Single Dad Boss: A Small Town Romance

by Kara Hart

  “You guys, I'm going to crash this car if you don't quit it!” My voice sounds shrill, unlike my own. I sound like… oh, God, I sound like my mother.

  Julie is older than me by six years. She’s kind of like a bad life coach. But she’s more like a good friend who makes a lot of bad choices. Still, her heart is in the right place. Plus, I can’t blame her for being a little wild at heart. Growing up in this town with our parents could really fuck a girl up.

  She’s the bartender and owner of her own bar, The Cat’s Bag. And she is one tough cookie. But when you get a little booze in her and throw an older, 40-year-old guy in the mix, she’s ready to be a disaster.

  Elijah, the editor in the backseat, trying to get his dome polished, starts moaning loudly. I can’t even look behind me. Oh my fucking God. If he cums, I swear I'm going to cut his dick off. I'm going crazy driving them home, ready to swerve off the road if he gets his spunk on my brand new leather seats.

  Did all the women in this town go through this shit? Or was it just me? I want to laugh. This is so fucked up that it is actually humorous. I look back at Elijah, see his face contorting, and his fingers threading through her silky unkempt hair, and I stop the car. I don’t care if I’m on the side of the highway or not.

  “Wait, I'm almost there. Just a few more seconds.” He actually says this to me. He’s showing off that familiar look a man gets before he's about to lose it all.

  “Nope. Out,” I say, unlocking the door. My hazard lights click against the silent night and the whoosh of the nearby cars.

  “Why is your sister such a nag?” he whispers to her. I am half a second from completely losing it.

  “I am not going to let you do this. Not on my night,” I say, opening my car door and walking out onto the highway. A semi-truck honks its horn and I can’t help but scream curses into the wind as he narrowly misses running over my foot. From outside the car, I see Elijah’s relaxed arms move behind his head. He gives me an arrogant wink and starts laughing to himself.

  Alright, that's the last straw. This is the man who said he wanted to be with me forever. He is the bastard who said my writing was the best in the business. “You'll go far if you have me on your side,” he said to me. The man I thought I envisioned a future with.

  I pop the trunk and start digging through the remnants in the back. Finally, I find what I’m looking for. My tire iron. Bright red, full of anger and annoyance, and ready to kill the son of a bitch who is essentially taking advantage of my sister, I scream “Get out of the car!”

  The asshole locks my car window. He’s now laughing while he flips me the bird, eyes still closed.

  “Suit yourself,” I mumble, winding my arm back. I may be a woman and I may be a wimpy journalist, but piss me off, and I’ll come swinging.

  “I didn't want to hurt you, but…” I swing back. The window isn’t hard to smash. Not one bit. All the glass falls against them as he shields his eyes. “I didn't want to hurt you, but…” I swing back.

  “Shit!” He scowls and pushes my sister away from him. “Your sister is fucking crazy!” She falls against the seat bearing a dazed smile on her face.

  “Sorry, sis.” She moans, clearly way too drunk. I choose to ignore her as Elijah, bends down to grab his pants.

  “Leave them,” I say, laughing at the thought of him having to walk down this highway with nothing but a suit jacket on. It seems like the right dose of karma.

  “Those are my fucking pants!” He looks like he is about to cry. Normally I would have felt bad, but not tonight. I am really gaining insight into this shit of a business and I don’t like what I am seeing. I can only imagine what the real newspapers were like.

  “Do I really have to tell you again? Leave them.” Holding the bat against my shoulder, I patiently wait for him to unbuckle his seat belt and exit the car.

  “You know, you're a real cunt,” he says. “I'm glad I dumped your ugly ass.” He’s limping away, like a coward. Finally, I can enjoy my night.

  I get in the car and take off, leaving that guy’s prick dangling in the wind. “Your window is broken,” my sister slurs at me, smiling like a girl in high school who just got caught drinking. Oh, fuck. I am mom!

  “I'll deal with you later. Let's get you back home first,” I groan. And then I'll cook you a meal and tuck you in. But you're grounded, missy.

  I’d have to think about my next move later. Kicking the editor of the paper out on the side of the road is probably not the best career move and neither is dating the fucking editor. I guess bad choices run in the family. Smashing my window and threatening him with violence probably wasn’t so smart either. But right now I am focused on getting home.

  Who could blame me for getting angry?

  Once home, I help my sister into bed. She’s drunk enough that she’s asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow. Satisfied that she’s settled for the night, I go sit out on the porch and cool off. It’s one of those nights where the clouds block out all the stars. Figures. The fire pit is still smoldering from earlier in the night.

  At this point, I need something big to feel better about tonight. I got my first award: “Most captivating piece.” That had to count for something, right?

  I hold Elijah’s pants in my hands, dangling them over the fire. His wallet shines in the back pocket like a beacon of destruction for me. “Whoops.” I drop it into the pit.

  It all goes up in flames. Story of my life. “To new beginnings!” Julie apparently had enough sleep already, and she runs toward me stark naked, tits flopping around and everything. Oh, God. The neighbors.

  “Julie!” I laugh. “All the neighbors are going to see you.”

  “Good! Let them watch!” She’s cackling loudly and running wild. Oh, Jesus. Her clothes are in her hands and I watch as she throws them into the fire. “To new beginnings!” she shouts. Apparently she found her new catch phrase.

  Then “Join me, sister! Be free!” She falls, laughing to herself. Be free. If only I could.

  “Oh, fuck it.” I announce, quickly walking inside the house to grab my plaque. My greatest achievement. A fucking plaque. It wasn't long before I was running back outside, toward the open flame.

  “Yes!” Julie screamed. “That's the spirit, baby!”

  I throw the plaque into the flames, take off my shirt and pants and throw those in too. “To new beginnings,” I declare.

  To new men. To doing whatever the hell I wanted to do. I’m always the responsible one, the goody two shoes. Not anymore.

  I want my life to change. I want to watch my old life go up in flames.

  95

  Colt

  “Up in flames, baby!” Bowen yells as he shoots the rifle at the target in front of us. He’s actually a pretty good shot. Training did him well.

  We’re kicking back in the forest, shooting guns at trees and every living thing in sight. This is my spot. It’s a place I discovered on my own. The cabin on this lot was built by my own hands. It's sort of my sanctuary, a place I can gather my thoughts and work in peace.

  “Nice shot. Now, watch a real man,” I joke and aim the rifle in front of me. The bullet shoots out from the barrel, piercing through the target. It hits the dummy where his pelvic muscle would be. Not bad, but it sure isn’t how I used to aim.

  “Nice shot.” Bowen slaps my back and cracks open another beer.

  “My fucking arm. It ain't working like it used to,” I say, stretching it back until it pops back to normal. The fucking thing has been letting me down a lot lately.

  “It's a gift. From Uncle Sam to us, brother,” he laughs, rolling up his shirt, scars on display.

  “Yeah, well…” I don't even mention my leg. That fucking disaster. Serves me right for thinking I could just walk into an enemy building unscathed.

  I take a long pull on a beer and announce “You know what? Fuck this. Let's get out of here.”

  Bowen is disassembling his gun and shaking his head. “What're you trying to get into now? I gotta go home
to my wife and kids by seven. Family dinner, remember?” Oh, yeah. Sunday. I forgot it was the Lord’s day. The day all men become total pussies.

  “Is it impossible for you to be a man? For once in your life, come home when you want to. I hate to say it, man. But you're whipped.” I make the sound of a whip cracking down on his sorry ass. His face turns sour and I know I got him with that line.

  Bowen and I were the best in our platoons. Well, used to be. In my time in the desert, I received three Silver Stars, five Bronze Stars with Valor, and a bunch of other beautiful looking pins. To me, they mean nothing. They’re just a bunch of decorations to make me feel good about what I lost. But I didn’t need trinkets for that. No, the best part about being a SEAL is doing the job right and coming home in one piece.

  Over there, one thing was on my mind. Retirement. Well, that and coming home to a beautiful set of tits, pressed right against my face. Course, real heroes don't get everything they ask for. Real heroes get a slap in the face. They get a hand written note, tellin’ them those tits they've been dreaming of have left them for another man.

  So when I got a bullet through my arm and another near my head, I left that God-forsaken place and headed back to my empty apartment. That's why I eventually came up here to Colorado. I had to get away. I had to start a new life, where I could lay low, fire my guns, and work on some hobbies of mine. No empty apartment. No women. No enemy combatants. None of that bullshit.

  “Don't you start with that macho shit. You know it boils my blood,” he laughs and closes the case to his gun.

  “That's exactly why I say it. Sometimes you need to heat your blood a little. I haven't had a woman in close to a year. Come on, Bowen. Help a fellow SEAL out. Aren't we brothers?” I fall to my knees, clasping my hands together in mock anguish.

  “Ah, shit. You know you got me in between a rock and a hard place.” He’s shaking his head at me, but I know he wants to let off some more steam, even if he is a family man.

  “That I do. Come on. Let's go to The Cat’s Bag. I haven’t been laid for fucking months. I need a wingman. Someone who knows the routine.” A faint smile creases my face.

  He sighs loudly, stuffing a pinch of dip into the inside of his lip. “Man, you know I hate that place,” he says. But when he sees how much I need to get out of these woods and into some woman’s pants, he reluctantly agrees. “Fine. Grab your things. We’re going.”

  “There he is! That’s the soldier I know.” I jump up and walk with him to the cabin.

  “Don’t celebrate too much. I’m not staying past nine.” He laughs.

  “Pussy,” I mutter under my breath. Total pussy.

  “You know, you should really find someone. Settle down and get yourself out of those woods. I bet there’s plenty of tail out here looking for a good Navy boy to fall in love with,” he says, taking a short drag from his beer.

  I’m barely listening. In front of me is this fine piece of ass, just waiting to be taken home. I can’t stop staring. Finally, Bowen socks my arm. “Bro, you there? Earth to Colt.”

  “Right. Yeah. Out of those woods. Sure thing,” I mumble. He’s giving me this annoyed look, ready to leave me high and dry by myself at this shit hole bar.

  “I’m serious, man. You owe it to yourself to make a better life,” he says. I nod in agreement. A better life does sound great. But I don’t know how to build something like that. I can build a livable cabin, but building a new life sounds impossible. There was just too much baggage. I had seen too much.

  “You know what it’s like, man. I’m, uh, figuring things out still.” I say, still staring at the woman across the room. She’s playing pool with her blonde friend and, boy, when she bends over and shows off that pair of see-through pink panties, I know I want to be suffocated between her legs. I’m a dog for women like her. A total hound.

  “Well, I’m here for you man. You know that, right?” He says, roughin’ up the little hair that I got. I nod and finish my drink in one big gulp.

  Bowen and I were close in the Navy. When you first go to training, you have no one but yourself and your ideas. You think, “Yeah, I’m going to protect this country from the bad guys.” But you quickly learn that those words don’t mean too much. Instead, you’re forced to protect each other. It’s an instant thing. If one of those “bad guys” points a gun at you, you expect them to back you up like family.

  So Bowen and I made an oath. We vowed to be there for each other, forever. I never had any brothers. Shit, my parents hated each other too much to make any more stupid mistakes. Bowen is like the brother I never had, so when tells me he’s here for me, I know it.

  It doesn’t mean I’m going to stop staring at the beautiful view in front of us. “Thanks, man. But just because I’m retired, doesn’t mean my dick doesn’t work.” I nod over to the woman at the pool tables.

  “Her? Yeah, she’s about a seven,” he says, creasing his eyes.

  “Bullshit. She’s at least an 11,” I say back. “I get that you’re a married man and it’s something deep and magical, but she’s fucking hot and you know it.”

  “Right. She’s about a 7.5 then.” He laughs.

  “Whatever.” I motion for the bartender. “Two more.” I say to him. I turn back to face Bowen, confused by his lack of enthusiasm. Did he even see her ass? Those thick dimensions? Those fucking hips? God damn, he must be crazy. The war did some weird shit to his brain and now he doesn’t like to fuck. Well, I’m still a red blooded American and I’ve got a craving for pussy. Plus, it had been way too long since I had plastered a chick’s face in cum.

  “Better be careful. I think that blonde chick she’s with is the owner of the bar,” he cautions me. “Play nice.”

  “I always do.” I wink. He slaps my back and I know what I have to do. Shit, I was looking down the barrel of a gun and it never felt any better than this.

  96

  Lena

  “Do you have a death wish or what?” I ask as Julie sinks the 8-ball right into the corner pocket. First shot in the game.

  “I guess I do!” She laughs. “Okay, okay. Let’s play another game.” She sets the table up, one more time.

  “I hate pool,” I say, sighing loudly.

  Julie shakes up the triangle and lifts it up, revealing a perfect set up. “Yeah, well, you hate everything fun,” she says.

  “Not everything,” I laugh. “I don’t hate you,” I say. I wanted to tell her that it’s not easy trying to rehabilitate an alcoholic who owns her own bar. That it’s not all fun and games for the girl who’s forced to be the responsible one in the family. But I don’t. I just smile, laugh, and pretend I’m having a good time. Fact is, she has gone through a lot of bullshit and she deserves more from the world.

  Our mother, bless her heart, wasn’t exactly the sanest woman on the planet. And when our father selfishly left her for an easier life, he also left two daughters to fend for themselves. I don’t do too much blaming these days, but I don’t run from my history either. It was just part of being in the Skye family, I guess. Julie and I were both messed up in our own ways.

  “Alright. You break this time,” she says, holding a beer in her hand.

  “You’re going down missy.” I grab the beer from her hand, down it myself, and bend over the table. With one fell swoop the cue rolls over felt and the balls crack away from the impact. It’s like watching the birth of the universe, as a few solid colored balls fall into their respective black holes. Shit, I’m kind of drunk, I think to myself.

  “You’re solids,” she says ecstatically, running to the other end of the table. “Watch this.” She pushes the stick lightly and somehow five striped balls disappear from the table. “Bullseye!” she shouts.

  “See? I hate this game. You’re too good!” I laugh, trying to find my next shot. Of course, there’s nothing in front of me except a big clump of balls.

  “Honey, what do you think I do when I’m on bar here? I get drunk and play pool. Sometimes I serve the occasional drink,” sh
e says. But when I scowl, she covers her mouth because she knows she’s said something wrong.

  “You’re not supposed to be drinking, Julie.” And there it is. That anger I buried down last night is starting to boil up again. I feel my face grow hot as I wait for her to defend herself.

  “Lighten up. I don’t mean I get drunk, per se. I just mean, sometimes I have the occasional beer. What? Can you blame me?” She’s clearly flustered though, and avoiding all eye contact with me. I’m not mad that she messes up every once in a while. I’m mad that she feels like she has to lie to me about it. It makes me think I can’t trust her.

  “Julie, I’m your sister. You can tell me if you’re having a hard time,” I say, but she’s already shaking her head at me.

  “I’m fine. Really, I am. It’s your shot.” She derails the conversation entirely and I’m forced to give up on it for now. My sister is a complex woman and she took our dad abandoning us much harder than I did. She wanted a dad to play catch with, someone to go on road trips with, a dad to laugh with. Plus, it’s not like Mom ever gave her a chance. She was too consumed in her episodes to give a shit about Julie. “The absolute let down,” as my mother once called her.