Hustled

Hustled - Part 1

W/C: 5.4k

Warnings: lots of sexual tension. lots. this kinda-sorta ends on a cliffhanger. like not really but kind of. alcohol, reader gets flirted with. i can't think of anything else, but let me know if i missed anything :)

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

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You twirled the bottle opener between your fingers before stuffing it into the back pocket of your cut-offs, humming softly to the country music that blared through the speakers of the bar. Not that the volume of your hums mattered, the music was loud enough to drown out just about anything that came out of your mouth.

This wasn't exactly what you'd pictured for yourself. Bartending in a small town in Montana was never on the agenda. But one gap year after you graduated high school turned into two, and then five, and you'd been here with Monica and Jocelyn for the past four.

At first, you had every intention of leaving after a month or so. Montana always seemed a little too quiet for you, but something kept you here.

Maybe it was the quiet your body sought out after all and subconsciously, you just knew you couldn't leave. Or maybe it was fate telling you that something great would come out of this little town.

Regardless of what kept you here (consciously or subconsciously), you might be here to stay. The crew at The Cowboy Corral welcomed you with open arms and had no intentions of letting you go.

Sure, the place, its patrons, and the people who ran it were a little rough around the edges, but it held a special place in your heart.

It was a little after ten, meaning anyone over the age of fifty was closing their tabs and making room for the more rowdy crowd who would be making an appearance any moment now.

As soon as the ranchers and cowboys finished up for the night, this is where they came to let off steam. God only knows why they would come somewhere to ride a mechanical bull after spending most of their day on top of a horse. But who were you to judge?

You slid Mr. Sanderson's receipt across the wooden bar top, laying a pen on top. "See ya tomorrow?"

He winked, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as he grinned. "You know it."

You grinned, eyeing the floor as he signed his name.

Tanner, the DJ, took a moment to dim the lights and turn the music up just a little bit louder, ignoring the glare that you threw his way. He got to wear noise-canceling headphones all night. Of course, he was turning the music up.

With the lights dimmed to the point of basically being turned off, the flaws and character of the building were hidden. You couldn't see the chips in the wood on the bar or the many pictures and postcards that lined the walls. The many, many messages and names with numbers underneath scribbled onto the walls all seemed to melt together in the dim light, making the room look even darker.

The CC was just like every other small-town bar. An old, grumpy, drunk man that refused to leave even though he was slouched over in his chair on the corner, neon signs that advertised fancy beers that the people in this town never drank. Down to the peanuts shells on the floor and the stale stench of cigarettes wafting through the building.

The only thing that set you apart from the other small-town bars in the area was the mechanical bull in the center of the room.

Tanner was a recent addition after the jukebox in the corner kicked the bucket a couple of years ago, and now with loud (and semi-modern) music blaring through the speakers of the bar, the cowboys from the nearby ranches gravitated here after a long week at work.