Page 2 of Broken Strings
Until that one guy who was so fucked out of his mind that he flung me around like a rag doll and fucked me like I was trash. That guy made me come like Niagara Falls. I found out later that he was the bass player’s coke dealer, which made him off-limits for an encore. One thing I stay away from is addicts, and that’s a rule I’ll never break.
This scandal has shown me one thing. This isn’t the career I want. I want my words to mean something. I want to touch people. I want my music to have a tangible impact on their lives.
“You don’t need to know anything. I don’t have to give the record executives my answer until next month. You can give me three weeks to figure my shit out.” I look Pete in the eye, needing him to know the days when he could run me like a puppet are long gone.
I pull my suitcase off the door, lift the handle, and walk out. Once I’m outside in the fresh air with the scent of freedom, I can finally breathe for the first time in a long time.
ChapterOne
Gunner
“You playin’ a tune?” Billy, one of the regulars, asks.
I clear his glass and clean the liquid mess he’s made on the bar counter.
“Nah, man. Think I’m gonna skip it tonight. You want another?” I hold up the bottle of Scotch.
Billy nods. I’ve never seen him turn down booze. The man has to be rolled out of the bar most nights, but he’s harmless and doesn’t give the servers any grief. I pour him another and walk away.
The crowd’s decent, and the drinks are flowing. Nights like these keep the doors open.
“They come here hoping to see your mom,” Madeline, the server, says as she grabs two beers and places them on her tray.
I know she’s right. Since my mom made an impromptu appearance and sang a few months back, people have been coming in droves. Everyone wants to see the famous country singer who became an agoraphobe. She’s not really an agoraphobe, but you gotta spin it somehow. They have no idea what she’s like. They only remember the big hair and funny one-liners. My mom was something in her prime, and her ability to work a crowd like a fiddle was her greatest gift. But she made some poor decisions, and combined with an addiction to pills and alcohol, everything crumbled beneath her.
“Happy to serve them drinks and take their money, but they shouldn’t hold their breath.” I pass Madeline and continue my inventory count, hoping that will end any questions that may pop up.
I should be at ease because of everyone who works at the bar, Madeline is the best at understanding cues. She rarely sticks her nose where it doesn’t belong and doesn’t linger for too long.
“Order more Canadian beer, Molson. These college kids have dubbed the stuff as liquid gold,” Madeline calls, changing the subject as she walks away.
“If you’re gonna be a snob, at least know what excellent beer is,” I mumble. Stupid kids take one trip to Banff to ski, and the sun rises and shines on Molson Canadian, the shittiest beer Canada offers.
“I agree. Alexander Keith’s, please,” a sweet voice says from behind me.
Turning, I’m hit with a ton of bricks to my chest. Standing before me is the most stunning girl I’ve ever seen. She has the face of an angel, with luminous, rich bronze skin. My eyes travel down her slamming body. The girl has enough curves to occupy me for days, and I meandays.
Every inch of her is female perfection. A fucking work of art. Her huge tits pushed up, her midriff top displaying her sexy-as-sin belly. Just enough flesh showing to make my pants grow a little tight and my mouth water.
Damn, it’s been a long-ass time since I looked at a woman like this. Sure, I’ve banged—a lot. But I’ve never met a woman and immediately wanted to bury myself so deep that she’d scream for days.
“My eyes are up here, buddy,” she says, snapping her fingers and taking me out of my lust-filled fog.
“And they’re beautiful, but not your only admirable asset.”
“You gonna get me my drink, or am I going somewhere else to get served?”
I smirk and lean over the bar, holding her gaze for a moment before I speak. “You could go down the street, but Buddy is sixty years old, and I reckon his service won’t be as satisfactory as mine.”
I expect her to blush, but the girl crosses her arms and leans on the bar. “So far, the only service I’ve had here is lip service.”
My eyes fall to her plump lips, and I lose all train of thought. All I can focus on is how hard my dick is and how much I’d like to bite into her perfect tits.
I bark out a laugh. “Coming right up.”
I walk to the fridge and grab her the cold brew. I slide the bottle to her on the bar, trying to keep my eyes off her tits. I don’t want to seem too eager. “You new to these parts? I haven’t seen you before,” I ask, cleaning a glass and attempting to appear aloof—cool, even.
“Yes. I’m here on vacation.”