The Rusty Anchor was a dive bar that smelled like stale beer and broken dreams, tucked on the edge of town where the streetlights flickered and the pavement cracked like old skin. Inside, the air was thick with cigarette smoke and the buzz of overlapping conversations, the dim amber glow of cheap hanging lights casting long shadows over sticky tabletops. Jenna Hargrove pushed through the creaky door, her boots scuffing against the worn floor, her jaw tight after a long day of shouting her gospel of “traditional values” at a rally in the town square. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail, her flannel shirt buttoned to the collar, and her posture screamed “don’t mess with me.” She wanted a cold beer, a quiet corner, and zero human interaction. Unfortunately for her, the bar was packed to the gills with a crowd she didn’t recognize—loud, vibrant, and far too comfortable with each other for her liking.
She elbowed her way to the bar, muttering under her breath as she scanned the sea of people. “What is this, a damn circus? Can’t a person get a drink without tripping over... whatever this is?”
“Careful, sweetheart, your charm’s showing,” came a voice, low and edged with a smirk, from the stool beside her. Jenna turned her head sharply, meeting the gaze of a woman who looked like she’d walked straight out of a punk rock fever dream. Riley Kane leaned casually against the bar, one elbow propped on the counter, a half-empty glass of whiskey in her hand. Her dark hair was cropped short on the sides, a mess of waves on top, and tattoos snaked up her forearms—intricate designs of thorns and roses that disappeared under the rolled-up sleeves of her black button-down. Her piercing green eyes glinted with mischief, and the stud in her nose caught the faint light as she tilted her head, sizing Jenna up like a predator toying with prey.
“Excuse me?” Jenna snapped, her voice dripping with disdain as she straightened, crossing her arms over her chest. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Oh, I know,” Riley drawled, taking a slow sip of her drink without breaking eye contact. “But when someone’s tossing around ignorance like confetti, it’s hard not to notice. You got a problem with the crowd, or just with folks having a good time?”
Jenna’s cheeks flushed, her lips pressing into a thin line. She wasn’t used to being called out, especially not by someone like Riley—someone who exuded a raw, unapologetic energy that made Jenna’s skin prickle in a way she refused to acknowledge. “I’ve got a problem with... with people who don’t know how to act normal,” she shot back, her voice louder than intended. “This place used to be a decent bar, not some... freak show.”
Riley’s laugh was sharp, cutting through the din of the bar like a blade. She set her glass down with a deliberate clink, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “Oh, honey, ‘normal’ is just a setting on a washing machine. You’re in the wrong place if you’re looking for vanilla. This is queer night, and we’re the spice you didn’t know you needed. So, either sit down and shut up, or take your sermon somewhere else.”
Jenna blinked, caught off guard by the revelation and the sheer audacity of this woman. Queer night? Her stomach churned, a mix of disgust and something else—something hot and unfamiliar that she shoved down hard. “I’ll sit where I damn well please,” she retorted, slamming a few crumpled bills on the counter and signaling the bartender for a beer. “And I don’t need your permission, or your... commentary.”
“Suit yourself, preacher lady,” Riley said, her smirk widening as she leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “But don’t be surprised if the devil’s in the details tonight. You’re swimming in deep waters, and I bite.”
Jenna scoffed, snatching her beer from the bartender with more force than necessary. “I’m not afraid of you or anyone else in this dump. Keep your weirdness to yourself.”
Riley raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking over Jenna in a way that felt like a physical touch—assessing, teasing, invasive. “Weirdness, huh? Funny, ‘cause I’m getting a vibe from you that’s anything but straight. You sure you’re not just mad ‘cause you’re curious?”
The words hit Jenna like a slap, her grip tightening on the beer bottle as her face burned. “You don’t know a thing about me,” she hissed, turning to face Riley fully now, her hazel eyes flashing with defiance. “I’m as straight as they come, and I don’t need some... some tattooed delinquent telling me otherwise.”
“Delinquent, ouch,” Riley mocked, clutching her chest dramatically before letting her hand fall, her grin feral. “But straight as they come? Darlin’, you’re about as straight as a spaghetti noodle before it hits the boiling water. Give it a minute, and you’ll bend.”
Jenna opened her mouth to fire back, but before she could, Riley shifted on her stool, reaching for a pack of cigarettes on the counter. Her movement caused Jenna’s elbow to jostle, and the beer in her hand tipped, splashing cold liquid over both their laps. Jenna gasped, jerking back, but not before Riley’s hand shot out to steady the bottle—her fingers brushing against Jenna’s in the process. The contact was brief, electric, a jolt that raced up Jenna’s arm and lodged somewhere deep in her chest. She yanked her hand away as if burned, her breath hitching, her mind screaming at her to ignore the sudden heat pooling in her core.
“Clumsy, aren’t we?” Riley teased, shaking off the beer from her jeans with a chuckle, her eyes locked on Jenna’s flustered expression. “Or are you just trying to get me wet?”
“Shut up,” Jenna snapped, her voice cracking slightly as she wiped at her own jeans, refusing to meet Riley’s gaze. “It was an accident. Don’t make it into something it’s not.”
“Oh, I’m not making it anything,” Riley replied, her tone dripping with innuendo as she stood, stretching with a casual grace that drew Jenna’s eyes despite herself. “But you’re the one blushing like a schoolgirl over a little spilled beer. Tell me, preacher, what’s got you so rattled? Afraid you liked that touch a bit too much?”
Jenna’s jaw clenched, her nails digging into her palms as she fought the urge to lash out—or worse, to admit that Riley’s words were burrowing under her skin in a way she couldn’t shake. “You’re disgusting,” she spat, but the words lacked their earlier venom, and Riley pounced on the weakness like a cat on a wounded mouse.
“Disgusting, sure. But I’m also right,” Riley said, stepping closer, her presence overwhelming as the scent of whiskey and leather invaded Jenna’s senses. “How about this? Let’s settle it over a game of pool. Unless, of course, you’re too scared to lose to a dyke like me.”
The challenge hung in the air, heavy and taunting, and Jenna felt her resolve waver under the weight of Riley’s stare. She wanted to walk away, to storm out and never look back, but something—pride, anger, or something far more dangerous—rooted her to the spot. Her heart pounded, her palms sweaty, and she hated how Riley’s smirk seemed to see right through her.
“Fine,” Jenna bit out, standing abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “But don’t cry when I wipe the floor with you.”
Riley’s laugh was rich and unrestrained as she gestured toward the pool table in the corner, already striding ahead with a swagger that made Jenna’s stomach twist. “Oh, sweetheart, I don’t cry. I conquer. Let’s see if you can keep up.”
Jenna followed, her mind a storm of conflicting emotions, her body betraying her with every step. She told herself it was just a game, just a chance to shut this infuriating woman up. But deep down, in a place she refused to name, she knew Riley had already won the first round. And that scared her more than anything.
Want to know how it ends?
This is just the opening chapter. Continue the saga — or write a steamy tale starring you.