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sitting alone at the bar anyway? Shouldn’t there be a skirt or two hanging on you?”
    Huh. She’s right. I glance around the bar. I haven’t had a chick hit on me yet tonight. Damn! Can the ladies sense my dogged cock is on a one-woman mission? Fuck that. I gotta get a grip on the beast in my pants, gotta get him wagging from some tail. Picasso can’t have this kind of impact on my dick, not if it’s going to block me from gettin’ laid tonight.
    I spot one of Missy Mills’ friends, the blonde with big tits, the one with the fuck-me-now eyes. Even in that short little skirt and tight halter-top, fuck-me-now is doing nothing for me. Fuck. My dick must be broken. I wink at her before rounding back to Rusty.
    “Yeah,” Rusty says, looks at the chick, and then smirks at me as she picks up the Jameson, “ya better lay off this shit unless you want whiskey dick tonight.”
    I let go of a chuckle. Rusty knows what whiskey does to me and why I don’t normally drink it. But, apparently, my cock is already ruined. So what the hell; I snatch the bottle from her and pour myself another shot.
    “Holy shit, Zeke!”
    “What?” I glance at her, pick up the shot glass, down the burning whiskey, and then reach for the bottle again.
    “No!” Rusty grabs the Jameson and holds it back away from me. “It can’t be,” she says as I stare at her, trying to figure out what in the hell she’s getting at. “I can’t believe it.” She laughs. “Oh, my God!” She laughs again, waving her hand. “The past few days ... uh-huh.” She nods. “Oh yeah, it all makes sense now.”
    “What?”
    “Zeke Declan is finally hung up on a chick.”
    “Fuck you,” I say but hear the crack in my voice.
    “Come on,” she says curling the bottle into her chest, swaying back and forth with a huge knowing grin. “Tell me.” She leans in then stops, eyes wide and waiting. “Who is she?”
    “You’re crazy,”
    “No, I’m not.” She stands up straight. “It’s the redhead who was in here the other night, the one who shot you down. Just admit it. I’m right, aren’t I?”
    “Yeah, right.” I laugh it off. “Sorry, my beautiful carpet-muncher, but you have a better chance that half of the women in here are bisexual then that being true. Think about it, Rusty. Think about who you’re talking about here.”
    “Uh-uh, that shit doesn’t work with me, asshole. I know you. You’re a romantic at heart. You believe in love. You just act like you don’t know how to commit.” She pauses, and I smile at her. “But we both know that’s not true. You got no problem with commitment. You’ve committed to being a player for most of your life.” She gazes at me for a second. “It’s something else that holds you back from letting anyone love you, bitchmeat. And while I may not know what it is, you do.”
    Like all the other times that Rusty has tried to get me to open up to her, I give her my biggest fuck-you grin to shut her down. No one knows the reason as to why I am the way that I am. No one will ever know the truth. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to relive or feel it. But no matter how hard I try, it still haunts me. The recurrent nightmares remind me of what I have lost and why. I’m an omen. I’ve accepted it. Fortunately, the people who do care about me, like my brothers and Rusty, well, they haven’t been affected by it. Still, I’m not taking any chances with anyone else.
    “I gotta take a piss.” I stand up from the stool.
    “Yeah.” Rusty grabs my shot glass from the counter. “I’m sure ya do.” She smirks at me, letting me go. That’s what I like about her. She doesn’t push. She’s cool like that.
    I head into the bathroom, do my business, and walk out to find fuck-me-now waiting for me. With her back against the wall, hungrily gazing at me through long lashes, she takes a slow sip from her straw. A woman looks at me like that for only one reason. I walk up