Drop Dead Sexy

The attendant rolled her eyes. “It’s to keep people from running off with the key.”

Considering how the woman looked like she wanted to bitch-slap me, I refrained from saying, “Who in their right mind would want to hang on to it?”

Instead, I thanked her and headed back outside. Once I stepped into the bathroom, I knew why the key disappeared. People were so mentally scarred by what they saw that they didn’t want to waste the time going back into the station on their way home to get a scalding hot shower.

While I wiggled into the skintight dress, I tried my best not to let any part of my body touch the dirt-encrusted walls. When my pants accidentally touched the floor as I was taking them off, I decided just to toss them. It was either that or burn them when I got home, and I was pretty sure I didn’t want to contaminate my car with any germs. As for my shoes, I would hose them off with some of the body disinfectant when I got home. Until then, I would throw them in the trunk.

After washing and drying my hands, I used a paper towel to open the door. I received quite a few looks when I reentered the station outfitted in my sexy dress. I managed to make it almost back to my car before I received a blaring catcall from a trucker, which was just the icing on the cake to a truly horrific experience. Considering all I had been through, I had more than earned some mind-blowing sex.

Once I was back inside the safety of my locked car, I picked up my phone and started my Internet search. But the one bar I had on my reception meant I wasn’t able to find jack shit. I had two choices. I could go back inside and ask the asshat sales lady if she knew where I could get a drink and some dick, or I get back on the road and try to find a place with better cell reception.

With my decision made, I cranked up the car and fastened my seatbelt. I peeled out of the parking lot, thrilled to be leaving the hellhole goodbye. Of course, I began to regret my decision fifteen minutes later and further into East Bumblefuck. My cell reception wasn’t getting any better, and I debated whether or not I should just turn around and go back to the Texaco since I hadn’t come across any other gas stations. To be honest, I hadn’t come across anything for that matter. The two-lane road was lined with thick trees and an occasional house here and there.

But as I rounded a sharp curve, my salvation finally loomed in the distance. Oh sweet heavens, it was a bar. Gunning the accelerator, I couldn’t seem to get there fast enough. I feared it was just another mirage in the desert of my datelessness that might evaporate the closer I got. But then it stayed a shining beacon of hope as I whipped into the parking lot on two wheels.

That’s when I got a good look at my alleged salvation, which at best could be classified as something from Nightmare on Hee Haw Street. I exhaled the breath I’d been holding in one frustrated pant that came off more like a grunt. Multicolored Christmas lights ran the length of the ramshackle roof that hung over a long, rectangular building. A giant sign hung over the top of the bar with some of its bulbs burned out, so instead of reading The Rusty Halo, it said The Rusty Ho.

See, this is exactly what happens when you go off half-cocked searching for cock. Shaking my head free of my self-deprecating tirade, I glanced in the mirror to survey my reflection. Okay, so the Rusty Halo/Ho wasn’t exactly what I had envisioned on my quest to end my longsuffering sex drought. It was the epitome of every backwoods dive of a honky-tonk. But tonight, it was going to be Club 54 or whatever the hell the most happening hotspot was now. I was Dead Woman Walking when it came to sex—it was going down tonight and so was I.

Throwing open the car door, I grabbed my purse and then stumbled along the gravel pavement. Just as I passed a rusted-out Ford pickup, a hound dog bellowed in my ear, causing me to jump out of my skin and almost piss my panties. “Jesus!” I cried, glancing over at the long-eared hound dog. Sitting behind the wheel, it looked like it was waiting to drive its inebriated owner home at the end of the night.

Once I got my wits about me again, I made it to the door. Smoothing down my hair and dress, I drew in a deep breath. Okay, Olivia Rose Sullivan, get a grip and get in there and get some.