Free Rednecks 'N' Roses by Judy Mays Page B

say so. Personally, I could use a beer first. What about you?”
    “Sure,” she answered as she opened her door and slid out. “You probably need to relax a little anyway.”
    “Yeah,” Rusty answered with a grin. He glanced down at his crotch. You hear that buddy? Relax.
    Amber tucked her hand under Rusty’s arm and dragged him toward the door. “Come on.” They were about five yards from the door when it slammed open and a man stumbled out. The door bounced closed and the man staggered toward them, singing a somebody-done-somebody-wrong song totally off key at the top of his lungs.
    Amber jerked Rusty to a stop. “There. Him. He’s so drunk, he won’t remember a thing.” A look of shock and disgust appeared on Rusty’s face. “You want me to bite him? A guy? Are you fucking nuts?”
    Frowning, Amber jerked her head around and stared at Rusty. “What are you babbling about?” He took a step back, shaking his head. “No way am I gonna suck on a guy’s neck. What kind of man do you think I am?”
    Amber allowed her mouth to fall open for a moment. Then she snapped it shut. “You have got to be kidding me.”
    He continued to shake his head. “Nope. Not kidding. I like women, not men. I ain’t nibbling no guy’s neck and that’s final.”
    “Vampires don’t care who they bite.”
    “This one sure as hell does. I like women, not men.”
    Amber stamped her foot. “Fine. Stick to women. Just make sure you bite somebody!” Spinning on her heel, she stomped to the front door and jerked it open.
    Blue cigarette smoke billowed toward her along with the scents of cheap perfume, stale beer and old grease. Every pair of eyes in the place turned toward her. Conversations died. Even the song on the jukebox ended.
    A short, squat man sitting at the table closest to the door spit tobacco juice onto the floor, smiled a gap-tooth smile and shoved his chair back. “Hello there, honey. What can we do for you?” Amber’s gaze was still glued to the gob of tobacco spit on the dirt floor. Dirt floor?
    A hand cupped her elbow and pushed her into the room.
    “Hello, Dave. How ya been?”
    Dave’s smile broadened. “Rusty? How the hell are ya? Where you been hidin’? Haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays.”
    “I been around,” Rusty answered as he steered Amber toward two empty stools at the end bar. “Just keepin’ to myself.”
    Dave slapped him on the back as they passed him and snickered. “Keepin’ to yerself, huh? I can see why.” After another louder snicker, Dave sat back down and laughed with the other men sitting at his table.
    Amber slid onto an empty stool and looked around. This bar was certainly…rustic.
    As Rusty settled in beside her, the big-bellied bartender ambled over. “Hey Rusty, the usual?” Rusty nodded.
    “Beer for you too, honey?”
    Amber whipped her head around and glared at the bartender. Honey?
    The bartender was smiling innocuously. He was only missing three teeth.
    “I’ll have a margarita,” she snapped.
    His smile disappeared. “A what?”
    “A margarita. You know, tequila…”
    He started shaking his head before she finished. “We don’t have none of that. We got beer, whiskey, and bourbon. Which do you want?”
    Amber blinked. Just how far out in the sticks was she? “Okay, I’ll have a light beer.” Bartender shook his head again.
    “Fine. Just give me what Rusty is having.”
    The bartender smiled. “Sure thing. Two drafts.”
    Gritting her teeth, Amber looked around. An old man and woman sitting at a nearby table stared at her. When the old man grinned, the woman screeched like a banshee and hit him over the head with her purse.
    Amber quickly turned away. Good God. She was in redneck never never land.
    “Here you go, Rusty. That’ll be two bucks.”
    Lights flashed in a dark corner and a Johnny Cash song blared from the jukebox.
    Amber stared at the beer before her. “Is that a Mason jar?” Rusty lifted his and took a long swallow. “Yep,” he