*Cole

It hits me as I pull into the parking lot that some things in the town haven't changed. Wouldn't ever change, probably. The Kokomo bar is one of them. I slam shut my car door, but don't move. Shading my eyes against the glare of the setting sun, I take in the sight of the old building. The cracked siding, crooked blinds, heavy, wooden door. And the smells. Memories of when I used to sneak in with a fake ID and play pool, drinking the cheapest beer on tap in the back every Saturday night, flood my mind, taking me years back. Nostalgia will do funny things to you. I realize a part of me has missed this cheap dump.

I can't deny, it was my refuge more and more after I was kicked out of high school. And kicked out my mother's home. I shake my head. It seems strange now, remembering how many odd jobs I picked up from the guys drinking here, or out back. The alley. The smell of cooking pavement in summer, and cat piss and trash. The broken glass and the constant come and go of cars at the gas station next door. Some of the jobs were even legit.

I wouldn't be where I am now without this place.

I correct myself—without having left this place, I wouldn't be where I am now. And I'll leave again just as soon as I can. Because only a few of the jobs I did back then were legal.

Uncle Pete spent way too much time on me, trying to put me on a good path. My chest tightens. Everything he encouraged me to do, get my GED, find a community college or better yet, a trade school. Fuck. I was such a shit-head when I was young. I could have had a chance at life as soon as Leroy sent me packing, but I was too angry and too stupid to go for it.

Maybe I had good reasons for being fucked-up for a while, but after a year or two with my uncle, I could have, should have, straightened out my head. But something stood in the way. I guess that's why I took off at twenty. I never planned on setting another foot in Winnona Bluffs.

Only Uncle Pete could make me come back here.

He'd met up with me a couple of times, once in Florida, once in the Rockies. By then, at least I had figured out what I needed to be whole, to keep it together. No drugs. No petty crimes, or worse. No attachments but my machines. I tap the tire of my '86 Corvette with my heel. Hell. I always thought I'd have more time to make things up to him, to really thank him for offering me a haven when I had needed it.

The crotchedy old bastard went and had a heart-attack at fifty-seven, leaving behind a heap of personal belongings, a camping van to sell, and a heart-broken, middle-aged girlfriend.

Three days. Tops. I won't stay in this hell-hole longer than it takes for me to set everything on the curb for the trash collectors and to find a reliable person to watch the sale of the van if Roberta isn't up to it.

Then I will be free—really free in the world. No family, or nobody I consider family. No worries for anyone. No debts.

The second I stride through the door of the Kokomo, I sweep my eyes across the room out of habit for anyone I might know. Or used to know. No familiar faces appear from the crowd in the half-filled room. The lady bartender is about my age and very pretty, but seems too high-maintenance for my taste. I have always preferred women who don't mind getting sweaty and down dirty, never giving a shit if their hairstyle gets messed up when I make them forget their own names.

The only other single lady seems to be a luscious brunette with her hair twisted in a loose knot. I let my eyes slide back across the room, pausing for a second on her. Full breasts stretch her button shirt and, although only her profile is visible, the swell of her hips and curves of her ass in tight jeans have my cock jumping to life and instantly straining at my zipper.

The hell is wrong with me?

My jaw clenches as I will myself to keep some self-control and my sense of dignity intact. So it's been a few months. Six months. It's been six months since I had a woman in my bed. You'd think I've been stranded in space for several years the way I'm jumping to attention for the brunette.

She glances my way quickly as I walk towards the bar. I try keep my eyes off her. I'm not here for any fun. I have work to do and then I leave. I don't want any ties with this town. But, my stomach slowly drops and a sick feeling swirls in my gut. Her face. Her expression. I only catch a glimpse, but it tells me a story of loss and suffering.

She hides it well, though as she chats with the bartender, behind a fake, slight smile, an air of not caring what others thought.

Why is she sitting alone at a bar?

Waiting for someone?

She seems vaguely familiar. Fuck. I might know her, she's about my age, like the bartender.

Speaking of whom...

"Hey, hon, what can I get for you?" the bartender asks. She has a hand on one hip and a crooked smile. She's flirting without actually expecting anything.

"Something good," I say, hoping she'll make a suggestion. I came in here to kill some time and rehash old memories. And to not run into anyone genetically related to me, as I might if I go to the center of town. "No wait, do you have any Friedischer?"

"The beer? My, my a connoisseur..." I have to chuckle at her surprise. "We do indeed. You must be from around here to ask for it by name. Am I right?"

"A long time ago. I'm not staying long though."

"Why? The town's too exciting for you?" She roles her eyes at her own sarcastic remark.

"Something like that. No. I have some legal stuff to go over, it should only take three days. Then, it's back home and to work for me, and I don't plan on ever coming back. Which is too bad for the beer."

She opens a bottle for me and sets it on the counter. "Well, you have to live your life, don't you? You have your own problems to take care of, you can't stay here just to make conversation for the rest of us."

She waltzes away and I study the label. They've updated it in the last seven years since I've been here. As I take a swig, I notice the bartender has returned to the brunette to talk, and the woman looks my way.

She drops her gaze almost immediately, though, and I take another drink. She wants to talk to me, I can sense it. As the minutes pass, I realize she's afraid. She's nervous, fidgeting in her seat, playing with her glass without drinking it, alternately staring off in the distance and darting her eyes around the room as if checking for danger.

All right. I throw the rest of my beer back. I'll try to make it easy for her. If she wants to talk, I have to offer her a safe place to do it and a good excuse to approach me.

No way would I go up to a woman and hit on her. If they want me, I give them to the opportunity. I stand and head for the pool tables in the side room. At this time in the early evening, they are abandoned, and I am free to start a game by myself.

I've cleared half the table when suddenly the brunette is at my side. I give her a smile and then turn my attention to the red striped eleven in the far-right corner. I knock it in.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she says, voice so breathy, I can barely hear. I lean on the side of the table to face her.

"You aren't bothering me."

"Can I..." She hesitates. "Can I ask you something rather personal?"

I can't help but smile. Christ. Could she be any more polite? "Shoot."

"Somewhere a bit more private, I mean." She hitches her head towards the restrooms, and fuck, if my dick doesn't go hard again at the mere thought of getting wild with this curved, plump-lipped goddess.

"If you want." I balance the cue stick and follow her as she practically runs for the dark hallway.

Just when I tell myself not to get my hopes up—she probably wants me to jump start her car or explain how to fix her sink with duct tape—she grabs my hand and leads me into the women's restroom.

She locks the door. Pulls me into a kiss.

She tastes like tequila and fresh lime. While she kisses me frantically, as if afraid I'll disappear, I hook her knee to wrap her leg around mine. I push her to the door when she falls slightly off balance. Her heavy breasts are pressed to my chest and she's breathing hard.

I make a quick mental check before all the blood rushes from my head. She tastes like tequila, but didn't act drunk or slur her speech. She obviously sought me out and had been watching me for a while, so she wants me.

The way she's tearing at my pants tells me she definitely wants me. Fast and now. She's panting and rubs her crotch on mine, making me ache fiercely to take her right that second. It's been long enough that I'm seriously tempted. I run my hands up her sides, cupping the outside of her breasts and then back down to the dip of her waist.

She unbuttons my pants. It would be so easy to drop them and pound into her pussy standing against the wall. Then I remember her face in the bar.

My spine stiffens and she senses my hesitation.

"Don't you want to?" She bites my ear and I groan.

"I do. I want to."

"Then do it. I want you to. Take me now and we never have to see each other again."

There is a slight tremble in her voice at the end of her sentence. I've fucked a stranger in the bathroom before, I'm no saint. But not this time.

"If you want me," I say, and I take her face between my hands to look at me. "Then you'll come to my hotel room where I can fuck you all night long, like you need to be fucked."

"What do you know about I need? You don't know me." Her eyes glisten as if tears are filling them.

"If you want this, then meet me at the Forest Path Inn, room twenty." I gently move her aside and walk out.

In the hallway, I have to catch my breath. If she doesn't meet me at my room, I'll be wanking off in the shower for the next hour.

No. If she doesn't come, I'll find her. I'll tear the town apart until I find out her name and where she lives and what she's so afraid of that she has to sneak into the bathrooms with a stranger to be touched. Instead of asking out loud for what she deserves.

And I'll fucking tear apart whoever has convinced her she doesn't deserve it.

*** Thank you for reading! ***