…well…I was! I am! I’ve got this!
I’m not distracted, and if I am, it’s clearly your fault,” I stuttered, looking over at her as I felt the heat start creeping into my cheeks.
“I promise. I’ve got this…I just—I got this.
” I couldn’t tell her that I was eye-fucking the guy on the other side of the bar that she’d pointed out.
She’d never let me live it down. Especially since I hadn’t shown the least bit of interest in anyone since moving here, and she had tried multiple times to break me out of my shell.
So, it wasn’t for lack of effort on her part.
Honestly, who cared if the man looked like he could play Khal Drogo on Game of Thrones? All he’d need to do was grow out his facial hair and remove half his clothing. Perfect.
Now I was thinking about him half-naked in a dirt hut with eyeliner and a menacing grin on his face that said he knew what to do with those big hands. Good Lord—help me.
I jumped back into the dance, trying to shake off the entire thought process.
I couldn’t help sneaking small glances over toward him at the same time.
What was wrong with me? I’d sworn off men.
I was focusing on my art, my mental state, and new friendships.
Not anything of a romantic nature. You’d think after the five years I’d just escaped from, I’d do anything not to look at any man.
But he wasn’t just a man, he was a man .
I took a deep breath, doing my best to just move on and not glance his way. I was just here to have fun with Ivy. That was it. Not do any of that .
“I think I need another shot,” I said into Ivy’s ear.
“Oh, that we can manage!” We made our way back to the bar and waved Damien down for another round. Maybe if I put distance between me and the mystery man, I’d stop staring like a crazy stalker. Yeah. That was my new and improved solid plan for the rest of the night. What could possibly go wrong?