you were soft on the eyes and a hymn on the hearin'

1 // feathered indians

Well my buckle makes impressions
On the inside of her thigh
There are little feathered Indians
Where we tussled through the night

***

Shit. Fuck. Shit. He didn't think he was going to actually follow through with taking someone home tonight, but here he is, in the process of doing that exact goddamn thing.

"Yeah, can I get two Jim and cokes?" He asks the bartender over the sounds of the loud patrons and live band playing toward the back of the bar.

As the bartender makes his drinks he thinks of how he even got to this point.

It all started when a long-term lady friend of his who he has had a not-so-subtle crush on for the past few years basically told him that he's sweet and all, but not what she's looking for.

She also can't see herself living in the boonies of North Carolina, doing a long-distance relationship, or dealing with his schedule when hers is busy enough.

Objectively all fair things, but she could've said it a little fuckin' nicer. She also heavily implied that she still wants to be friends, but when she said this she got very close to him and softly caressed his arm. If she keeps up with this flirtation after making it damn clear she doesn't want anything serious, he's going to have to re-evaluate their whole "friendship."

So that's why he's at some honky tonk bar outside of Mooresville, buying a drink for a pretty girl who either doesn't care that he's a racecar driver, or doesn't know. Regardless, he's already smitten with her after only a few minutes of conversation and she seems pretty keen on him too, so maybe she'll be able to help with this slight sinking feeling in his stomach that's making him wonder whether or not he'll ever be good enough for any woman.

"My tab is under Blaney. Thanks man," he says, picking up his drinks.

"No worries. Good luck," the bartender replies, winking.

He laughs to himself nervously. Luck is exactly what he needs right now.

As much as he needs a release right now, it's been a minute since he's picked up a girl in the bar. Normally he's more of a hookup via Instagram DM kinda guy, so he hasn't done this in quite some time.

But there's something about this girl--May, she said her name was--that gives him the impression she's someone that only comes around every once in a while.

Unlike most of the girls that hang around him, she seems very relaxed and secure in herself. Like she wouldn't care if he didn't like her, she'd simply move onto someone else that did completely unfazed. A rare site these days when people are so increasingly superficial.

Plus, the way her eyes sparkled up at him when he tapped on her shoulder asking if he could buy her a drink did something funny to his insides. That look wasn't one of lust or determination, it was something else. Something that he'd like to get to the bottom to by the end of the night.

She spots him as he makes his way back toward her with their drinks. From experience he thinks she's either gonna wink at him or do something flirty, but instead she just gives him a warm smile that replaces that sinking feeling in his stomach with butterflies.

He can feel his face heat up when he hands over her drink—Jim and coke, not Jack, as Kentucky girls only drink bourbon, she'd told him—because something like an electric current zaps him when their fingers touch.