Page 1 of Bad Cowboy, Tennessee

Part One

Roses

Chapter 1

Max

Something was off.

Maybe it was the crowd at the bar.

Drunker than usual. Moredepravedthan usual.

Within the first hour of my regular bartending shift down at the Hard Spot, I’d seen enough.

Mascara running down cheeks.

A guy passed out on the back patio.

A man dick deep in somebody else’s mouth, too, before I politely separated the two of them in one of our bathroom stalls.

I was pretty sure I was going to see blood spill by the end of the night.

I leaned against the cool wood surface of the back of the bar, collecting my to-do list inside my head:

Restock the bottom-shelf vodkas.

Check on the patio, which is probably littered with empty pint glasses.

Probably about time to sweep the bathroom stalls again for any more active penetration, too.

Theplanhad been to sneak some time to film a quickie video for my online channel tonight between rushes. The Cocktail Browas my baby, and my followers had come to expect regular updates and recipes.

I wanted to give it to them.

I wished I had time to record a dozen videos a day, but with the state of the bar tonight…

So much for having time to film anything.

Firstly: people needed their alcohol. The music was loud in here, and I could feel eyes on me as more groups filed in through the front doors and sidled up to the bar, waiting for drinks.

I gave myself ten seconds to take a breather before plunging back in, heading over to another mob of college guys awaiting a round of green apple vodka shots.

“The rum thing,” a girl called out to me from the other side of the bar, hiccuping. “Can I get another rum thing? You’re cute.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Like, really cute. I’d fuck you.”

I nodded. “Here is onerum thing, and a tall water. I recommend it.”

Before I became a bartender I didn’t know that the job description included being a therapist, a babysitter, and a constant referee. Sometimes I felt like I was behind the bar to act as a pure, blank canvas for people to paint their sins on.

Usually I didn’t mind.

It was fun, and I got good tips, enough for me to keep putting money into more renovations for my barn house.

I was also good at the whole therapist-babysitter thing because being 22 and fresh out of a frat house meant that I’d had a lifetime’s worth of experience with drunk bros and learning their limits.

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