Whiskey Lullaby

by Stevie J. Cole

  “You forgot how awesome this place was, huh?” Meg grinned before running her hand over the wall plastered with crumpled dollar bills and chewed gum.

  “Oh yes, so amazing.”

  The speakers in the corner of the room popped and crackled. The shrill feedback that followed pierced my eardrums and I quickly covered my ears. When the noise faded, it was replaced by a throaty laugh. “Sorry ‘bout that.” The soothing southern drawl of a guy’s voice came through the speakers followed by the lazy rhythm of a guitar.

  We shouldered our way through the tiny room toward the bar. Benji Martin stood behind the tiny bar pouring drinks with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He was the star quarterback at Rockford High, he had a scholarship to Alabama but the spring before graduation he was in a hunting accident. Benji wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, bless him, rested the shotgun right on his boot and accidentally pulled the trigger. Blew his toe clean off, then gangrene set in and, well, losing a foot didn’t bode well for his football career.

  “Hey, Benji!” Meg whistled at him.

  “Meg, you have a huge ‘X’ on your hand.”

  She rolled one shoulder. “Like Benji cares.” He walked over with his slight limp and leaned against the counter.

  “McKinney, you’re gonna be an alchy before you’re legal to drink.”

  “Pssh, please. Give me a Fireball and…” She turned to look at me. “Want a drink?”

  “Coke.”

  “Fine.” She rolled her eyes and turned back to Bub. “A Fireball and a Coke.”

  While I waited, the guy next to me made a catcall. I ignored him, and he called me a bitch under his breath before walking off and hitting on another girl. Whatever line he threw at her must have worked, because she smiled, playfully curling the end of her hair around her finger. Some girls go for cheap flirtation, I guess, and most guys go for girls who go for that…

  “Mmmm.” The soft hum of his voice poured through the speaker, mixing perfectly with the sullen notes of the guitar. “You can’t blame it on that woman,” he sung, and chills raced down my arm. I had a visceral reaction to the torment laced within that guy’s voice and I soaked it up. “Please don’t blame it on your lies…”

  “Damn,” Meg said beside me. When I opened my eyes, she was holding out my drink. “That guy can sing.”

  “Yeah.” I took my glass while she handed Bub her debit card. “It’s amazing.”

  “His voice sounds like sex—not that you understand what I’m saying,” she laughed, but I didn’t laugh back. “Oh come on, Hannah.” She shoved me. “I’m just giving you shit for saving yourself, or whatever it is your doing to your poor vagina.”

  My poor vagina? Some random guy beside her chuckled, swaying on his stool. I glared at her. “I’m picky.”

  She snort-laughed. “That’s one way to put it.” She couldn’t, for the life of her, understand why I hadn’t slept with someone.

  “It’s okay, your dad’s a preacher. I get it.” She nodded toward the door that led into the room the bands played in.

  I just shook my head. I didn’t save myself because of a moral conflict. I almost had sex with Max Summers when I was sixteen and he told me he loved me. I mean, that’s what you do, right? Give your virginity to someone you love, someone who means something to you? Well, he may have meant something to me, but I absolutely meant nothing to him. He screwed every girl he could get his hands on while we were dating, and he tried to use my hesitation to sleep with him as his excuse. But I was never that dumb, not even at sixteen. That’s when I decided boys just weren’t worth it. I stuck to my studies, to the piano and softball, and then, at some point, it became the principle of it. That, and I was afraid of the letdown, the heartache that I was certain would follow when things inevitably ended.

  “Let’s see if his face is as pretty as that voice,” Meg said, and grabbed my hand, dragging me into the room.

  The stage was nothing more than a small platform built out of old soda crates, so unless you were at the front of the room, you couldn’t see anything but the top of the person’s head. We shouldered our way through the crowd. The heat from the tightly packed bodies made me claustrophobic. A man in front of me swayed and staggered and I placed my palms against his back to keep him from falling on top of me. His friend lifted his beer in the air. “Woo-hoo,” he slurred. “Sing Sweet Home Alabama!”

  I rolled my eyes. Everyone knew they reserved that song for last call. When we stepped around them, Meg took one look at the stage, and her eyes fluttered shut on a groan. “Oh, hell no!”

  My eyes landed on the stage—rather on the guy in his tight, black top and combat boots on stage. I found myself biting my lip a little. There was an edge to the guy. Maybe it was the ripped jeans, the sleeve of colorful tattoos that covered his arm. Maybe it was the confidence that seemed to radiate from him like some nuclear detonator. Whatever it was, it left him just rough enough to maintain that pretty face, and pretty enough that you’d believe all his lies.

  He laughed into the mic, his dimples popping as he dragged a hand through his thick, dark hair. “Aw, now y’all aren’t drunk enough for that shit.”

  “Wow,” I mumbled.

  “Again,” Meg sighed. “Hell no.”

  “Why?” I asked, still staring at him. Even from there, I couldn’t help but notice how blue his eyes were.

  “That’s Noah Greyson, and he is bad news. Absolutely bad news.” She elbowed me. “I see the way you’re looking at him, and let me tell you, he is not a boy you even want to introduce yourself to, Hannah. Trust me.”

  Rockford was a small town where you knew everyone and their momma and their uncle’s third cousin—I didn’t know who he was, so what I wanted to know was how Meg knew who he was.

  I turned to face her with an accusing glare. “How do you know him?”

  “I met him a month or so ago, right before you moved back. One of those times I got all weak and called Trevor and—”

  I looked away from the stage and arched a brow. “You slept with Trevor? Again?” I couldn’t understand her. She cried for two months straight when he dumped her, so why she continued to throw herself on the altar was beyond me.

  Huffing, Meg rolled her eyes. “Don’t judge me, and this isn’t about Trevor—”

  “He’s a delinquent.”

  “I know he is, but he’s…” A smile danced over her lips and her cheeks blushed. She was in love with him, even though she refused to admit it. And I must say, sometimes the only way you can live with things is by denying the truth. “Anyway,” she says. “They’re friends and I can promise you, Noah Greyson is just a dirty little player. Nice to look at, stupid to get involved with.”

  “Like Trevor...”

  “Yes”—she rolled her eyes again on a huff—“like Trevor.”

  I glanced back at the stage, watching the ring on his thumb glint in the light. “He could be the nicest guy in the world.”

  “I promise you he’s not, but suit yourself. Just remember he’s a whore, a player. Another Max Summers...” Meg sang beside my ear.

  That should have been enough to make me stop watching, to make the anxious knot in my stomach turn to one of disgust. But it wasn’t. I don’t know if anything would have been.

  Smiling, Noah stared out at the girls hoarding the stage, and then his eyes honed in on me. He smirked. My heart did that stupid flip-flop thing you always read about in romance novels, and as foolish as I felt for it, I couldn’t make it stop. It kept going. Pound. Pound... pound. Pound. Pound… pound.

  “Yep,” Meg said. “Pretty voice. Pretty face. Pretty, pretty lies.”

  “Noted,” I whispered. “Stay away from the guy with the pretty voice.”

  I was like a deer in headlights. Frozen. Unable to look away from the guy I was told I should stay away from. There was heartbreak written all over his smile, but, at that moment, I swear it felt like no one else existed in that crowded bar aside from he and I.

  Stay away from
the guy with the pretty voice…

  7

  Noah

  The last notes of the song faded, and I adjusted the guitar in my lap. Drunk people bumped into each other, spilling their drinks all over the place.

  Someone shouted: “Sing Sweet Home Alabama!”

  I laughed into the mic. “Now, y’all aren’t drunk enough for that shit yet.”

  Half the bar raised their drinks into the air and hooted. The girls at the front of the stage grinned, batting their eyes. I strummed over the chords, debating which song to play next, and somehow, I happened to catch two girls walk in. The blonde turned toward the stage and I immediately recognized her. Meg McKinney. One of the girls Trevor kept on call. He told me if I ever needed an easy lay, he was more than happy to give her number to me. I declined.

  My gaze drifted to the girl beside her— I’ll be damned. I squinted at the brunette wearing the sundress and cowgirl boots. Sure enough, she was the pretty girl from the church. Maybe I had her all wrong. Hell, if she’s with Meg, maybe she’s not too good for me.

  I plucked out a few notes while I watched her cross the bar. Meg said something to her and she smiled. Damn. That smile. I strummed a chord. “How about,” I cleared my throat, and she glanced up at the stage. “How about ‘I Met a Girl’?” I said, smiling. That song seemed appropriate, and I hoped it would make her swoon.

  The girls at the front of the stage squealed when I played the first few beats even though I was paying no attention to them. I was too focused on the brunette in the loose-fitting sundress that left everything to the imagination. She swayed in beat with the music, and God, she was the epitome of innocence, like a heartbroken girl in a country music video. What the hell is she doing with Meg?

  When I finished the song, I propped my guitar against the brick wall and hopped down from the stage. I didn’t even take three steps before some random girl shoved a shot glass at me. The scent of cheap vodka blew across my face when she leaned in to my ear. “Your voice is amazing,” she whispered, kissing my cheek. She wobbled, struggling to stand up straight. Girls like that were easy, and, on most nights, I preferred a challenge. A chase. Someone that looked too innocent to be with the likes of me.

  I thanked the hopeful fuck for the drink and excused myself, making my way to the table the girl in the sundress was sitting at. Alone.

  Smoothing my hand over my shirt, I stopped next to the booth.

  “Hope you liked the song,” I said. “I’m Noah.” I held out my hand and smiled, hoping my dimples would pop. For some reason, the dimples always seemed to work.

  Her gaze fell to my waiting palm. The faintest smirk curled her pink lips and there was a moment where I thought she may tell me to fuck off.

  “Hannah,” she said. “And if you’re trying to come over here to sweet talk me into sleeping with you, it’s not going to happen…” She nodded to the bar. “I’m not one of them.”

  And first punch thrown. I turned to look at the group of women staring, whispering, then I placed my palm to my chest, feigning a frown. “I’m offended you’d think so little of me.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  “What are you drinking?” I asked, tapping the rim of her glass.

  “Coke.”

  “Huh, I had you pegged for one of those girls who liked frou-frou drinks.”

  Most girls would have laughed at that. Not Hannah. She subtly cocked a brow, glaring at me with her big brown eyes. There was something deep about her eyes. Something that threatened to suck me into a black hole—and did. “So, Hannah, why is a pretty girl like you sitting all alone at a bar?” I knew it was lame, but sometimes a lame-ass line was the best thing to throw at a girl. Besides, I was never above a mercy fuck.

  “Wow,” she laughed. “Is that the best line you have?”

  My cheeks heated and just as I opened my mouth to defend myself, an annoyed groan floated over my shoulder.

  “Jesus, the line to the women’s room is—”

  I slowly turned around to find Meg right behind me, glaring. “Oh God,” she mumbled as she rolled her eyes and shoved me out of the way. “Of course, I walk off and he comes over.” She sunk into the booth, took a sip of her drink, and glared at me.

  Of course she was going to try and start some shit. My jaw ticked. “Haven’t seen you at Trevor’s in a while.” I shot a smart-ass grin at her.

  “Hannah, why is Noah Greyson sitting with you? Did we not talk about this?”

  “Meg,” Hannah groaned. “Just drink your Fireball and hush.”

  I laughed because I knew nothing worth a damn would have come from Meg’s mouth. “And just what did you talk about?”

  “About how you’re not good enough for my friend here.” She smirked before slamming most of her drink back.

  “Meg,” Hannah growled, moving around in the booth like she had a rat crawling up her leg. “Be nice.”

  “Ow!” Meg said. My guess was that Hannah had kicked her under the table. And that was my kind of girl. “Whatever, like I said, he may be pretty”—she pointed at me—“but he’s bad news. Bad boy with a bad reputation.”

  “I take offense to that!” I said I did, but I really didn’t. Girls love the bad boy. They all want to be the one to tame them.

  “If he were that bad,” Hannah said, “I’m sure my daddy would have tried to save him by now.” She smiled before taking the last sip of her drink and pushing the glass to the side. All I could think was that whoever her daddy was, he sure as shit wouldn’t want me around her.

  Wham. The table wobbled when some drunk girl stumbled into it, catching herself on the edge with her hands. She blew the hair out of her face when she glanced up. “Noah Greyson!” She swatted the rest of the hair from her face. I had no clue who the hell she was. “I’m a huge fan,” she slurred.

  Meg groaned. “And now he’s got fans. Fuck my life…”

  “Appreciate that,” I said.

  “God, you’re hot,” the drunk girl said, grabbing my arm and squeezing. “Look at these muscles!”

  I pulled away from her hold and casually slipped my arm around Hannah’s shoulder.

  Drunk Girl swayed on her feet. “You’ve got a… girlfriend?” She frowned and one eye slightly crossed. “Well, that’s a new load of shit.” The girl mean-mugged Hannah. “So, is what I hear true? Is he amazing in bed?”

  “Oh,” Hannah cleared her throat. “Well, I mean”—she shifted uncomfortably in the seat.

  This is too good. I took full advantage of the situation and cupped Hannah’s soft cheek, sweeping my thumb over her jaw before I slowly dragged it across her bottom lip. There was a slight hitch in her breath. A pause in the rising of her chest— all the cues I needed to know I had her. I leaned in and the soft scent of amber and lilacs lifted from her hair. I could have gotten drunk on that girl.

  “Oh,” I whispered, my gaze dropping to her lips, “she never knows what’s coming.” God, I want to kiss her.

  Hannah pulled away from my hold, grabbing her empty glass so fast it nearly toppled over. “Uh-huh,” she said, biting on the straw before sucking in nothing but air. “He’s full of surprises.”

  The drunk girl nearly went cross-eyed, and for a moment I thought she might fall face first onto the table. Instead, she just sighed and stumbled off.

  “Alright, this…” Meg stood and knocked my arm away from Hannah’s shoulders.

  “Meg,” Hannah sighed.

  “You…” she grabbed my shoulders and, surprisingly, managed to drag me to my feet. “Gotta go.”

  “Well, I’m playing tonight so…” I shrugged out of her hold. “Should I give Trev a call and tell him you need someone to occupy your time?”

  “Cute.” Meg smirked. “There are plenty of women who look to be right up your alley waiting at the stage. Go pick out one of Sodom and Gomorrah’s whores to throw your lines at.” She shooed me off with her hand.

  “Meg!” Hannah said, that time with a slight growl.

  “Jesus,” I huffed. “You’
re annoying, you know that?” I glared at Meg, and she flipped me the bird.

  “It was nice to meet you, Noah,” Hannah said with a smile, and I swear, that was the prettiest smile I had ever seen.

  “You too.” I winked, and Meg tossed her hands in the air.

  I went back to the stage, grabbed my guitar, and strummed out the notes to the next cover song: “Take Your Time,” before I cleared my throat in the mic. “This one’s for the pretty girl. The one that’s evidently too good for me.”

  A few girls in the crowd booed. And Hannah? She fought a smile while I sang that song to her because I wanted nothing more than to take that pretty girl’s time.

  8

  Hannah

  Meg drunkenly hit at the car stereo, changing the station until “Blank Space” came on. “This is my theme song,” she slurred. It was true, she sucked at relationships. She rolled down her window and stuck her hand out, waving it through the air like some teenager while I barreled down the dark, two-lane highway.

  The rush of the wind through the window drowned out most of the music, but it was fine. I was lost in thoughts of Noah, of how his gaze pinned me to the spot while he sang. How it sent this electric buzz crackling over my skin.

  I tried to ignore him, I did, but I couldn’t. The way he held himself, so certain, but somehow still unsure, got to me. There was something in his soft, blue eyes and dimples that made his bad boy persona seem like a façade. Something about him that was enough to keep him on my mind.

  “He’s cute,” I said, absentmindedly drumming my fingers along to the beat of the song.

  “Ugh!” Meg dramatically tossed her head back against the seat. “Cute?”

  “Yeah.” I put my blinker on to turn onto County Road Two. “Cute.”

  “Okay, first of all, if you think the way that boy looks is just cute…” she sighed. “Look, players aren’t players because they’re cute. They’re players because they are ungodly. Let’s just be real for a second here, Hannah.”