Chapter 1: Boots, Beer, and a Blonde
The bar smelled like whiskey and bad decisions, and Riley was right at home.
She nursed a cheap beer near the end of the counter, her back against the sticky wood, watching the room through the amber haze of the bottle. Neon signs buzzed on the walls—a martini glass, a rainbow flag, some cursive script that probably said something profound if you were drunk enough to care. The jukebox pumped out something slow and sultry, all bass and breath, and a handful of women swayed on the dance floor under purple and pink lights that made everyone look like they were glowing from the inside.
Riley took a long pull from her beer and let the cold settle in her chest.
Home. She was fucking home.
Three days back in the town she'd sworn she'd never step foot in again, and she was already hiding in a bar. Not that it was much of a hiding spot. This place hadn't existed when she left—back then, the closest thing to a lesbian bar was a dive on the highway with a broken neon sign and a bartender who carded everyone twice. Things changed, she guessed. Towns grew up. People grew up.
She hadn't.
The beer was warm by the time she finished it. She signaled the bartender for another, a woman with silver-streaked hair and a nose ring who didn't ask questions and didn't pretend to know her face. That was the beauty of this place. Nobody here knew Riley from before. Nobody remembered the girl who'd spent four years eating lunch alone in the parking lot because the cafeteria felt like a war zone. Nobody cared that her father had been the only person in town who looked at her like she wasn't broken.
Nobody knew she was a Marine, either. Tonight, that was fine.
She was reaching for her fresh beer when she felt it—the weight of someone's attention, heavy as a hand on her shoulder. Riley's gaze slid sideways, casual, the way she'd learned to check a room without looking like she was checking it.
And there she was.
A blonde in a short dress that hugged every curve, leaning against the far end of the bar like she owned it. Her hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders, and her smile was wide and easy, like she'd already decided something Riley hadn't caught up to yet. She had a drink in one hand and her chin resting on the other, and she was looking at Riley like Riley was the only thing in the room worth seeing.
Riley's pulse did something stupid. She ignored it.
The blonde raised an eyebrow. A challenge. A question. Something in between.
Riley tipped her bottle in acknowledgment, a small salute, and turned back to her beer. She wasn't here for this. She was here to drink until the edges of the day blurred and the memories of leaving home stopped clawing at the back of her throat.
But the blonde didn't take the hint.
She pushed off the bar and started walking, slow and deliberate, weaving through the scattered tables with the kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly what she looked like from every angle. The dance floor lights caught her dress, turned it from blue to purple to something almost pink, and Riley tracked her the whole way without meaning to.
Fuck.
The blonde stopped a few feet away, close enough that Riley could smell her perfume—something floral and sweet, cut with something sharper underneath. She tilted her head, and her smile widened into a grin that was all teeth and trouble.
"You looked thirsty," she said, nodding at Riley's beer. "But you've got a fresh one now, so I guess that theory's dead."
Riley snorted before she could stop herself. "That the best line you've got?"
"Depends. Is it working?"
The blonde slid onto the stool next to her, uninvited, and Riley felt the heat of her body across the small space between them. Up close, she was even prettier—bright blue eyes, a dusting of freckles across her nose, lips painted a shade of pink that looked like it had been chosen specifically to torment people.
Riley took a sip of her beer. "You always buy drinks for strangers, or am I special?"
"You're new." The blonde shrugged, casual, but her eyes were sharp. "I know everyone in this bar. Everyone in this town, actually. And I've never seen you before."
"Maybe I'm just visiting."
"Maybe." The blonde leaned closer, her elbow brushing Riley's. "But you've got that look."
"What look?"
"Like you're trying to disappear." Her voice dropped, softer now, almost gentle. "I know that look pretty well."
Riley's jaw tightened. She didn't need this—didn't need some pretty stranger poking at the wounds she'd come here to drown. She drained half her beer in one long swallow and set the bottle down with a little more force than necessary.
"You don't know anything about me."
"You're right." The blonde held up her hands in mock surrender, but that grin didn't waver. "So tell me something. Or don't. I'm good either way."
Riley studied her for a long moment. The lights flickered, purple and pink, and the jukebox shifted into something faster—a beat that made the floor hum under their feet. The blonde was still watching her, patient, like she had all night and nowhere else to be.
One night, Riley thought. No strings. No history. Just a warm body and a few hours where I don't have to think.
That was what she came here for, wasn't it?
She finished her beer and stood, letting her body language do the talking. The blonde's eyes flickered down, then back up, and that grin turned into something hungrier.
"Dance with me," Riley said.
It wasn't a question.
The blonde laughed—a bright, surprised sound that cut through the low hum of the bar—and slid off her stool. "Damn. Straight to it, huh?"
"I'm not straight." Riley let the corner of her mouth twitch. "And neither are you."
"Fair point."
They moved to the dance floor, and the blonde pressed close, her hands finding Riley's hips with the kind of easy familiarity that said she'd done this a hundred times before. Riley let herself sink into it—the heat of another body, the rhythm of the music, the way the world narrowed to this one moment, this one woman, this one night.
The song changed again, faster now, and they moved together like they'd been doing it for years. Riley's hands found the small of the blonde's back, and the blonde tilted her head up, her mouth close to Riley's ear.
"I'm Kenzie," she said.
"Riley."
Kenzie pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. Something flickered across her face—recognition, maybe, or curiosity, or something deeper that Riley didn't have the energy to name.
"Riley," Kenzie repeated, like she was tasting the word. "I like that."
The music pulsed. The lights flashed. And Riley let herself forget, for just a few hours, that she'd ever left this town at all.
But when Kenzie kissed her—soft and slow at first, then harder, hungrier—something in Riley's chest cracked open, just a little. Something she'd thought she'd buried a long time ago.
She kissed her back anyway.
Because one night was all she needed.
That was all she ever needed.
The music thrummed through her bones, a steady pulse that matched the beat of her heart, and Riley let herself get lost in it. Kenzie's mouth was hot and insistent, her tongue sliding against Riley's with a confidence that bordered on arrogance. Riley liked that. She liked a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to take it.
They stayed like that for a while, bodies pressed close, hands wandering. Riley's fingers traced the curve of Kenzie's hip, the dip of her waist, the smooth skin of her thigh where the dress rode up. Kenzie responded by pulling her closer, her nails digging into Riley's shoulders, a low sound rumbling in her throat.
Somewhere behind them, a woman laughed—sharp and knowing—and Riley remembered where they were. A bar. Public. Surrounded by strangers who didn't give a shit, but still. She wasn't eighteen anymore. She had standards.
Or she used to.
Kenzie pulled back first, her chest heaving, her lips swollen and slick. Her eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and she looked at Riley like she was starving.
"Bathroom," Kenzie said. Not a question.
Riley didn't answer. She just followed.
The hallway to the bathrooms was narrow and dim, the walls covered in faded posters and graffiti that looked older than Riley felt. Kenzie walked ahead of her, hips swaying, and Riley watched the flex of her calves, the way her dress clung to her ass. She reached out and grabbed Kenzie's hand, pulling her back. Kenzie spun around, eyes flashing, and Riley kissed her again—harder this time, dirtier, teeth and tongue and the taste of cheap gin.
Kenzie moaned into her mouth and shoved her backward. Riley's back hit the wall, and Kenzie was on her, hands fumbling with the hem of Riley's t-shirt, slipping underneath to find warm skin.
"Fuck," Riley breathed against her lips. "You don't waste time."
"Neither do you." Kenzie nipped at her bottom lip. "I saw you watching me. You weren't subtle."
"I wasn't trying to be."
Kenzie laughed, low and breathless, and then she was pulling Riley through the bathroom door. The room was empty—small mercy—and Kenzie dragged her into the last stall, slamming the flimsy lock into place.
The stall was cramped. Riley's shoulders brushed both walls, and Kenzie's back was pressed against the toilet tank, but neither of them cared. Riley's hands slid up Kenzie's thighs, pushing the dress higher and higher until it bunched around her waist. Kenzie's fingers found Riley's ass through her jeans, squeezing hard, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.
"You feel good," Kenzie murmured, her lips brushing Riley's jaw, her throat, the sensitive spot behind her ear. "Really fucking good."
Riley didn't answer with words. She pushed her hand between Kenzie's legs, fingers sliding over damp lace, and Kenzie gasped, her hips jerking forward.
"That what you want?" Riley's voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "You want me to touch you?"
"Yes." Kenzie's head fell back against the tank, her eyes fluttering shut. "God, yes."
Riley hooked her fingers under the edge of Kenzie's thong and pulled it aside. She slid two fingers through slick heat, teasing, circling Kenzie's clit with a pressure that made her whimper.
"Please," Kenzie breathed. "Don't tease me. I need—"
Riley pushed inside her.
Kenzie's whole body arched, a broken moan tearing from her throat. Riley worked her slowly at first, curling her fingers, finding the spot that made Kenzie's thighs tremble. She leaned in and kissed her—messy, open-mouthed, swallowing every sound Kenzie made.
"Fuck, you're wet," Riley whispered against her lips. "So fucking wet for me."
"Shut up and keep going."
Riley grinned. She added a third finger, and Kenzie's nails raked down her back, sharp even through the fabric of her shirt.
"Harder," Kenzie demanded. "Fuck me harder."
Riley obliged. She fucked her with a steady, punishing rhythm, her thumb pressing against Kenzie's clit, her mouth never leaving Kenzie's skin. She kissed her neck, her collarbone, the top of her breast where the dress had slipped. Kenzie's breathing turned ragged, her hips meeting every thrust, her cunt clenching around Riley's fingers.
"Don't stop," Kenzie gasped. "Don't you fucking stop."
"I'm not going to stop until you come on my hand."
The words seemed to undo her. Kenzie's body seized, a long, shuddering cry ripping from her lips as she came, her cunt milking Riley's fingers, her whole body shaking. Riley didn't let up until Kenzie pushed her away, oversensitive and gasping.
"Fuck," Kenzie panted. "Fuck, okay. Okay."
Riley pulled her hand back, glistening, and brought her fingers to her mouth. She licked them clean while Kenzie watched, still trembling.
Then Kenzie dropped to her knees.
The tile was grimy, the stall smelled like bleach and stale beer, and Riley didn't give a single shit. Kenzie looked up at her, eyes heavy-lidded, and reached for the button of Riley's jeans.
"Your turn," she said.
Riley helped her, shoving her jeans and underwear down to her ankles, kicking them aside. Kenzie leaned forward, but Riley grabbed a fistful of her hair and held her back.
"Open your mouth."
Kenzie obeyed. Riley pulled her forward, pressing her cunt against Kenzie's lips, and Kenzie didn't hesitate—she dove in like a woman starved, her tongue flattening against Riley's clit, licking and sucking with a hunger that made Riley's knees buckle.
"Fuck," Riley groaned, her free hand slapping against the wall for balance. "That's it. Right there."
Kenzie hummed against her, the vibration shooting straight through Riley's nerves. Riley tightened her grip on Kenzie's hair and fucked her face, slow and deep, using her like a toy. Kenzie took it—took all of it—her tongue never stopping, her mouth sealed tight around Riley's cunt.
"You like that?" Riley's voice was wrecked. "You like eating my pussy in a dirty bathroom?"
Kenzie moaned in response, the sound muffled against Riley's skin, and the vibration pushed Riley closer to the edge.
"I'm going to come," she warned. "Don't you fucking stop."
Kenzie didn't. She doubled down, her tongue flicking fast and hard, her fingers digging into Riley's thighs. Riley's hips bucked, her breath caught, and then she was coming—hard, fast, a guttural moan tearing from her throat as she rode Kenzie's face through wave after wave of pleasure.
When it was over, she let go of Kenzie's hair and slumped against the wall, her chest heaving.
Kenzie sat back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked wrecked—hair tangled, makeup smeared, cheeks flushed—and she was grinning like she'd just won something.
"Well," Kenzie said, her voice hoarse. "That was fun."
Riley laughed despite herself. "Yeah. It was."
Kenzie stood, straightened her dress, and reached for the lock. She paused, glancing back at Riley.
"You want my number or something?"
Riley shook her head. "I'm not staying."
Something flickered in Kenzie's eyes—disappointment, maybe, or relief. Riley couldn't tell. She didn't care enough to figure it out.
"Fair enough." Kenzie shrugged and unlocked the stall. "See you around, Riley."
She walked out without looking back.
Riley stayed in the stall for a minute, catching her breath, pulling her jeans back up. She splashed water on her face at the sink, ran her fingers through her hair, and checked her reflection in the cracked mirror. She looked the same as always. Tired. Hard. Alone.
Good.
She stepped out of the bathroom and didn't look back.
Tomorrow she'd drive to her father's house—the house she'd grown up in, the house she hadn't seen in five years—and she'd knock on the door and see her one friend from those years gone by.
But tonight? Tonight she was just another stranger in a bar, another body in the dark.
Kenzie was already gone from her mind.