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

Desty shook her head.

“Then come on,” Willow said. “There’ll be plenty to drink, some music, a crazy-big fire… It’ll be fun.”

Desty looked at me like she wanted to see if I really wanted her to go. And since it doesn’t get much more invincible than right after a set like that, I gave her the Come on nod.

“Okay,” Desty said. “Cool.”

“You’ll have to ride with Tough, though,” Willow said. “Everybody else’s truck is full.”

Dodge laughed as he carried his case by.

“Hope you ain’t allergic to rust,” he told Desty.

I knew what was coming next. It’s weird that you could go more than a month without talking and still keep finding things you wish you could use your voice for.

“You got to remember, though,” Dodge said, “It is a Ford. Tough’s lucky it still runs.”

I pulled down on the bill of my hat with both hands and bit my lips together.

No, Dodge’s lucky I’ve got a Ford so he can go mudding without having to walk home. At least I don’t have to drive an ugly piece of Chevy like Owen. Do you know what happens to a truck like mine when it breaks down? It turns into a—

“You didn’t tell me you drove a Ford,” Desty said, letting loose a smile that was at least fifty-one percent laughing at instead of with. “What’re we waiting for? Let’s go.”

I could feel my face mirror hers. If I hadn’t liked her before, I would’ve started to right then.

***

The radio in my truck worked great. I had a badass set of speakers behind the seat, subs in both doors, and I’d spent the cash to get my antenna NP-protected. It could pick up just about any station in the state. But I hadn’t listened to the radio much in the last month and I didn’t know how I would explain it to Desty if Jason Gudehaus came on singing “Tulsa Time” in what used to be my voice and I did something stupid like put a fist through the dash. I left the radio off while we drove.

The bank clock said the temperature had dropped down to eighty-five. I shut off the air and rolled my window down so the noise from the locusts would break up some of the quiet. Desty rolled hers down a couple inches, too, and stuck her fingers out.

“Not too bad a night for as hot as it’s been,” she said.

I nodded. She wasn’t looking at me, but I could see her face reflected in her window with black holes that the stars blinked through where her eyes should be.

I turned south on the highway leaving Halo and tried to pay attention to driving. That post-show shakiness hadn’t faded yet, but it had turned into this kind of bubbling feeling that I would do something stupid like miss the turnoff to Dodge’s or hit a deer.

“That one song you guys played,” Desty said, “I liked it.”

That made me smile. I’d pegged her right—one of those sweet girls you see rocking out to the rough stuff. I bet she had a bunch of old Streetlight Manifesto and SR-71 on her mp3 player. Maybe even some of Mom’s songs. Probably no country.

“Did you write it?” she asked.

I nodded.

“I thought so,” she said. “It sounded like you.”

For a while, I tapped my thumb on the steering wheel, wishing Desty would keep talking so I wouldn’t have to think about “My Halo”—that song I’d played her at the bar—and how I used to come down after a really good night. Mitzi loved adrenaline-fueled sex. What the hell was her problem? Did she get tired of me or did I piss her off? We had a deal, dammit. I’d be her twenty-four-seven booty-call so Jason wouldn’t have to think about how his dick shriveled up when the temperature dropped and they would make sure Kathan left me alone. For five years they were fine with it, and suddenly they decided to get figurative with the “screw Tough” part of the agreement?

“Tree frogs are singing.” Desty sounded kind of nervous. Maybe she’d picked up on my pissed-off mood swing.

I nodded.

“Must be going to rain,” she said.

I looked at her. Were we seriously going to spend this ride talking about the weather?

“Fine, you got me,” she said. “I’ve never been around somebody who couldn’t talk. I don’t know how to act. Not that I think you’re handicapped or that I wouldn’t want to go on a date with you. It’s just, under the best circumstances I’m awkward enough.”

I tried to keep a straight face and raised my eyebrow at her.

“Not that this is a date,” she said. “I know we’re just going to a bonfire, but— Which isn’t to say that a bonfire isn’t good enough or—”

I snorted.

“You jerk!” She smacked my arm, but she was trying not to smile. “You were being weird on purpose.”

In my defense, you’re even cuter when you’re squirming around acting like a dork who just grew boobs and doesn’t realize she’s hot yet. Dammit, I wished I could talk.

“Just for that I am counting this as a date,” she said. “Date One: Desty and Tough. Let’s see how it goes, shall we?”

That knocked my bullshit down a little. I didn’t really want to think about this being a date. Flirting’s easy—even if you can’t talk—and I ought to be good enough at sex by now, but dating was one of those in-between steps I’d never gotten around to.

Desty quieted down, too.

“Unless someone would be upset if I called it that,” she said, watching me. “Like jilted-girlfriend-upset.”

I shook my head, hard, kind of offended she would think I’d take a girl out riding around if I had a girlfriend. Then I remembered the night before when Rowdy told