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Buck Merrill’s bar always smelled like old beer and cigarettes. Stale ones. The kind soaked into wood paneling and carpet and leather booths after years of smoke settling into the building like dust. The whole place buzzed low with conversation and the sound of the jukebox blasting Hank Williams, all neon signs and grease-stained walls.
Ridge liked it better than Juvie.
Not by much.
He sat slouched in the booth beside Clay, one arm draped over the back cushion, fingers tapping absently against cracked vinyl while Don kept flicking peanut shells at people across the room.
“Quit that,” Clay muttered without looking up from his beer.
Don grinned. “Nobody’s makin’ me.”
“Somebody oughta.”
Eugene snorted from beside him, halfway distracted by a blonde girl near the pool tables.
“Hell, leave ‘im alone. Kid’s got talent.”
“The talent t’be annoyin’,” Clay muttered.
Ridge didn’t say anything.
Fresh out—after an underage drinking and public intoxication charge—and already back in a bar. That probably said something bad about him. But Juvie left a buzzing under his skin. Restlessness. Like he’d been wound too tight and forgotten in a drawer somewhere. The noise helped. The smoke helped. The beer helped the most.
Clay leaned back with a sigh, rubbing both hands over his face.
“You get arrested again this month, I’m leavin’ your ass there.”
Ridge grunted. “Ain’t gonna happen.”
“Mmhm.”
Eugene laughed under his breath. “Yeah? That what you said last time?”
Ridge flipped him off lazily. Eugene just grinned wider.
Everything felt mostly normal after that. Don being irritating. Eugene acting like every woman in Tulsa existed specifically for his gain. Clay halfway drunk already despite the fact it wasn’t even dark out yet. Ridge should’ve felt relieved to be back.
Instead he mostly felt tired.
He pushed himself up after a while, rolling his shoulders.
“Gettin’ another beer.”
Clay waved him off.
Ridge moved through the crowded room slowly, broad shoulders forcing people aside more than once. Most folks recognized the Brumly boys on sight. Or at least recognized enough not to start trouble. Especially not with Ridge fresh outta county.
He passed the hallway near the bathrooms just as voices started rising.
“…said move.”
“Nah, I don’t think I will.”
Ridge glanced over automatically.
Big greaser kid. Broad. Blond. Probably twenty-something. And cornered against the wall beside him was the prettiest damn girl Ridge had ever seen. Tiny thing. Dark curls all wild around her shoulders. Brown skin. Big black eyes. Sharp cheekbones. Full mouth pulled tight with anger. Dressed rough enough he almost second-guessed it for a second—jeans, denim jacket, boots—but not enough to matter.
She looked scared. Well, like she was trying not to look scared. But scared nonetheless.
The guy had one forearm braced beside her head, leaning down while she tried shoving him back.
“None of your buddies are around, Cade.”
Her voice came out rough and angry. “Move.”
“Whatcha’ gonna do if I don’t?”
Ridge stopped walking.
He wasn’t exactly some Southern gentleman. Didn’t open doors for women. Didn’t pull out chairs. Didn’t know how to talk to girls worth a damn. But this felt ugly, and ugly he understood. He stepped forward before he really thought about it.
“Hey.”
The blond guy looked over. Ridge jerked his chin once, trying to look intimidating.
“Lay off.”
The guy frowned immediately. Recognition, most likely. Brumly, fresh outta lockup, big enough to throw him through drywall. Ridge wouldn’t ever do that, it was more of Eugene or Clays kinda thing…but he didn’t know that.
The guy straightened a little. “Ain’t your business.”
Ridge shrugged.
“Is now.”
Silence stretched.
The girl looked between them with narrowed eyes, clearly confused as hell. After a few more seconds of tense silence, The blond finally scoffed and stepped back.
“Whatever.”
He shoulder-checked Ridge on the way past. Ridge barely moved. Then it was quiet again. The girl rubbed at her arm where the wall’d pinned against it, still staring at him funny.
“…Thanks,” she muttered eventually.
Jesus Christ. Even her voice was pretty.
Ridge shrugged awkwardly, suddenly hyperaware of how huge he was standing this close. The top of her head barely went up to his chin. He felt like maybe he should kneel, or step back. Instead, he stood there.
“Yeah. Well.” He murmured intelligently.
She kept staring. Up close, she looked even smaller than he first thought. Skinny little thing. Mean eyes though, real mean eyes. Like maybe she was considering punching him and running. He wouldn’t blame her.
Ridge could practically hear Eugene in the back of his head already.
Y’ever gonna talk t’a girl or just stare at ‘em like a psycho?
So against every survival instinct he had, Ridge opened his big dumb mouth.
“Hate seein’ pretty girls get pushed around, Ain’t right.”
The second it left his mouth he knew it sounded wrong. Creepy. Like something a drifter would mutter before ending up on the news. The girl’s expression changed instantly. Confusion first, then horror…Then absolute fucking offense.
“…What?”
Ridge felt heat crawl up his neck.
He tried doubling down anyway because panic apparently made him stupid.
“I’m just sayin’—”
“Are you fuckin’ serious?”
Her voice snapped sharp.
Ridge blinked.
She looked genuinely pissed now.
“Christ, you Brumly assholes are all brain dead, ain’t ya?”
“…What?”
“Go screw yourself.”
Then she shoved past him hard enough his shoulder hit the wall. Her hand was barely the size of his pec, but she still somehow nearly knocked him off balance.
Ridge turned, stunned, watching her storm down the hallway in heavy boots and tight shoulders before disappearing back into the main bar crowd. He stood there for a long moment. Confused as hell. Then slowly rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
“…The hell’d I say?”
He didn’t really know what to do. He figured he might have come across as a creep, but that reaction seemed harsh. Though, he guessed he didn’t have much experience anyway.
Ridge stood there another second before realizing he still didn’t have his beer, and he didn’t really want to look like he was following her.
“…Hell.”
He rubbed at his jaw, still staring vaguely toward the crowded main room where the girl had disappeared, then finally headed back toward the booth empty-handed. Don noticed immediately.
“Where’s your beer?”
Ridge slid back into the booth with a shrug.
“Forgot.”
“Forgot?” Eugene snorted. “How the hell y’forget beer?”
Clay looked up blearily from his bottle.
“You get in trouble already?”
“Nah.”
Ridge leaned back against the torn vinyl, trying and failing to act normal.
“Some guy was botherin’ this girl in the hallway.”
Don perked up immediately.
“You beat his ass?”
“No.”
“Hm. Not shocking.” Don said with an eye roll, already going back to flicking peanut shells.
“What’s the story for if you didn’t do shit?” Eugene asks.
Ridge didn’t look at him.
“Just told the guy t’leave her alone.”
Eugene barked out a laugh.
“You?”
Ridge flipped him off before he could think better of it.
Clay squinted at him.
“She pretty?”
Ridge hesitated.
That was apparently enough answer already, because Eugene immediately started grinning.
“Oh, Lord.”
Don started laughing.
“Look at chu’, sticking up for some pretty girl! Figured you didn’t have the balls to do somethin’ like that!”
Ridge scowled instantly, knowing they have caught on. Of course his brothers were only intelligent when it’s at his expense.
“Shut up.”
“You got rejected by some bar girl in under five minutes?” Eugene grinned.
“I did not get rejected.”
“Then why you sittin’ there lookin’ like somebody who just got rejected?”
Ridge opened his mouth. Closed it again. Which only made Don laugh harder.
“Oh my God, he’s embarrassed.”
“I ain’t embarrassed.”
“Your ears are red.”
Ridge instinctively slapped a hand over one ear.
Eugene pointed at him immediately.
“There it is. He’s got a crush.”
Ridge felt heat crawl all the way down his neck now.
“Shut the hell up.”
Clay watched him over the rim of his beer, exhausted but mildly amused now.
“What’d she look like?”
Ridge shrugged too quickly.
“Dunno.”
“Bullshit, you just saw her.”
“She had hair.”
“Shit, I’d hope so!” Eugene laughed, nudging Don and making him cackle. He then leaned forward onto the table, grinning mean and sharp. “What’s her name, Romeo? Or did she run off and only leave you with a glass slipper?”
Ridge immediately went still. “Those are from two different stories, dumbass.” He tries to say, hoping to get them off his case. It didn’t work. His response alone answered the question.
Eugene’s eyebrows shot up.
“Oh, he got the name.”
“Did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“Didn’t.”
Clay snorted quietly into his drink.
Don kicked Ridge under the table. “Tell us.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Ridge shot him a flat look.
“‘Cause Eugene’ll try t’screw her, and I don’t wish that on nobody.”
Eugene grinned proudly. “True, I would.”
“And you’ll probably scare her off or somethin’.”
Don looked offended. “I got game.”
“You got enough brain damage to fill a hospital.”
Clay huffed a laugh into his beer.
”I only got a last name anyway.” Ridge finally grumbled, toying with the zipper of his jeans.
“Aw, you poor thing.” Don teased, kicking him again.
Ridge rolled his eyes and slouched lower in the booth, pretending disinterest while his eyes kept drifting back toward the crowd.
Didn’t matter how many people moved through the room…he kept looking for dark curls. For those eyes. For that pissed-off little glare.
He couldn’t even explain why. She’d cussed him out. Not playfully either. She actually looked offended by him, like his mere existence was to spite her.
And honestly?
Fair enough.
Hate seein’ pretty girls get pushed around.
Christ…What was he thinking? He sounded like a fifty-year-old truck stop creep.
Eugene noticed him scanning the room and immediately smirked.
“There he goes again.”
Ridge didn’t look at him. “Ain’t doin’ nothin’.” He grumbled.
“You are absolutely lookin’ for her.”
“No I ain’t.”
“Ridgey’s in loooove,” Don sang.
Ridge grabbed a peanut and threw it hard enough to bounce off Don’s forehead.
“Ow! Dick!”
Clay shook his head slowly, already sick of them.
“This is the first girl y’ever even looked twice at.”
“That ain’t true.”
Eugene barked a laugh.
“Yes it is.”
And yeah, Ridge knew it was.
Girls flirted with the Brumly boys all the time. Especially Ridge. Big shoulders. Scarred face. Quiet. Mean lookin’. Fresh outta jail. Greaser girls ate that kinda thing up. Some thought he was mysterious. Some liked that he barely talked. Some just liked the muscles.
Usually Ridge just stood there awkwardly until they wandered off to Eugene instead.
He never knew what to do with flirting. Never cared enough to learn. But this—this weird tiny foul-mouthed girl with the sharp eyes and curls—he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Which was probably a bad sign.