Breathless - Jesse Book 1

Breathless

Jesse Book 1

Eve Carter

"This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental".

Copyright © 2013 Eve Carter.

Published By Carter Publishing House.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

ISBN-13: 978-1489515698

Jesse

“What the fuck are you doing, pervert? Get your hands off my girl.”

The hot breath of a large hairy dude was blasting in my face, smelling like shit on a stick. I pulled myself out of the girl’s embrace and rolled to my right. Leaning on the cheap plywood bar to steady my woozy legs, my heart was shooting blood to the body parts needed, in case I had to beat the living shit out of this fucker. Adrenalin was spiking like wildfire throughout my system.

“Mind your own business, asshole. Get the fuck out of my face.” I turned my attention back to the girl I was getting close and personal with. Looking like the usual small town bar girl with her dark rimmed eyes, long false lashes, and full cherry red lips that moved around the straw in her drink. Lips that made my cock rock hard.

The high had kicked in ten minutes ago with a line of white in the bathroom stall followed by three neat shots of Fireball whiskey. My buddy, Chet, had won a local motocross race and we were here at the Oxford Tap in upstate New York to celebrate. Not like I needed an excuse to shoot coke and down Fireballs, or any booze for that matter. My life sucked. It sucked balls, big time, but right now, all I cared about was how I was going to smash this ugly dude’s face three quarters of the way to the crapper.

The hairy bastard plowed past the ditsy bar girl who got in his way on his trek to find a place for his fist to sink into my face. Chet, my wingman had disappeared. Out back somewhere with his tongue halfway down the throat of some young chick fresh out of high school with a fake ID. I shouldn’t have been so outspoken, but I couldn’t help my drunken self. I’m pretty damn charming after downing a few brews, if I don’t say so myself.

Fearless, I jutted my chin out towards his face and wrinkled up my nose, “Fuck that stinks. Dude, your breath smells like a dog just took a dump in your mouth.”

“You’re a dead man, mutha-fucka,” he raged at me, struggling to get through the packed crowd.

The confrontation between the Beast and I didn’t go unnoticed. Two bouncers were already shoving their way past the standard Saturday night regulars, their radar set on us.

The room was spinning. Bodies jammed into the small dreary, beer stained area of the local watering hole in this small shit-hole of a town. I didn’t care if the Beast hit me or not. I welcomed the thought of the pain of his blows. At least it would blur out the pain in my soul. I teetered. My alcohol induced, unstable balance may have been an advantage. I staggered out of the Beast’s line of fire, just long enough for a strong hand to grab a fist full of my jacket collar from the rear. A heavy hand pulled me down and to the side, pummeling me through the bodies in the crowd. Their drinks crashed to the floor and liquid libations flew through the air, as someone dragged me by the scruff of my neck out the back door of the bar. The same large hand shoved me past the girl I had been chatting up, and I slurred, “Meet me at my truck in the parking lot.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jesse!” A gruff voice barked out. I knew all the bouncers at the Oxford Tap.

“Manny? Is that you, bro?” In my drunken stupor I couldn’t quite tell who had a vice grip on my arm, but now I was pretty sure it was my old friend Manny. Manny, the bouncer, to the rescue again. Or so I thought.

Crap. He was throwing me out.

“Dude, you got the wrong guy.” I gave a wink and a “call me” gesture to the girl gaping at the scene unfurling in front of her dainty face. Nice perky tits bouncing under her top as she walked. Or talked.

“Just saving you from getting your ass kicked again, Jess,” Manny puffed, maneuvering his 350 pound frame towards the back of the bar, flinging me around like a rag doll.

“Fuck that. I can take care of myself, Manny. No need to get all violent on me.” But I couldn’t take care of myself. No way in hell. My motto was to “get fucked up and score as much pussy as possible. Life is short”.

Tomorrow, I won’t even remember the girl’s name, hell in ten minutes I won’t remember her name. What the fuck was her name?

Manny shoved me out the back door and threw me into the alley, letting go of me just in time to send me grinding into the hard cold pavement. Landing hard, sliding, the rough texture of the cement shaved the top layer of my skin from my face, right about the cheekbone area. Small pebbles of grit wedged themselves into the flesh of my face, small enough that I’m sure I would inflict further pain on myself later, just trying to dig them out with tweezers. My skin peeled, my flesh oozed bright red blood.

Damn.

That’s gonna leave a scar.

Pain signals, fresh and crisp, spiked, like razor sharp lightning into my brain. Hurting like a muther fucker, even in my drug and alcohol induced haze. But I didn’t give a fuck. I welcomed the pain, no, I savored the pain. As I lay on the ground, my swollen and skinned face absorbed the hardness of the concrete and my eyes rolled back into my head. I just wanted to feel the moment. In my suck ass life, at least for one instant, the pain reminded me of something - I was still alive.

I groaned.

“God damn fucker, Manny.”

I reminded myself to kick his ass the next time I saw him. We were friends back in high school and used to sneak under the stadium bleachers at night to drink beer. Now I drank the hard stuff and he’s a washed up small town ex-football star, throwing drunks like me out of this crappy bar.

Fuck
.

My face.

I groaned again and pulled my hands up to my chest. Planting both palms down on the concrete, I attempted to push myself up onto my hands and knees. My stomach wrenched. I hung my head and closed my eyes. It was splitting apart from the inside out, a jackhammer pounding a hundred miles an hour. I shook my head in an attempt to stop the bile from rising in my esophagus, but the shaking motion just provoked the jack hammering.

Fuuuuuck!!

Where’s my damn truck?

I stalled on my hands and knees, hoping to find a small remnant of stability. Crawling over to the brick wall of the building, I used it’s firmness to help me climb to my feet. Where the fuck had I parked my damn truck? I leaned my back against the cold brick wall, patting my jean pockets with bloody knuckled hands, for the familiar lump of my truck keys.

Fucking A.
I sniffed, rubbing the back of my hand against my good cheek and pushed off the wall. I steadied myself with one hand against its surface and fished the keys out of my jeans’, squinting, as my left eye was swelling shut.

I can do this. I can make it to the truck.
Just put
one foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other...

I staggered off in the direction of my truck, or what I thought was the direction. Every step sent new shards of pain throughout my body. Didn’t give a fuck. I had it coming to me. I was just a big screw up anyway.

Shaking fingers pressed frantically at the buttons on the black key fob. A shrill metallic sound blast ripped the airwaves, making my ears bleed.
Fuck!
I hit the alarm button by accident. The truck horn blared loud enough to wake the dead, splitting my head into a million pieces.

Pounding the key fob buttons again, I smashed at the damn device with my thumb, trying to make this acoustic nightmare stop. Whichever bastard invented this annoying feature deserves a swift kick in the balls. Twice.

I jabbed it enough times that the truck horn stopped. But my head didn’t stop, it kept on going and going, pounding and pounding. Slumped up against the driver’s side, I hunched my torso over the shiny black surface as much as I could. I paused there for a few minutes waiting for the world to right itself on its axis and my breathing to regulate.

My truck - she’s a beauty. Raised, big monster wheels. An F-150, 4x4, full bed of course. Any man who doesn’t have a four-wheel drive pickup truck is a pussy. I stroked the door handle and the smooth surface of the side door panel.

My old friend Jack was in the console, or somewhere inside.

I fumbled with the door, cringing in pain with each strain of my sore muscles and swollen hand. Finally, it opened and I fell into the driver’s seat sprawled out on my back with my legs still dangling out the door. Reaching my good arm out, I groped around the front seat for the bottle of Jack Daniels I had left there earlier.

Where the hell you at, Jack?
Stretching and pulling myself further into the cab of the truck on my stomach, I searched around the floor board area. Bingo.
Hello Jack ole buddy. Come to daddy.
Downing a large gulp of my fiery friend, I hissed with clenched teeth at the familiar sting in my throat.

Damn, that feels good.

I slouched into the cushions of the truck seat, bottle in hand, poised to drink myself into oblivion. I snorted and licked my lips. The salty mixture of sweat and booze assaulted my taste buds. I didn’t care. I’d drink my Jack one way or the other. My head fell back against the headrest of the seat. It felt like the seat swayed and shifted beneath me. Slow or fast, it didn’t matter. I was down for the ride wherever it took me.

Shame about losing the girl. I liked her scent. Cute too. Seemed like a chick that was up for having some fun. The type of girl that spent most nights trolling from one bar to the next, making herself too available for the wrong guys. Those “no good” guys. Guys like me. I didn’t know if she was that hairy bastard’s girl or not but I didn’t give a shit. I just wanted to see my dick in her mouth and her head bobbing up and down between my legs.

As I laid there with my eyes closed, fantasizing about bobbing heads, I heard the crunch of light footsteps on gravel, approaching my truck. The sound stopped just outside the door that stood open. Who the hell was bothering me now? If I don’t move, they might think I’m passed out. Or dead. Dead would be better. If only I were dead. The silence of the darkness swallowed me for a minute, the truck seat bucked or so it seemed and then the silence broke.

“Hey there.” The trill of a female voice invaded my foggy senses. I rolled my head to one side and lifted it off the headrest just enough to get a look at girl behind the voice, squinting with one eye open. “Um, you okay?” the voice continued.

My gaze met a pair of black rimmed, wide eyes blankly staring up at me. Ah, it’s the jiggling tit girl from inside the bar, still sucking on that straw. Damn, those lips were hot. “Hey yourself.” I tried to sit up, wincing in pain. “What are you doing out here?”

“Um, you told me. You know...at your truck.” She twisted side to side, still holding onto her drink glass. She pinched the straw between her thumb and forefinger, letting it rest for a moment on her lower lip as she spoke. She rolled her eyes in the direction of the bar and then my truck, outlining the path from there to here with her eyes.

Sharp memories of why I landed on my ass on the pavement sliced into my brain. “Shit, your boyfriend is not gonna come out here and go all Frankenstein on me, is he?”

She shrugged her shoulders, still twirling the straw between her fingers, never letting it lose contact with her lower lip. Or tongue. “He’s an asshole.” She sucked in her cheeks. “You’re hot. I like your hair. I like how it falls in your eyes. Is that a tat?” She pointed with her chin at my bicep, the drink straw still attached to her mouth.

“Uh, yeah?” What else would it be? “Why don’t you hop up in here? Join me for a drink.” I held the bottle of Jack up in the air, gripping the glass neck of it with my good hand.

She shrugged again, cocking her head to the side and let loose of her straw long enough to run her hand through her long, over processed bleach blonde hair. She threw one last glance back over her shoulder towards the bar and disappeared around the front of the truck, popping up outside the passenger side door. I leaned over with a groan, shifting my bottle of Jack to the other hand, and jabbed the door handle open. Climbing up into the cab, her perky tits bounced as she adjusted herself on the seat. She was petite. Big eyes, big tits, and wet lips begging for me to be impulsive.