studying the room to see if
there was anyone inside who would be likely to take offense at the fact Tom was
breathing. He’d made enemies, and he’d learned to keep an eye out for ‘em. A
dozen men and five or six women studied him back. Hands rested near gun belts. Avalon was close enough to the colonies that plenty of people still wore guns, but it
wasn’t the norm. Every person in this room was not only wearing a gun, but they
looked ready to use it. This place was trouble.
“What can I get you?” a woman asked from the side of the
room. A stainless-steel bar server with a government certified seal stood in
the corner, so Tom wasn’t going to have to put up with watered down drinks.
“Rye whiskey.” The tables along the walls were taken and Tom
didn’t want to sit in the center of the room right in front of the door, so he
wandered over to the stairs and leaned on the banister. This way, any doxies
who were working the place would know he was interested.
Two men in the corner challenged each other on a marksman
game that Tom knew he could beat. Another day he might make a few wagers and
take these people’s money away from them. Smugglers and thieves made a lot more
than a corporal, so Tom considered that a fair way to supplement his income.
He made eye contact with a woman sitting at a small table nearest
the door. Even just leaning on the table, he could see the muscles in her arms.
Tom was big in all sorts of ways and he really did prefer a partner than he
didn’t have to worry about hurting. She met his eye and looked him over before
slowly looking away. Not disgusted, but not interested.
“You need some company?” Tom had heard soft footsteps on the
stairs, so the voice wasn’t a surprise. He looked up at her and immediately
looked back at the crowd.
“Yep,” he agreed. “No offense, but not in you.”
She finished coming down the stairs. “No offense taken. So,
what are you interested in?” She was so young that she didn’t even have womanly
curves yet—nothing for Tom to hold onto except hip bones. Her long brown hair
was nice and she wasn’t wearing too much makeup. He reached up to run his
calloused hand through her hair. It was silky smooth and smelled of lilacs. Tom
pulled his hand back before she smelled of soot and exhaust.
“Older,” he answered.
“I’m legal.”
“It’d help if you looked it.”
She smiled and shrugged. “Fair enough. Most guys like young,
but plenty want to check my ID to make sure I’m not too young.”
“Don’t care about legal, you still ain’t old enough.”
She pulled back, a frown on her face, and that was one more
woman unhappy with him. “So, what do you want?”
“Experience. Someone with hips I can really grab.” He
thought wistfully of Becca with all her curves. He bet her breasts were huge,
but at this point, he didn’t think he’d ever get a chance to see for himself.
“Someone who doesn’t giggle.”
“You sound like a man who knows what you want.”
“Ain’t got time for playing games. I say what I want and,
that way, no one has to walk away frustrated.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, as if she was trying to figure him
out. That was ironic since Tom took less figuring than most, but he ignored her
as she headed back upstairs. The two men in the corner finished with one
cursing a blue streak and the other laughing and demanding payment. They gave
each other shit the way friends did—without keeping a fighting distance between
them or watching what they said.
“There a problem here?”
Tom looked upstairs. The woman didn’t even bother coming
down to meet him. She was older, in her late thirties or early forties maybe,
so near enough Tom’s age. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back into a severe
ponytail, and she had a hard look about the eyes. Tom figured she’d come up
through playing doxy, and she was probably the business manager of the upstairs
now. Her clothes were loose and her pants wrinkled in a way
there was anyone inside who would be likely to take offense at the fact Tom was
breathing. He’d made enemies, and he’d learned to keep an eye out for ‘em. A
dozen men and five or six women studied him back. Hands rested near gun belts. Avalon was close enough to the colonies that plenty of people still wore guns, but it
wasn’t the norm. Every person in this room was not only wearing a gun, but they
looked ready to use it. This place was trouble.
“What can I get you?” a woman asked from the side of the
room. A stainless-steel bar server with a government certified seal stood in
the corner, so Tom wasn’t going to have to put up with watered down drinks.
“Rye whiskey.” The tables along the walls were taken and Tom
didn’t want to sit in the center of the room right in front of the door, so he
wandered over to the stairs and leaned on the banister. This way, any doxies
who were working the place would know he was interested.
Two men in the corner challenged each other on a marksman
game that Tom knew he could beat. Another day he might make a few wagers and
take these people’s money away from them. Smugglers and thieves made a lot more
than a corporal, so Tom considered that a fair way to supplement his income.
He made eye contact with a woman sitting at a small table nearest
the door. Even just leaning on the table, he could see the muscles in her arms.
Tom was big in all sorts of ways and he really did prefer a partner than he
didn’t have to worry about hurting. She met his eye and looked him over before
slowly looking away. Not disgusted, but not interested.
“You need some company?” Tom had heard soft footsteps on the
stairs, so the voice wasn’t a surprise. He looked up at her and immediately
looked back at the crowd.
“Yep,” he agreed. “No offense, but not in you.”
She finished coming down the stairs. “No offense taken. So,
what are you interested in?” She was so young that she didn’t even have womanly
curves yet—nothing for Tom to hold onto except hip bones. Her long brown hair
was nice and she wasn’t wearing too much makeup. He reached up to run his
calloused hand through her hair. It was silky smooth and smelled of lilacs. Tom
pulled his hand back before she smelled of soot and exhaust.
“Older,” he answered.
“I’m legal.”
“It’d help if you looked it.”
She smiled and shrugged. “Fair enough. Most guys like young,
but plenty want to check my ID to make sure I’m not too young.”
“Don’t care about legal, you still ain’t old enough.”
She pulled back, a frown on her face, and that was one more
woman unhappy with him. “So, what do you want?”
“Experience. Someone with hips I can really grab.” He
thought wistfully of Becca with all her curves. He bet her breasts were huge,
but at this point, he didn’t think he’d ever get a chance to see for himself.
“Someone who doesn’t giggle.”
“You sound like a man who knows what you want.”
“Ain’t got time for playing games. I say what I want and,
that way, no one has to walk away frustrated.”
“Okay,” she said slowly, as if she was trying to figure him
out. That was ironic since Tom took less figuring than most, but he ignored her
as she headed back upstairs. The two men in the corner finished with one
cursing a blue streak and the other laughing and demanding payment. They gave
each other shit the way friends did—without keeping a fighting distance between
them or watching what they said.
“There a problem here?”
Tom looked upstairs. The woman didn’t even bother coming
down to meet him. She was older, in her late thirties or early forties maybe,
so near enough Tom’s age. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back into a severe
ponytail, and she had a hard look about the eyes. Tom figured she’d come up
through playing doxy, and she was probably the business manager of the upstairs
now. Her clothes were loose and her pants wrinkled in a way
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