Boy Toy

by Jenny Gardiner

“So what’s the deal?” Izzy saw a gap in the left lane and manipulated her car into it as the driver laid on his horn and flipped her off. She reciprocated in kind. Damn, a girl could get a repetitive strain injury from flipping the finger while commuting in this town.

  “He was engaged and she broke it off right before the wedding. It’s been a year now and he’s ready to get rid of the ring—it felt like a bad luck thing to keep it. Not like he’d ever use it again anyhow.”

  “Shit, I’d at least sell it. So he’s giving it away? That seems crazy.”

  “Believe me, he doesn’t need the money.”

  “Is he a nice guy?”

  “He’s great. Very chill. Laid back. Never heard a cross word out of his mouth.”

  “Great! I’m coming up to meet him.” Izzy took the first exit she could and pulled over to program her Waze app to redirect her out of the traffic pileup.

  “Okayyyy... That seems a bit extreme,” Zoey said. “But I’d be happy to see you regardless. You know you’re always welcome.”

  “Perfect. I’m going home to pack a bag and driving up there. I’ll see you soon!”

  IZZY ALWAYS FORGOT what a long damned drive it was from LA to Bristol, a drive she’d done plenty of times since Zoey had transplanted herself there. It helped that it was right on the way to her place in Banff. But damn, she always felt like she’d been hit by a truck by the time she got there. It didn’t help that instead of overnighting somewhere, she’d pull over and sleep every couple of hours. A quick peek in the mirror revealed that her usually lustrous, long, wavy dark hair looked like a fluffed-up dandelion on steroids. Her mascara, applied yesterday before she knew she was road tripping that very day, had raccooned beneath her eyes in a most attractive way to make her look like a maniacal Victorian-era slasher. Her unbrushed teeth felt as if they’d sprouted fur. She was sure she was a sight for only the sorest of eyes.

  She wanted to grab a token hostess gift to bring to Zoey and Tanner and figured a bottle of wine would suffice. Parking her car on Main Street, she got out, walked the block or so to the wine shop, and marveled at the spectacular 360-degree mountain views set against a pristine blue sky. Even the air felt amazing here compared to the funk she breathed in regularly in LA, which sometimes seemed to come in chunks.

  She was so busy staring at the scenery that she failed to pay attention to where she was walking, and before she knew it she’d stepped in a disgusting, fresh pile of doggy doo. Furious, she looked around to see who was responsible for it and up ahead saw a guy with a plaid shirt over a T-shirt and pair of shorts demanding that a nearby husky puppy with bright blue eyes come to him. The dog instead kept running circles around the sidewalk, defying his orders. He might as well have been flipping the finger at his owner, not to mention at Izzy and her mucked-up boots.

  “You!” she said to the man, her voice rising higher the angrier she got thinking about it. All that crapola smeared over her nice cowboy boots, and now she had to get disgusting poop off of them before she could even get to Zoey and Tanner’s.

  The guy looked at her and pointed to himself, lifting a questioning brow.

  “Yeah. You.” She furrowed her forehead, then pointed at his pup. “Look what your damned dog did to me.” She lifted her foot and showed him the smear on the sole of her boot that extended across the tip of the toe of the thing as well.

  The guy stopped walking and stared at her, eyes opened wide.

  “My dog?” He shook his head vigorously. “How do you know my dog did that?”

  Izzy spread her arms out wide. “Um, do you see any other dog around?”

  He frowned. “Not at this very minute, but that could have been left there hours ago by someone else’s dog!”

  “Not hardly,” she said. “It’s freshly laid if that’s a term. Ugh. I cannot believe I’m parsing out terminology for dog poop.” She growled. “Look, dude. Curb your damned dog. You owe me a pair of boots. I recently bought these things too.” She wagged her finger at him as if that was going to achieve anything.

  The guy approached her, his eyebrows knit, his lips pursed. “Quit your bitching, lady. My dog didn’t do that. But if it’s going to make you happy, here.” He grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and pulled a handful of bills from within, reaching for her hand and stuffing them into her palm. “Now you can go out and buy yourself a new pair. Go crazy with it.”

  With that, he turned away, whistled for his dog, and muttered loud enough for Izzy to hear, “Let’s go, Blizzard, and get away from the crazy lady before she hurts you.” He shook his head. “Fucking tourists.”

  Izzy looked down at the money in her hand and realized he’d jammed six one hundred dollar bills there. Six hundred freaking dollars. In her hand. To replace her boots. That she’d bought at TJ Maxx for about eighty bucks. Four years ago. Yeah, she knew she’d lied about them being new. But she’d wanted to make him feel extra bad.

  Well, that certainly was a best-case scenario for her boots, even if the guy was a bit of a jerk. She didn’t have time to replace the footwear right now, but with the cash in her hand, she removed the yucky one and dumped it in the trash can, limping the rest of the way back to her car, where she could put on another pair of shoes from her suitcase till she got to Zoey’s. What an inauspicious beginning to her quest to meet the charming ring donor. The good news was at least he wouldn’t be a complete asshole like that guy was.

  Chapter Three

  If that didn’t pluck his last nerve! That woman had some brass ones accusing him—and his sweet, innocent Blizzard—of dumping and running. Well, not that he would have done that, but his pup? Sure Blizzard had his moments of impropriety. He had a bad habit of sticking his nose in people’s crotches, for instance, and he proudly showed off a damned yowl that sometimes set Sully’s teeth on edge. But the poor pooch wasn’t one to do what she’d so rudely accused him of.

  At least he was able to shut her up with the cash. Not like he usually flaunted his wealth, but sometimes to simplify life you had to fix a problem—even one that wasn’t self-created—with a few Ben Franklins.

  “And then she had the nerve to blame me for it.” He looked into the mirror to make eye contact with Carver Biscayne, proprietor of Snip It Good, the one and only barbershop in Bristol. If you couldn’t confess your woes to a barber, who could you confess them to?

  Carver, a sixty-something man who wore a cowboy hat even while cutting hair and sported an outdated handlebar moustache that extended across his face from ear to ear, shook his head. “Woman sounds uppity if you ask me.” He had a hank of Sully’s hair between his fingers and snipped with his scissors. “Was she pretty?”

  Sully knit his brows. “What do her looks have to do with her attitude?”

  Carver continued clipping away. “Call me old-fashioned, but I think a pretty lady can get away with a lot more sassing back to strangers, is all.”

  Sully stuck out his lower lip as he mulled that over for a minute. Yes, she was quite attractive, but he hated having noticed. If he thought about it, her ice-blue eyes reminded him of Blizzard’s baby blues. Although Blizzard’s eyes were quite stunning, if anyone suggested she had dog eyes, he wasn’t sure she’d like it. Those eyes were wasted on a boy. A boy dog at that.

  She’d worn a cute little clingy sundress with spaghetti strings that exposed strong, tanned shoulders and a neckline that dipped so low he’d have had to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to notice her nice set of ta-tas. Not that he’d had long enough to stare, what with her machine-gunning her irrational accusations at him. But when she sashayed away, he sure as hell enjoyed seeing the swing of her hips with that cute little ass of hers taunting him so hypnotically.

  Okay, so fine, she was pretty hot. But she was clearly the kind of woman you steered far away from. The last thing he needed was a pain-in-the-ass contrarian who would no doubt make his life miserable. He was happy as a pig in shit where he was despite the hottie with the boot in shit putting a damper on his day.

  “S
o you gonna ask her out?”

  Sully shook his head to be sure he was hearing properly. It made Carver’s hand slip and the tip of his scissors took a tiny bite out of Sully’s ear.

  “Owww.” He reached up to rub the wound only to see blood all over his fingertips when he pulled his hand away.

  “Geez, Carver, maybe I should get you a butcher knife to finish the job.”

  Carver grinned. “I get my name honestly. Now answer the question.”

  “Question?”

  Carver nodded. “Are you gonna ask her out?”

  His customer puffed out a laugh of disbelief. “The day hell freezes, maybe?”

  Carver held a slick slide of hair in his hands and looked up before cutting. “Sometimes those sassy ones are wild in bed.” He chuckled. “Hot in the temper, hot in the sack.”

  Sully held his hands up. “In that case, I’ll keep my eyes out for a boring, quiet librarian type. I’ve got no interest in a ballbuster as a prom date.” He watched chunks of his hair fall to the ground as Carver’s scissors danced. Hopefully he wouldn’t end up with a buzz cut after all this.

  “Besides, now that I think of it—that woman looked downright nuts. Her hair was sticking out all over the place.” He pulled at the hair Carver wasn’t cutting. “And the makeup smeared around her eyes made her look like a bloodthirsty zombie on a two-day bender. I’m glad I threw money at her to get her off my back. Tanner says Zoey’s got some friend they want me to meet tonight, so at least I’ll have some normal woman I can talk with instead of a cray-cray one.” He pointed toward his head and circled his finger for emphasis.

  Carver took out his poofy barber brush and dusted it across Sully’s neck.

  “Well, that is good news,” he said. “You’ve been running off with those women for quickies for long enough. About time you meet a nice young thing you can show off around town.”

  Sully laughed. “Now I know you prefer your horse to your car, but I think you’re putting the cart before the horse this time around. I haven’t even met the woman, so let’s not assume we’re moving in together.”

  Carver gave him a friendly pat on the back. “I know, son. But I’m well aware of how hard it hit you when your girl left. We all want to see you happy again.”

  Sully’s eyes opened wide. “Happy? Me—not happy?” He looked around and pointed out the window at the towering mountain range so close you could practically touch it. “I am downright ecstatic. I get to wake up here every morning. I can pretty much call the shots in my life. It would take a veritable act of God to make me not happy.”

  Carver gave him a thumbs-up. “That’s what I like to hear, Sully. You’re a man with a big heart and the voice of an angel. You should be happy.”

  He nodded, shaking out some loose pieces of hair. “And now that that woman is out of my hair, I’m all the better.”

  Chapter Four

  As soon as she got settled in, Izzy would have to buy new boots to replace the ruined pair. The nerve of that guy, ruining her go-to Montana footwear. After all, what self-respecting tourist would be caught dead in the state without a pair of sexy cowboy boots? She laughed at herself: it didn’t matter that the cowboy boots on the locals were far from sexy, caked in mud and dung, and scratched all up and back. Although give her a man in cowboy boots and she’d show him what to do with those spurs. She had a fondness for the kind of guy who got his hands a little dirty, whose jeans were beat-up, who had a bit of sweat on his brow. So maybe the beat-up cowboy boots were sexier still, after all.

  Well, for now she’d be happy to make it to Zoey’s house, unpack her things, and clean up a bit.

  She pulled down the long driveway, majestically lined with cottonwood trees. The air was so much fresher out here—the smell of pine filled the air. You could hear the wind whispering through the trees and the tall grass and see the wildflowers that had started to appear in the nearby fields.

  Most of the time, she enjoyed living in LA. There was the ocean, of course. And so much to do: restaurants and museums and clubs, plus you could be in Mexico before you knew it or Hawaii or up to the wine country. But there were times when the idea of the solemnity of someplace like Bristol, Montana had a certain appeal. Not that she’d ever end up here. Why would she? Her home was in LA as were her friends. Well, not her best friend—she was here now. And she could understand why. When Zoey met Tanner Eliasson, she was hit hard enough to chuck civilization for this altogether different lifestyle. Izzy wondered if she could make that break, but it was a moot point. There was nothing to draw her here—at least not enough to get her to change up her life for it. Even if her life of late had become kind of rote. Work was boring, and dating was annoying, especially in LA, where you had to be thin and young and, well, thin and young. If you weren’t fifteen-and-a-half with at least one television pilot under your belt, you were washed up. It wasn’t her scene so much anymore.

  She parked her car in front of the sprawling log cabin-style home, grabbed her belongings, climbed the steps, and rang the doorbell.

  “Iz! So glad you’re here!” Zoey gave her friend a big hug and was thunked in the back by Izzy’s boot, which she had been clutching in her hand. “Where’d you put your other boot?” Zoey reached for Izzy’s suitcase and grabbed the bottle of wine her friend held out for her.

  Izzy shook her head. “Honestly, I thought this was a nice town you lived in, full of friendly people. But I happened into some complete wanker of a guy on Main Street who encourages his dog to crap all over the sidewalk.”

  Zoey’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’m sorry, but could you translate that into English for me please?”

  Izzy shook out her hair, running her fingers through it to try to detangle it a bit.

  Zoey held up her hand. “Dude, that’s only making things worse. I’d recommend a good long shower and shampoo and you’ll be much happier for it. In the meantime—the boot?”

  “So I stopped in town to grab some wine—didn’t want to come empty-handed especially after inviting myself. And as I was walking down the sidewalk, I stepped in merde, and then this guy and his dog were there and obviously it was his fault. And he was super rude and, well, my boot was all disgusting, and I knew it was never going to come clean, so I pitched it.”

  Zoey squinted at her. “But you kept one boot because?”

  Her friend pursed her lips. “Wow. What a good question. I couldn’t even begin to tell you. Blame it on the long drive. But the good news is these boots were actually kind of crap and he dumped a pile of money in my lap to replace them.”

  “So he was a polite rude person, then?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Let’s say if I saw him again I would be more inclined to throw a drink in his face than to thank him for the new boots.”

  “Good thing you’ll never see him again then.” Zoey led Izzy through the warm, comfortable living room, down the hall to the guest bedroom.

  “Oh, hurray, my surrogate kitty is here to greet me,” Izzy said, scooping up Zoey’s white Persian cat, Snowball. She smothered the cat with kisses all over her face. “Sometimes I think she’s a dog, she’s so tolerant of my affection.”

  “Well, listen, get yourself situated.” Zoey pulled at her friend’s hair, shaking her head. “And maybe shower and wash up. We’ll pop into town for some boots and then meet up with Tanner at Harry’s.”

  “And then I can meet Sully?”

  Izzy nodded. “He’s playing there tonight, so if he’s not too busy, I’ll make sure to introduce you to him.”

  “Sweet.”

  THEY TOOK ZOEY’S CAR into town, diverting to the Boot Depot off Main Street. It didn’t take Izzy long as they wandered through the store to find her dream shoe: a pair of distressed, brown, vintage leather boots that looked like they’d been lovingly shot to shit for years before being sold on the open market. Which they probably had. The top two inches of the boot sported pink, red, blue, and white embroidered wildflowers on them, with a garland of embroidered flowers bracke
ting along the ankle of the heeled boot as well. A leather zipper pull dangled from the zipper top as if letting the world know it had an important job to do. These were some kick-ass boots—you could dress them up or down, and they had to fit her feet like a glove.

  Izzy held the boot up for her friend’s approval.

  Zoey held her thumbs up.

  “Ooooee,” she said as she dusted her hands together. “Those are the kind of boots you wouldn’t even bother taking off before being taken by a hot cowboy.”

  Izzy cocked her head. “You mean that’s a thing?”

  Zoey shrugged. “Didn’t you ever hear that line that country girls do it with their boots on?”

  Izzy shook her head. “Guess I’ve not been living.” She held the boot up and inspected it closely. “But now that you mention it, it would be kinda sexy to keep your boots on. Especially if he’s got you up against a wall, beyond earshot of the dance hall.” She closed her eyes to imagine that, then asked the sales clerk to bring a pair in her size. “God, I hope these fit now that I’ve got my plans in mind.”

  “Who, pray tell, are you planning to knock boots with?”

  Her friend gave her shoulder a friendly shove. “Why the Prince of Bristol, of course!”

  Zoey lifted an eyebrow. “Prince of Bristol?”

  “The ring guy, silly!”

  Zoey crooked her finger and motioned for Izzy to come closer.

  “I hate to break it to you, sweetie, but I’m afraid Sully’s not exactly dating material.”

  “Oh, he will be. He’s not met me yet.”

  “While I admire your degree of self-confidence, it’s not that simple. As long as I’ve been here, Sully’s been a no-woman man. And by that I mean he’s never even seen with a woman except slipping away from a bar with an anonymous tourist, then maybe slipping away from her hotel room in the middle of the night afterward.”

  “So, he’s a player?”