admit that, a little too easy on the eyes. He was muscular, he had to work out. If I had to guess I would say he at least had a six pack going on underneath it and he had dark brown hair that wasn’t too short but wasn’t too long. Typically it covered most of his bluish gray eyes to where you could barely see them. It was perfect. He was perfect. He had the sexiest voice. Whether he was singing or talking. I don’t care which he was doing as long as I could listen. It was dark and husky. Talk about make a girl melt. And he played a mean guitar. He could play almost anything he was asked to. That always amazed me about people who could play guitar, the way their hands can remember every little chord that they need to play the song. The way they play so flawlessly as if they were made just for that. His jeans always hugged his amazing ass and hung off his hips in the most delicious way. And his shirts clung to his chest in all the right places. I totally had it bad for him, I can’t lie. Really, it was usually the highlight of my day to see him; I just didn’t let him know that. He could never know, that I would make sure of. He had tattooed half a sleeve on his arm recently. I don’t remember ever seeing any tattoos on him before. Maybe these were his first. I couldn’t tell what it was really; I’d never been that close to him. I mean I’m not saying I wouldn’t like to see under his shirt, I absolutely would love to. Looked like just a bunch of tribal stuff but it drew me like the moth to the flame and it made him even harder to ignore him. What can I say; I’m a sucker for guitars and tattoos.
I’ve been a regular at Gary’s bar The Lounge for about three years now. Actually Gary is my uncle. He helped save me three years ago from a bad situation at home with my mom. I don’t remember much about my dad. Just that he got a new family when I was about four year’s old and jumped ship. Birthday cards stopped coming years ago and so did the phone calls. I maybe had an old photo lying around somewhere and that was it. Eventually everything from him stopped. He didn’t deserve any of my tears, neither did she. I knew I was better off without either of them in my life. I’d grown to be a basically decent young woman without either of their help. Mom was basically dead to me and so was he. I never wanted to see either of them again. When it happened, I was terrified and afraid to let anyone know. I did nothing but sit around and drink but finally I called up my Uncle Gary in tears. He could barely understand a word as I babbled incoherently into the phone that day, but he agreed to let me come live with him in Louisiana about thirty minutes from Mom and when I turned 21 he let me help run the bar so he could relax some. I even bought my first car, a white Honda Civic when I moved in with Gary. If I had a car before then, I would have never stayed around Mom as long as I did. I would have jumped in the car the first time and drove as far as I could to get away. Gary was in his mid 40's, he had done more than his fair share of work in his life so I didn’t mind at all helping him. He’d bought the building at an auction about five years ago and decided to turn it into a bar. So far so good. It had turned out to be a rather good investment for him. He had the perfect mixture of salt and pepper hair and a beer gut he was proud of. He would always tell people he worked hard on earning it and had no desire to lose it. He also cooked the meanest pot of chicken and sausage gumbo I’ve ever had in my life. He made it a few times a year and I always begged him to make it more. Some people believe it has to be cold to eat gumbo, but seriously, we, in