Honkytonk Hell: A Dark and Twisted Urban Fantasy (The Broken Bard Chronicles Book 1) by eden Hudson (ebook reader with highlight function .TXT) 📗

He looked at me and the little bit of courage I’d sucked out of my beer drained away.

“Just—I mean, it’d be faster than waiting for—than trying to get his attention every time he, um…” Modesty McCormick, ladies and gentlemen! Able to follow her sister’s trail across the country and into the deepest, darkest NP hotbeds, while still remaining completely incapable of basic interaction with a good-looking human male.

I zeroed my focus back in on my beer. Then I realized John Deere was smirking at me and it hit me what he was thinking.

“I’m not drunk,” I said. Which was exactly what someone who was drunk would say.

He snorted, but his smile got bigger. It wasn’t the kind of smile you usually saw in NP towns like Halo—the you-could-be-useful-or-maybe-delicious smile. It was like standing in the sunlight with a warm sweater on. And his eyes were this color like celery mixed with baby blue.

“You have pretty eyes,” I said. People who weren’t drunk said that kind of thing all the time, right?

He looked down at his shot glass and tugged on the bill of his hat as if it needed to be straightened.

I slicked some of the condensation off of my beer and touched my fingers against my face to cool it down. The air conditioner in this place wasn’t keeping up with the number of warm bodies dancing and talking. Or the amount of stupid coming out of my mouth.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw John Deere wave his shot glass at the bartender, but when the bartender got there, John Deere gestured at me and put up two fingers.

The bartender laughed.

“That’s the spirit, kid,” he said. He dropped a shot glass in front of me and filled John Deere’s and mine. “You guys can drink this one to Jason balling his own wife for a change. May he lose his dick to frostbite.”

John Deere toasted with his shot, then knocked it back. This time, when the bottle started to leave with the bartender, John Deere grabbed it. He used the bottle to point at the shot in front of me.

“I don’t know if I should be drinking to something like that,” I said. “I don’t know this Jason and if he turns out to be some nice guy you’ve been cuckolding…”

John Deere snorted, then shook his head and closed my fingers around the shot. The dim overhead lighting caught just right on a hundred or so tiny pink scars scattered across his knuckles.

“Okay,” I said. “But only if you promise Jason’s not a nice guy.”

He patted his heart.

I stared down the shot for a second, then lifted it to my lips.

“Mmph!” I clenched my teeth and tried to force the tequila down. A shiver shook me all over when it hit my stomach. “That’s awful,” I winced. “Really, the way I get, I probably shouldn’t be drinking at all.”

John Deere raised his eyebrow and I realized what I’d said.

“Not like belligerent or super-slutty or anything.” I pushed my bangs back again. “Just, I don’t hold my liquor well. Then when I wake up and freak out because I don’t know where I am—” Bad to worse. “Wait. Let’s start over.” I stuck out my hand. “I’m Modesty. Desty. Everyone calls me Desty.”

He gave me a fake-suspicious look and took my shot glass away like I’d had too much.

I laughed, then immediately felt guilty. I was supposed to be looking for anyone who might have seen Tempie, not flirting with some cute redneck.

It was probably the amount of alcohol I’d consumed so far in comparison to the amount of food I’d eaten today—a shot and a beer to one bread knot—but it seemed like John Deere understood my sudden change of mood. He poured us both another shot. I gagged mine down and scanned the crowd.

“So, how about your name?” I asked. Then I realized that made it sound like I was trying to pick him up. “That wasn’t a line or anything, I just—”

He smiled and held up one hand like I should stop.

Which I definitely should. Drinking, talking, everything.

He grabbed the edge of the bar and levered himself up so that he was leaning over it with his butt in the air. And talk about a nice butt. Too bad the Skoal ring on his back pocket reminded me how much I was supposed to hate durr-Chevy-kids. Why did they all think they needed to chew? He pulled a coaster and a pen out from under the other side of the bar and pushed himself back down to his feet.

For a minute, he concentrated on writing, then he pushed the coaster at me. It was full.

Hi Destie, my name is Tough. Can I buy you a shot? Come here often? Do you have a ride home because you won’t get a DUI on a country boy. I promise Jason is an asshole. Let’s drink to his junk falling off again.

I put my hand over my shot glass.

“I think I’ve had enough,” I said. I was as great at drinking as I was at talking to hot guys and I didn’t have Tempie to make sure I got home safe. Nowhere to go home to, either. “Besides, I’m actually looking for someone.” I pulled the picture out of my pocket again and handed it to him. “Have you seen this girl around?”

He looked at the picture, then squinted at me like I might be a crazy person.

“No, we’re twins,” I said, taking the picture back. “Her name’s Tempie—Temperance. I guess I didn’t think about us being identical. I mean, I think we’re different, but…I don’t know. Bringing a picture seemed like the thing to do at the time.” I sighed. “So, does that mean you haven’t seen her?”

John Deere—Tough—shook