Love Under Construction (The Love Under Series Book 1)

Copyright 2016 Jody Pardo 

Warning, this novel is recommended for those who are 18+ as it contains adult content.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-1517293222 

ISBN-10: 1517293227

No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

The author acknowledges the real people or places and copyrighted or trademarked statuses and trademark owners may appear within and use is limited to scope and reference.

Cover Model: Max O’Brien

Photographer: Shelton Cole of SC Photo

Cover Design: Katheryn Kiden of Indies InDesign

Edited by: Wendi Temporado of Ready, Set, Edit

Blood doesn't make family. The best family is our family by choice.

I hated cowboys. Okay, so maybe I needed to move. Oklahoma was not the place to hate cowboys, or soldiers. Well, I didn’t actually hate soldiers, just the douche bags that occupied the uniforms that I saw come and go every few months in my town. Living where I did, you had two options: ranch or put on a uniform. I did neither. I was the minority, the third wheel, the outcast—I was invisible. 

My family had lived next to Fort Sill for generations. My mom grew up on my family’s ranch, and like many of the town’s women, got swept off her feet by a military man. I was the product of their whirlwind romance.  He was a career military man and my mom settled in as an Army wife, only working part-time here and there over the years. I think she just kept herself busy, and usually only worked when he was deployed. 

I had lived just outside of base in the same house I grew up in with my parents my whole life. Dad had settled down in his old age, but I knew I was not the son he wanted. I always saw nothing but disappointment in his eyes, but I was an adult, and I just couldn’t wear a uniform. When he retired, he bought the bar right outside base gates called Brewer’s Taps. It was his way of staying connected. For me, it was just one more reminder of our divide.

Why do I even come here?
All it ever was were the cowboys, the privates, and the hoochies. That’s right, hoochies. I’d grown up there, just like them. I went to the same school, graduated the same year as some, yet no one ever gave me the time of day, unless they had something that needed fixing. Then they’d call. Otherwise, I was invisible.

The bar was hopping on a Sunday night because those guys would be back on base by morning and the rest were gone riding by sun up. Not much changed there except the wenches' attire. Monday through Friday you could see the same women around town looking all prim and proper in their capri pants, polo shirts, and flip flops. Once Friday night arrived and the soldier boys started walking off base, the sharks swarmed with their blood-red, thirsty, painted lips and bulging, glittery cleavage planted in their cowboy boots and insanely high heels baiting young privates to their beds.

I could only think,
Are they really that oblivious to their wiles?
No one could be that stupid. Maybe they just weren’t thinking at all and their cocks were calling the orders Friday through Sunday. The soldiers bedded them nonetheless and had rows of ladies lining the gates returning them off to base at dawn each Monday. 

Sometimes I would help out my dad by tending bar, but working weekends was futile since I never made any tips. The ladies of Brewer’s Taps ruled the bar on the weekends. Even though none of the bartenders would lay down with those guys and most had husbands or boyfriends at home, that didn’t stop them from flaunting their assets to boost their tips. 

It was a mixed crowd, but only the men were buying drinks. Whoever said they never paid for pussy was either a virgin or had never been to Brewer's Taps on a Sunday night. 

I got up from my corner table where I had been nursing my beer and went behind the bar for a refill.  I wasn’t really a beer drinker, but I didn't like to hit the liquor unless someone else was buying. I kept a bottle of Jameson behind bar just for me. On the weekends, I wouldn’t take my bottle out or people would help themselves. My dad didn't mind; beer was cheap. The bartenders would probably spill more than I would ever drink in a night. I scooted past Memaw who was running the show that night to the beer taps. 

Memaw worked every Sunday night because it was the only time she got to spend with her son, Rob, and his wife, Nicole. Rob, like most of the guys in there, would be gone before dawn for another week of moving cattle. King of Kings, Rob sat at the bar as his mom gushed over him with stories of the weekly antics of her grandchildren, and his eyes were firmly nailed on his wife's ass as she swished about serving other patrons making sure no one got too grabby. Not that anyone in there would, but sometimes there would be that rogue jerk that appeared and would need to be schooled. 

Nicole was a beautiful woman with fire-red hair and a body to die for. She was all tits and baby-making hips with an itty bitty waist. I watched her grow up from that frizzy-headed kid with glasses and braces to the stunner she was today. Her milky skin was peppered with tons of tiny freckles that everyone used to tease her about in school that made men's mouth water on her ample breasts.

As I topped off my pint glass with a tip to knock off the frosty head, Memaw grabbed a hold of my elbow.

“Hey, Max, you flying solo tonight?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said as I took a sip of my beer so it wouldn't spill.

“Just pace it out, okay, or I will pull your keys,” she demanded as she poked my chest.

“No worries, Memaw, I'm good. This is only number two. Some people have to work in the morning.”

“Good boy. Why don't you find a nice girl to dance with?” she said as she smoothed my shirt she had poked a dent into.

“When you find me one, you let me know,” I said as I shimmied behind her to resume my spot at the corner table.

“Son, I’m sending you out with your Uncle Mike today for the long weekend,” my dad said.

“Why? I’m working on something.”

“It’s about time you started doing something besides building Lego houses and tinker toy frames. I can’t have you hanging out at the base all day, and you can’t stay home alone all summer. After dinner I will drop you off at the ranch”

“I like building things.”

“If you want to make some money around here, son, ranching is it. So it’s time to start learning, and you are behind the curve already. Some of these boys have been riding as long as they have been walking.”

“I like my feet on the ground. Walking is good.”

“Ranching puts food on the table.”

“Not our table. We aren’t exactly eating steak every night.”

“Well, the military pays the bills and buys our groceries, and has for the last sixteen years of your life, boy. It’s time you earned your keep.”

“Fine, whatever,” I spat.

“You better watch your tone with me. You better show your Uncle Mike some respect, too. He is one of the best ranchers and ropers in Oklahoma. You could afford to learn a lot from him.”

“Don’t worry, Dad. I would never disrespect him; just doesn’t mean I have to like my holiday weekend on the ranch cleaning stalls.”

“Well, you better start liking it quick. Don’t forget they are family, too. You help with whatever needs done over there.”

“Yes, sir.”

My dad sighed as he turned to leave the room. I couldn’t help but feel the waves of disappointment flowing off of him as he walked out. I knew he wanted me to join the military one day, but I don’t know if a soldier’s life was for me. I didn’t even like to tie my shoes, never mind spit shine them. 

I started to pack my duffle bag with the basic essentials: pants, underwear, plenty of socks, long thermal underwear, t-shirts, my favorite hoodie, and my essential cowboy boots. I threw my travel toiletry bag in and zipped it shut. I dug out my heavy duty muck boots out of the back of my closet and clipped them onto my duffel bag with a carabiner.
This is going to suck.

I could think of a million things I wanted to do on our four-day weekend, and ranching wasn’t one of them. With the weather starting to finally get warm again, I wanted to be outside. Once the rainy season ended, I started collecting wood. Lots of trees fell over the long winter months from heavy snow and harsh winds of winter. The rain loosened the ground so much that there was a lot of free wood to be had. I had a nice stack in the back of the garage, and I wanted to make some cool furniture out of it, but since Dad said I had to go ranching, I guess it could wait until next weekend.
Maybe
.

“Max, dinner’s ready,” Mom yelled up the stairs.

“Coming,” I responded and pounded down the stairs.