“Fucker.” Isaac chuckled.
Inside, the place was packed. There were two bars, one on each side of the barn, a dance floor, tables, chairs, and… “Are those haystacks?”
“Yes, those are indeed haystacks,” Isaac replied. “We’re not in San Francisco anymore.”
We sure as fuck weren’t.
We made our way to the bar, and Isaac threw out a few more howdies at people. It felt like every eye was on us. There was no question in my mind that we stood out in the crowd—or at least they didn’t recognize us, so they knew we were newbies.
The woman behind the bar had rainbow-colored hair, which I figured had to be a coincidence. She gave us a big smile when we approached, having just finished making a drink for someone else.
“Howdy, ma’am,” Isaac said. I was going to fucking kill him. Still, I bit down on the inside of my cheek so I didn’t laugh.
“Hey…what are two city boys like you doing out here?”
See? I knew they could smell fresh meat.
“How do you know we’re city boys?” Isaac asked her.
“I’m psychic.”
“Ooh! Can you tell me my future? Am I going to meet a Georgian Bear—not the animal kind.”
She laughed, obviously having gotten his joke, so maybe the rainbow hair wasn’t a fluke.
“I’m not getting a reading off you,” she told him, then turned to me. “You, on the other hand, I’m getting all sorts of stuff from.”
I frowned. It was impossible to tell if she was serious or not. “No, thanks. I like to be surprised.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re no fun.” She looked about thirty and had a kind smile. “I’m Lauren, by the way.”
“Cohen Mitchell, and this is Isaac—”
“I knew it!” she cut me off. “The second you walked in, I wondered if you were the long-lost Mitchell boy! There were rumors that there was a Mitchell boy, but we never knew for sure until your daddy passed, God rest his soul, and Byron—that’s your daddy’s lawyer and best friend—said you’d be comin’. My mama used to know your mama, ya know? Though they didn’t get along. Apparently your mama tricked Harris Mitchell into falling in love with her, got pregnant with his baby at eighteen, and hightailed it out of town with some of his money. I don’t believe that, though; it’s just one of the stories going around.”
My brain was spinning. One of the stories? How many were there? And why in the fuck would someone tell me something like that about my mom?
I said, “Harris Mitchell was a bastard who—”
“We’ll have two whiskeys!” Isaac cut me off. “Can we have some Mitchell Creek?”
I had no idea why he asked for that, considering he knew the distillery’d been closed, but knowing Isaac, he had a reason. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was suddenly playing detective.
“We don’t have any because the distillery is shut down. I assume that’ll change now that y’all are here. Like I said, I don’t believe the story about your mama. The Mitchells have their own history, like most in this town. I’m sure your mama’s great. Plus, ya know, Harris Mitchell never got married again. I bet he still loved Pam, and…well, shit, that does make it sound like she ran off on him. Scratch that.”
I hated this town already. Were these people crazy?
“How about I give you guys some O’Ralley Reserve Bourbon? Oh no, you probably don’t want that, being rivals and all. Your families’ history goes way back.”
I opened my mouth to ask Lauren what rivalry and what history, but then snapped it closed. I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer, and if I did get it, I didn’t know if I wanted Lauren to be the one to give it to me. I shot Isaac a warning look not to ask, and turned back to her. “Can we just have a beer?”
“Sure thing. What do you want?”
“Surprise us.”
Lauren filled two mugs with some kind of dark draft and handed them over. I went to pull my card out, but she waved it off. “My treat, it being your first night in town and all. Perfect night for it, really. It’s the Annual Buckridge Queerfest.”
Wait… “Queerfest?”
“In rural Georgia?” Isaac added.
“I thought city folks weren’t supposed to be judgmental. Are you assuming we’re not gay-friendly because we’re a small town in the South?”
Well, we had been, but I wasn’t going to tell her that. “No, no. It just came as a surprise, is all.”
“Are y’all boyfriends? You look like boyfriends.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Hey, are you assuming we’re gay now? I mean, we’re gay as fuck, but still,” Isaac said. “Just because we have better style than anyone here doesn’t mean we’re queer. That’s presumptuous of you.”
“Good point,” she replied, then added, “You don’t seem as angry as him. Y’all have this good-cop-bad-cop vibe going.”
My brain was spinning. I couldn’t slow it down to get my footing. I didn’t know how to take this all in.
Lauren turned to get someone else a beer, and I asked Isaac, “Is this place for real?”
“Unless we’re having the same dream. I believe in that. I bet Lauren does too since she’s psychic. I wonder what her sign is.”
Isaac was into that shit, but I wasn’t. He also had wannabe detective fantasies, so I was sure he’d be doing some investigating into the rivalry thing. I, on the other hand, was still trying to find out how we’d left Earth and landed on some planet where we were at a queer country hoedown, and where there were stories about my mom and family history I’d had no idea about but sure as shit planned to google if they had Internet out here.
Someone bumped into me, and I looked over to see…well, to be honest, one of the most gorgeous men I’d ever seen. He was probably in his late twenties, and he was tall, with brown hair, with strands of a dark red mixed in. His eyes reminded me of milk chocolate. Sparse freckles danced across his nose and cheekbones—oh, and nice broad shoulders and a small dimple beneath the right side of his mouth. It was clear he’d run into me by mistake. I took a second to appreciate the view, and if I was reading it right, he was doing the same. Maybe Buckridge wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Who are you meeting, Brody?” a woman said to Mr. Sex On Legs.
He pointed at me. “Him. He’s my date.” He gave me wide, pleading eyes. “I’ve been looking all over for you,” he told me, pulling me toward him and covering my lips with his. I was still for a second, and then all my nerve endings started firing off, telling me it didn’t matter if I knew who in the hell this was—a gorgeous man was kissing me.
I grabbed his waist and pulled him closer, slipping my tongue into his mouth and tasting beer. We both seemed to freeze for a moment, and then we were at it again. It wasn’t the first time I’d kissed a stranger in a bar, but it was the first time that happened in Georgia. And he was…fuck, he was good. I nibbled his lip, and he gave me a hungry little moan, his hands tightening on my waist. I threaded my fingers through his hair because if he was going to kiss me like he wanted to fuck me, I sure as shit planned to do the same. My dick perked up. I was suddenly really liking Buckridge, but before I knew it, he—Brody, she’d called him—was pulling away.