Page 62 of Bad Cowboy, Tennessee

“Fuck,” I hissed.

The rest of my life orbited around me like a dark swarm, ready to suffocate. To pull me back in, and Max along with me.

No.

He deserves better.

A sharp protective urge went through me and I groaned as Max’s hand roamed lower, finally landing on my cock.

And in the dream I did what I never could: I denied myself.

“Want you to fuck me,” Max was murmuring as he palmed my cock.

“No.”

He begged.

I’d talked such a big game, coming to Tennessee and toying with him. Sending him pictures. Telling him he’d love my tongue.

Now, in my dream, he was begging, and it was like a brick wall had come up inside me. I felt the crushing weight of how much I wanted to relent, but then the weight of my life, too, as massive as the mountains outside. How people got hurt if they stayed near me, one way or another.

Or how people always realized, eventually, that I was bad news. Unwanted. A dead end. Always making bad decisions and never stopping to regret any of them. Even Lily hadn’t left my world unscathed, even though every part of my relationship with her had been different.

No good road to go down.

I can’t ruin you like everything I touch.

Then Max was on top of me in the bed, looking down at me, hungry and wanting.

“I know you,” he was saying. “Iknowyou.”

“Youdon’t?—”

He leaned down to kiss me and before his lips touched mine I woke up, sweating in a bed far, far away from my home.

The early light of dawn was filling the room. I sucked in air, shifting on the bed, reorienting in a room so different from any I’d slept in before.

My heart was pounding. I sat up on the mattress, looking out past the paned windows of the double doors. Outside, there were rose bushes, trees, and green. In here, there was nothing other than a bed and a side table.

The bedroom in this house was one of the few places that didn’t need too much renovation work. The morning light made it look almost pretty in here. Real hardwood, and a simple view out into the backyard.

The amber whiskey bottle sat on my nightstand. I’d cracked it open and taken a quick swig last night before bed.

Healthy habits.

Here, in the real world, I was alone.Good.

I madesure it was Max’s night off when I went into the Hard Spot a couple of days later. The last time I came in on a Monday night, he’d been out.

I’d stopped texting him.

Hadn’t heard from him, either.

I thought he might hound me aboutlearning my secrets, but instead, our interactions had been dormant, like a volcano threatening to blow but never spilling out.

I kept tabs on his stalker, of course, but I’d been in a bad place for a couple of days.

I’d only been sitting at the bar for less than a minute when he emerged from the open doors of the back patio, though, carrying in a tray of empty glasses. He was in a blue tank top, the color not too different from his eyes, and a grey backwards hat. For a moment I thought I might be able to leave without him noticing me, but his eyes glanced over toward me a second later.

---