Presently, I was sitting two hundred feet from Bandit Lake, staring at the bonfire Beau and I had built hours before and feeling downright sorry for myself. I stood, shaking my head, and pushed the memory aside. I glanced at my cup. It was empty.
Usually I’d take the Road Runner out to clear my head; if I wasn’t going fast then I wasn’t really driving, and that car was built for speed. But I wasn’t going to chance mountain roads when I was two bourbon shots shy of drunk.
I was refilling my cup when Cletus suddenly appeared at the edge of the bonfire and gave me a fright. He was a floating head, his body invisible. I was the first to see him, and he scared the breath outta me. I inhaled sharply and jumped about three feet. He also made me spill the bourbon.
“Dammit, Cletus!” I closed my eyes, concentrated on slowing my pulse.
Then one of the girls screamed. Then another. Soon they were all screaming. I sighed because they were irritating.
Cattle, I thought. It was an uncharitable thought. My mother would have been disappointed. I felt a little pull under my lowermost left rib. Her death was still fresh for me, I couldn’t think about it without hurting someplace.
I opened my eyes, grinding my teeth, and set about the task of pacifying the screamers. “It’s Cletus, my brother. Tina, listen to me, Tina—it’s just Cletus.”
Tina’s screams continued until I covered her mouth with my hand; her brown eyes were wide and worried as she glanced from me to my older brother. When I was sure she wasn’t going to scream again, I took my palm away.
“Cletus?” she parroted, frowning. Her face was framed by a black and yellow wig; her cleavage was spilling out of the sexy bee costume she wore as she gathered gulping breaths.
“Yeah. It’s Cletus. Just Cletus.” I glanced at him. He wasn’t helping the situation by hovering just beyond the glow of the fire, his eyes eerily wide. I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. He must’ve been wearing a black turtleneck because he really did look like a floating head.
The other guys had also stood, but were now shaking off the brief fright and moving forward to welcome my brother.
In all, there were about twenty-five people gathered, almost an equal amount of guys and girls. The bonfire had been Beau’s idea, and he’d promised to keep the party small. Twenty-five felt like a crowd. The mood I was in, I would have preferred five or six…or one.
Tina wrapped her arms around me, giggling into my chest. She was two vodka shots past drunk, and she was pissing me off. “Duane, baby. Hold me, I’m scared.”
I placed my arm around her shoulders, mostly to keep her from falling into the flames and ruining everyone’s good time, and walked her over to a blanket. My plan to remove her from my side proved difficult, because she seemed to have grown two more arms. Each time I removed one, another three took its place. Too late, I realized this was because she was climbing me with her legs.
Tina and I had been seeing each other on and off for going on five years. I’d called it quits once and for all four months ago. This was the first time I’d seen her since.
“Come on, Tina.” I pushed her away, cursing my brother for inviting her in the first place.
Looking back, five years with Tina was four years and eleven months too long. She’d never been my girl, but she liked to tell people she was. Sure, she was pretty enough, beautiful even. She had a free-spirited wildness that had been fun for about ten minutes. She also had the body of an exotic dancer—because she was one—and never lacked enthusiasm when we fucked.
But that’s all it had ever been—fucking.
And five years of fucking around was more than enough.
What Tina had in looks she lacked in sense. She was shrewd but ignorant. I couldn’t talk to her about anything, because she didn’t know about anything other than townie gossip, biker gossip, how to work a pole, and how to spread her legs.
Hell, I’d been ready to shoot that horse four years ago. But she’d become a bad habit. She was easy and soft and persistent. And that had been enough to keep me from turning her away.
Until last July.
Until I found out from Jackson James that his sister was moving back to town.
With a firm grip I finally succeeded in removing Tina’s claws, setting her on the blanket and away from me.
“Stay there,” I ordered, then walked around the circle of flames to greet my brother, throwing my paper cup in the fire. Tina climbing on me was incentive enough to sober up. I heard her call my name, but ignored it. Two shots shy of drunk was where I wanted to stop, especially since I was still frustrated from earlier events.
“It’s me, your brother Cletus,” he said unnecessarily—as he was prone to do—dropping a canvas bag to the ground at his feet.