ain't no love [tyler owens]

one

Bottles of every size and colour lined the shelves behind her, glistening under the warm glow of naked light bulbs strung along the ceiling, and an old radio crooned forgotten country songs into the bustling atmosphere.

Her typically guarded brown eyes shone under the glow of the lights, flickering over each patron that approached her counter, passing out beers with a smile and a thank you. Her light brown hair fell past her shoulders in loose waves, a contrast against her black t-shirt that bore signs of wear - faded spots here and there and a rip along one sleeve that hinted at its age.

"Hey, Carter!" hollered a man from the corner of the bar, raising his empty beer bottle in an impatient gesture.

"Yeah, I see ya," Riley shot back without missing a beat, throwing the spill-stained dishcloth over her shoulder as she moved towards him, a playful roll of her eyes being sent in his direction as she exchanged it for a fresh one. "That's the last one tonight, Wayne. Closing up in five."

Even after five years of working here, Riley was still friendly with the rowdy regulars. Heck, even the old bar still brought her some excitement - the rough texture of the wooden counter under her fingers, the clink of glass bottles as they knocked against each other, the crisscross pattern of boot marks on the worn sawdust floor.

"Ain't gonna argue with that, Carty," Wayne chuckled, tipping his hat in respect before taking a long sip of his newly procured beer. Grinning, Riley shook her head at the old cowboy and turned to face the chaos around her. It was high time to start shutting down for the night. The once bustling rodeo bar was starting to empty out, the patrons slowly trickling away, their laughter echoing faintly as they stumbled into the cool Oklahoma night.

Riley moved methodically through the rounds; wiping down tables, stacking glasses, feeling the echo of her worn in boots against the planks of the wooden floor. She found herself humming along with an old Garth Brooks song on the radio as she worked, losing herself in the familiar melody.

The clang of an empty bottle hitting the inside of a trash can broke her reverie.

The last of her co-workers, a tall lanky fellow named Benny who always wore a faded Stetson way too big for his head, leaned lazily against a post as he watched her work. He rarely helped with closing and Riley had given up on making him years ago.

"Hey, Carty," Benny drawled out, a smirk playing on his lips as he twisted his oversized hat in his hands. "Apparently you've got company."

Riley paused in mid-swipe, turning her head slowly towards Benny. Her eyes narrowed slightly at the cryptic message, curiosity piqued despite herself. It wasn't often that someone waited out closing hours to see her.

"Who?" she asked cautiously, giving Maggie a skeptical sidelong look as she placed the rag back on the counter and mentally prepared herself for whatever – or whoever - was about to come her way. The man shrugged, flashing Riley a grin that spoke volumes about his own curiosity before motioning to the bullpen, one long figure leaning against the metal railings while the rest of the guests filtered out now the event was over.

"Why don't ya find out and let us all sleep easy?" He said with a chuckle before strolling towards the back door for his end-of-night smoke break.

Resisting the urge to throw her wet rag at his retreating back, Riley simply shook her head, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth despite herself. Benny knew how to rile her up.

She turned, dropping her rag and placing her arms on the wooden top before climbing over the bar and landing on the soft sawdust on the other side. The late-night mystery guest had their hands shoved deep into the pockets of a battered jean coat that was speckled with drops of an unexpected drizzle. A low baseball cap obscured their face, leaving an air of mystique that snagged Riley's curiosity tighter.