toilet-papered my grandmother’s trailer.”
“That was in high school.”
Before Annie could argue more, Ricky walked up, beer in hand and beaming with a practiced smile.
“Hey, Annie. Looking good tonight.” He openly ogled her legs and breasts. “Tell me something.” He leaned over her and put his hand on the bar, boxing her in. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a taste of your pie?” Ricky barely got the words out before he started laughing so hard some spit landed on Annie’s face. She wiped her cheek and didn’t even have a chance to tell him to fuck off before Ricky was already walking back to his buddies, who were also laughing and now pulling out five-dollar bills and handing them to him.
“I survived an encounter with White Trash Thompson!” he said loud enough for everyone to hear over the music.
“Go to hell!” Jen yelled back.
“Forget it,” Annie mumbled, glaring at Ricky.
Annie looked around and saw what she did every time she set her sights on the male population: nothing.
Most of them whispered about her being mouthy, crazy, or straight-up white trash. While she had her mother’s build—tall, lean, and stacked—boys had made the mistake only a few times when she was a teenager to assume she was just like her mother in any other way. The opposite sex had generally steered clear ever since she bit Anthony Swank’s lip when he tried to kiss her in the ninth grade.
All except one.
Annie took another long draw of her beer. “How many times have I told you? Men are afraid of me.” At least, that’s what she told herself. She could handle assholes. But being the butt of the joke got old after a while.
“They aren’t afraid of you, they’re afraid of what you may do to them,” Jen said. “And they should be when they’re douche bags like Ricky Thrown,” she called loudly in said douche bag’s direction. “Remember that time you kneed Tim Riggs in the balls for trying to feel you up?”
“That was six months ago.” And Annie had found out later it was just another “bet.” Apparently, to get the prize money, Tim had to ask her out and cop a feel. “They all still act like they’re in high school.”
Even as Annie defended herself, she knew it was more than the handsy Tim Riggs or pushy Anthony Swank. It was her whole life. She saw what men could do. She’d witnessed it with her mama. They could hook you, on more than one thing, and turn you into a mindless fool, until you agreed to follow them anywhere. Something she had no interest in.
“Maybe we can try a different approach,” Jen said, giving a little pinky wave to someone across the room. “Those guys over there look to be from out of town. Why don’t you try flirting?”
Annie raised a brow. “Flirting?”
“Yeah. You know, smile, lean in, and casually touch. Talk like this.” She dropped her voice nearly an octave, and Annie had to hold back a laugh.
“You go ahead with that. I’ll just be here at the bar.”
Jen stood, and before she walked over to Mr. Pinky Wave, she hugged Annie. “I love you. I just want you to be happy.”
“I know.” She patted Jen’s back and drew away. “What are you waiting for? Go get your cowboy.”
She smiled, and Jen skipped off.
Finishing her beer, Annie set the empty bottle on the bar and did everything she could not to think of the one man she did want. The only one who never made a sport of her humiliation, at least publicly. Luke Jacobs.
“I’m so stupid,” she mumbled.
She had known that Luke’s plan had always been to leave town. He was four years older, educated, from a good family. But that night, when she’d seen him in the bar, she’d been desperate for an escape.
Her mother had cleaned out Annie’s savings and taken off that morning, causing the bank to back out of her loan until she had more start-up capital. It added an extra year to earn back what her mother had stolen.
She’d gone to the bar to get lost. Then Luke had shown up, a
“That was in high school.”
Before Annie could argue more, Ricky walked up, beer in hand and beaming with a practiced smile.
“Hey, Annie. Looking good tonight.” He openly ogled her legs and breasts. “Tell me something.” He leaned over her and put his hand on the bar, boxing her in. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a taste of your pie?” Ricky barely got the words out before he started laughing so hard some spit landed on Annie’s face. She wiped her cheek and didn’t even have a chance to tell him to fuck off before Ricky was already walking back to his buddies, who were also laughing and now pulling out five-dollar bills and handing them to him.
“I survived an encounter with White Trash Thompson!” he said loud enough for everyone to hear over the music.
“Go to hell!” Jen yelled back.
“Forget it,” Annie mumbled, glaring at Ricky.
Annie looked around and saw what she did every time she set her sights on the male population: nothing.
Most of them whispered about her being mouthy, crazy, or straight-up white trash. While she had her mother’s build—tall, lean, and stacked—boys had made the mistake only a few times when she was a teenager to assume she was just like her mother in any other way. The opposite sex had generally steered clear ever since she bit Anthony Swank’s lip when he tried to kiss her in the ninth grade.
All except one.
Annie took another long draw of her beer. “How many times have I told you? Men are afraid of me.” At least, that’s what she told herself. She could handle assholes. But being the butt of the joke got old after a while.
“They aren’t afraid of you, they’re afraid of what you may do to them,” Jen said. “And they should be when they’re douche bags like Ricky Thrown,” she called loudly in said douche bag’s direction. “Remember that time you kneed Tim Riggs in the balls for trying to feel you up?”
“That was six months ago.” And Annie had found out later it was just another “bet.” Apparently, to get the prize money, Tim had to ask her out and cop a feel. “They all still act like they’re in high school.”
Even as Annie defended herself, she knew it was more than the handsy Tim Riggs or pushy Anthony Swank. It was her whole life. She saw what men could do. She’d witnessed it with her mama. They could hook you, on more than one thing, and turn you into a mindless fool, until you agreed to follow them anywhere. Something she had no interest in.
“Maybe we can try a different approach,” Jen said, giving a little pinky wave to someone across the room. “Those guys over there look to be from out of town. Why don’t you try flirting?”
Annie raised a brow. “Flirting?”
“Yeah. You know, smile, lean in, and casually touch. Talk like this.” She dropped her voice nearly an octave, and Annie had to hold back a laugh.
“You go ahead with that. I’ll just be here at the bar.”
Jen stood, and before she walked over to Mr. Pinky Wave, she hugged Annie. “I love you. I just want you to be happy.”
“I know.” She patted Jen’s back and drew away. “What are you waiting for? Go get your cowboy.”
She smiled, and Jen skipped off.
Finishing her beer, Annie set the empty bottle on the bar and did everything she could not to think of the one man she did want. The only one who never made a sport of her humiliation, at least publicly. Luke Jacobs.
“I’m so stupid,” she mumbled.
She had known that Luke’s plan had always been to leave town. He was four years older, educated, from a good family. But that night, when she’d seen him in the bar, she’d been desperate for an escape.
Her mother had cleaned out Annie’s savings and taken off that morning, causing the bank to back out of her loan until she had more start-up capital. It added an extra year to earn back what her mother had stolen.
She’d gone to the bar to get lost. Then Luke had shown up, a
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