Page 3 of Chaos

“Babe,” the man who’s more of a dependant than he’ll ever be a boyfriend whines—and again,ew. “I’m bored.”

How nice that must be.“I’m working.”

“Cut out early.”

Huffing a laugh, I gesture vaguely the very,verybusy bar. Even if there wasn’t close to a hundred bodies filling a space meant for half that, I wouldn’t ditch. I need the money—a concept I was wholly unfamiliar with until it slapped me in the face.

One-on-one time with Ricky, on the other hand, I need like a hole in the head.

Using the lifted hand of a customer on the opposite end of the bar as an excuse to dart away, I wonder how I got myself here. Well, I know how I got myselfherehere. I needed a job and, with a whole lot of nothing on my resumé, it was a miracle that The Angry Ginger even hired me—a miracle I suspect had a lot to do with the definitely not ginger, but nevertheless extremely red, shade of my hair. I know that I’m here, in this city, because it’s where my car ran out of gas two years ago and I considered the five hours of distance from Haven Ridge good enough. I know why I left home—God, do I know that.

The Ricky of it all, though, I’m not sure how that happened. How what was meant to be a one-night-stand became so… permanent. A trauma bond, I guess, considering where we met. That’s the only thing that explains how I’ve beenhanging outwith the same guy for so long when I can’t even remember why I was attracted to him in the first place. I can’t fathom how this greasy-haired man-child whose last name I honest to God have to really think about to remember, has become the closest thing in my life to family—him, and the couple fighting their way through the crowd.

As he folds his arms on top of the counter and flashes me a slick smile, I really do try not to grimace at the sight of Ricky’s older brother. I’m not sure Ethan means to be such a creep; I think it’s just his nature. The same way I’m pretty sure his girlfriend, Vic, doesn’t mean to be a bitch, she just has Resting Bitch Face. And Resting Bitch Attitude. A Resting Bitch Personality, really, but hey, who the fuck am I to judge? I’m pretty surebitchis the first descriptor that comes to mind when anyone thinks about me.

Case and point; when Ethan makes like his brother and slaps a pout on that debatably good-looking face, I tell him to fuck off before he can beg for a drink.

“Jesus, Lottie.” Leaning over the counter, he steals the beer I’m in the middle of pouring. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

I tense.

I take a deep breath.

I snatch the glass back and consider it a real feat of personal development that I don’t throw the contents in his face. “Get out of here. And take your brother with you.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

Vic wishes. I swear, she’s got this weird territorial thing for both brothers. I get it, I guess, since as far as I know, they’re all each other’s got. Plus, I remember how I acted when I had to share someone I loved with someone I didn’t even really like.

But that doesn’t mean I tolerate it. However, a snarky reply, I don’t get the chance to make—did I mention it’s a Friday nightandit’s happy hour? I only have time to heartily return her snide expression before moving my attention to an actual paying customer.

Instead, a cowboy hat in the distance steals it.

I don’t mean to freeze. It’s ridiculous, actually, that I do. It’s a hat, for God’s sake. I don’t even recognize the guy wearingit, nor any of the others with him, all clad in the same get-up. But Irecognizethem. In the sense that I spent most of my life surrounded by good country boys—and some not-so-good ones—so I can spot them a mile off. I can tell that’s a group of bonafide cowboys edging their way into the pub, and while I wonder where the hell they rolled in from, I’m struck with the irrational urge to roll them right back.

I’m struck with more than that—memories hit me too. Memories of a hat just like that on top of my head, shielding me from the baking summer sun. I drop my gaze and it lands on the chunky black boots I’m wearing, makes me think of different boots, hardier boots,dirtierboots, caked in mud and God knows what else after a day mucking out stalls or traipsing through fields. Fields that went on forever, that I’d escape to when things in my life, in my house, in my head, got too loud and I needed the expanse of silence, nothing but the huffing of a gentle mare keeping me company.

Snickering cuts through my thoughts.

“Is the rodeo in town?”

My head whips towards Vic and Ethan, my face automatically,instinctively, settling into a scowl. “Shut up.”

“Someone’s touchy tonight,” Ethan teases, the end of his sentence coming out a little garbled when his brother hooks an arm around his neck.

Ricky winks at me. “Lottie’s a cowgirl, didn’t you know? Those are her people.”

Though something in my chest twinges, I don’t let it show. “What’s it gonna take for all of you to piss off?”

“Come out with us.”

“I’m—”

“Working.” Ricky rolls his eyes. “I know. Meet us after.”

A refusal sits on the tip of my tongue, but I bite it back. My gaze drifts towards those damn cowboys again before quicklyaverting, not liking where the sight of them steers my thoughts—the same place they’ll likely end up if I spend all night alone in my shitty room in my shitty shared apartment. “Where?”

“I’ll text you.”

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