by Mona Cox
"Roger!" Ashley finally says excitedly.
I swing my head to look at her, the whole world moving a little more than it probably should've with that movement – damn iced tea – and stare.
"What?" Even Lisa is staring at her.
"Roger! That's what I named my dildo," she says triumphantly.
"Who names their dildo 'Roger'?" I demand. "That is the least imaginative name on the planet!"
She just shrugs. "I'd just met a hot guy named Roger. I mean, nothing like Apollo, but he was cute. I figured it was just as good as any name."
I just look at her skeptically. It most definitely is not as good as any name. It is an awful name. It's a horrendous name. It's a terrible name. She should be ashamed of that—
"Here it is!" Lisa held her phone out and waggled it at me. "Look! I told you he was huge."
Oh.
My.
God.
There is no way a cock like that fits inside a person.
I mean, I'm sure how huge her screen is doesn't help anything, but even that aside ...
"He's a monster," I breathe, staring endlessly at the screen. I can't tear my eyes away. It's mesmerizing ...
She pulls it back to stare down at it with a naughty grin, and I could just see she is replaying their last fucking in her mind. Eeewww...I love Lisa and all, but I really don't want to think about her fucking. There are some things I just don’t want in my head, KWIM?
I push away from the table.
"I gotta head out," I slur, and kissing Ashley and Lisa on the cheeks, I take the elevator to the main floor, which totes messes with my stomach; have you ever been drunk on an elevator? You feel like you're flying—and then out onto the street. I hesitate for a minute, trying to decide whether to text for an Uber or walk home, and finally decide to hell with it, I'll go for a walk. It's a damn nice day – not muggy or cold or windy or snowing, which has to be some sort of New York City weather miracle – so I might as well enjoy it, right? Plus, it'll give me a chance to burn off some of this alcohol.
Home, in Turtle Bay, is like 30 blocks away, so I guess it's a good thing I'm wearing my Tieks instead of stilettos, right? I take off down the street toward Grand Central, enjoying the bustle of New Yorkers passing me – god, I really am drunk if I'm waxing on about how pleasant I find other New Yorkers – when suddenly, someone runs smack into the back of me.
"What the fuck?" I slur-yell, my Louis Vuitton purse swinging and then it's gone from my arm! Some punk ass kid with a black hoodie pulled up over his head is taking off down the street with my precious Louis Vuitton!
I take off running after him.
"Stop! You goddamn thief, come back here!"
I should probably save my breath so I can run faster, but shit, I can't keep quiet. That man just stole my fucking purse!
As I run, my drunk legs wobbling underneath me with every step, I suddenly hear weird noises. Like, it's New York City, right? I'm used to noises. But this ... this isn't something I've ever heard before.
My head whips around just in time to see...
A cowboy on a horse come tearing past me, a lasso spinning above his head.
How drunk am I?
41
Chase
"God, are they ever going to show up?" Jason asks, hooking a boot as he leans up against the horse trailer. "Finding a parking spot here in New York is fucking insane, and I'm pretty sure the meter maid is going to notice us soon. We either need to keep going or someone needs to show up."
I nod my agreement, but didn't really have much else to say. Jason's always the one to chat a lot. Me? I just like to take it all in.
Speaking of taking it in ...
I admire the ass on a girl as she goes walking by, blonde hair swinging with every step. Damn, she's fine. Are all New York girls that fucking hot? I'm never leaving New York if that's the case.
I just start to look back at Jason – never a good idea to openly leer at a girl – when something catches my eye. I look back just in time to see some guy in a black hoodie deliberately run into the back of Sexy New York Girl, jostling her purse loose, and then taking off with it.
She's running down the street, yelling her head off, and all I can think is, I can't just let that jackass steal from a lady!
So, I use the tools I have in my disposal. What else is a cowboy to do?
Meaning, I pull the ramp out with one quick move, bumping into the mass of humanity that is New York as I back up, pulling it out to set it on the ground.
"Sorry, sorry," I toss over my shoulder as people curse a blue streak. I feel bad, but I can't let that stop me. Sexy New York Girl needs me!
"What the hell are you doing?" Jason asks, bewildered, as I rip the door open to the back of the horse trailer, grab the halter of Moonshine, and back him down the ramp. I clip reins into place; if I'm going to ride bareback, I should at least have reins, and grab my coiled lasso from the hook on the inside of the horse trailer.
"I've got a girl to save," I say, maneuvering over to the side of the horse trailer so that I can use it as a step stool to get up onto him. Moonshine whinnied in alarm; he and I don't exactly ride bareback all that often, let alone in the streets of New York, but I gave him a quick pat on the neck. "Whoa, boy. It's okay. It's gonna be okay."
I swing my leg over, grab the reins, and take off down the street, letting the sheer size of Moonshine do the work of clearing a path for us. Do you know how loud hooves with horseshoes on them are on concrete?
Hint: Real loud.
I squeeze my knees against Moonshine's flanks, working to keep my balance, but Moonshine of course just takes that as encouragement to gallop faster.
I whip past the girl, tossing a "I'll be back!" over my shoulder as we go thundering down the sidewalk, and finally spot black hoodie jackass. I start spinning my lasso in the air, whirling it as I judge speed and distance and wind direction and then, I let it fly.
Jackass flies to a stop at the end of the rope, his arms pinned to his side, flailing at the restrictions. He loses his balance and topples over onto his side, looking for all the world like an upside-down turtle.
I jump off Moonshine and he jerks to a stop, this part of the ride working like it always does. Usually, we're roping cattle, but today, I guess we're just roping bad guys instead. I know that Moonshine won't move an inch while I work to tie up the bad guy. I can hear people around me, either calling it into 911 or taping me on their phones, and I just know that I'm gonna hit the evening news.
Well hell, maybe more people will show up for the Madison Square Garden rodeo then, right? A bigger crowd is never a bad thing.
I trot on over to Jackass and pull the purse out of his hands.
"Slow down there, Paco," I tell him, holding my hands up toward him, trying to calm him down. "It's gonna be fine. Why don't you just sit there for a minute while the men in blue work their way over to–"
"You motherfucking asshole!" Sexy New York Girl yells, bursting into our circle.
And that's when she lets loose with the mace spray.
42
Carla
Panting, I finally catch up with Cowboy and Purse Snatcher, and damn, I can hardly breathe. I definitely need to do CrossFit more with the girls if running a couple of city blocks is kicking my ass like this.
Finally, air in my lungs, I grab my purse from the sidewalk – who, OMG, lays a Louis Vuitton down on the sidewalk? – and search frantically through it for my mace can. Gotcha!
Triumphantly, I pull it out and begin spraying it at the thief. I mean, yeah, sure, he's tied up and probs isn't going anywhere, but how can I know for sure? And anyway, he deserves it.
The cloud rose above us as I sprayed indiscriminately, the adrenaline pumping through my veins making it hard to aim. Or see straight.
"Whoa, little lady," the cowboy choked, waving his hat in the air, trying to push the mace away. "I think he ain't going anywhere. You can stop with the spraying."
The thief is rolling ar
ound on the ground in agony, which I figured was good enough for me. I stopped spraying and turned to the cowboy, ready to thank him for saving my life – or at least the life of my purse, which is close enough – when I hear his horse making noises.
I turn around, and that’s when I realize that it's awfully close, and awfully upset.
Eyes rolling, snorting with panic, it rears back on its hind legs, pawing the air with its hooves.
Oh god!
My life is flashing right in front of my eyes, I shit you not. If I had to guess how I'd die, never in a million years would I have guessed it'd be by a horse trampling me to death after it got too close to my mace cloud of doom.
Fucking hell, I'm out of here!
Clutching my purse to my chest like a precious child finally returned to its mother, I take off running down the street, panic thrumming through my veins.
43
Chase
I’m not normally one to moon over a girl, but ...
It’s been three days and I can’t get her out of my mind.
“How can I find her?” I ask Jason, staring into the whiskey in my hand. It’s 10 o’ clock in the morning, so should I be drinking already? Oh hell no.
Have I mentioned that I’m starting to go a little crazy? Yeah? ‘Cause it’s true.
“It’s New York City, Chase. There’s not a chance in hell that you’ll find her.”
Comforting words, as always. I have a real strong desire to lasso my friend to his chair and leave him there, but I can’t. That’d mean that I would have to drive the truck and horse trailer in this godawful traffic, and fuck that. I’m not doing that.
How do people live in New York? There’s just so many people, and I only want to be around one of them. Her blonde hair, her adorable feet in those cute ballet flats …
I’m back to staring morosely into my whiskey glass. God, I have it bad. Back in Texas, all the guys would laugh their asses off at me and my lovesick whining. I kinda feel like I deserve it right now, but it doesn’t mean I can do a thing about it.
“C’mon, we need to go down to the arena,” Jason says, pushing his bar stool away from the gleaming countertop and hopping down. “We have to go over the paperwork and plans with the lawyer and event planner today, remember? Fuck, who has the title of ‘event planner’? What does that even mean? That sounds a bit too much like wedding planner to me. When are they going to figure out that all we want to do is show up and wrestle a few steers to the ground?”
“I know. It’s like they think we care about where posters are hung up and ads are run. All I want is to ride my horse, catch some cows, and win some money.” With a heavy sigh, I toss back the rest of my whiskey. People who meet me often mistake me for a regular ol’ cowpoke – just someone who likes to wrestle rough stock around. And I do like it, and I do prefer it, but what they don’t see is that I have a small fortune amassed. I don’t like to brag or nothing, but my oil fields back in Texas will keep my pockets lined until the day I die.
I don’t need to do a damn thing for the rest of my life.
Which sounds as boring as shit.
So, I do rodeos and travel around the country ‘cause it’s damn fun. The adrenaline rush, the screaming crowds, pitting myself against competitors to see who’s the best – it’s what I love.
But planning meetings? Oh hell no. They’re what I abhor, and if I could clone myself and force my clone to attend them, I would. With one last longing look at the polished bar, Jason and I head out into the bright sunlight. It’s time to face my doom.
Or at least a committee full of people who don’t know the first thing about the difference between a steer and a calf.
Which is just about the same thing.
44
Carla
“Beeeeeccccccaaaaaa,” I whine.
God, I hate my whiny voice. I bet you Becca hates it even more. But I can’t help myself.
“I fucked it up. I fucked it all up. Me and my mace. Why do I think I need to carry mace, anyway?”
I prop my chin on my hand, staring off into the distance, remembering his dark brown hair, the way it curled over his forehead, and his gorgeous blue eyes.
A cowboy. A real life cowboy! Here, in New York City!
But it’s been three days, and I haven’t seen him since. It seems like I should’ve been able to run into him – surely a guy riding up the street on a horse would catch someone’s attention, right? – but all the videos on YouTube just show what happened on the street that day, when he’d saved me and more importantly, my Louis Vuitton purse. Nobody seems to know his name anymore than I do.
So, have I watched and re-watched those videos on YouTube? You betcha.
God, now I’m even starting to sound like a cowgirl! Pretty soon, I’m going to be chewing on straw and wearing overalls to work.
The thought makes me smile. At least something is making me smile.
“Well, he shouldn’t be hard to find, Carla. I mean, how many cowboys could there possibly be in New York City?”
“It isn’t that there’s so many to look through, it’s that I don’t know where to start looking!” I wail.
“Did someone say they’re looking for a cowboy?” Biff, our Rodeo Manager, asks, walking through the door to the conference room. In behind him, trails two cowboys.
Very handsome cowboys.
And one of them, I already know.
I stare in shock at his face, something I’d already memorized from hours of watching YouTube videos – the square chin, the cleft, the dark hair, the scruffy beard.
It’s him! Oh god, oh god, oh god, it’s him!
I’m not sure if I was going to faint from embarrassment or excitement…or both.
45
Chase
Biff introduces us to Becca, who is the lawyer for Madison Square Garden and has drawn up all of our contracts, and Carla Roman, the event planner for the MSG.
Carla.
I roll the name around in my head, loving the sound of it.
We stare at each other. I’m not sure who’s more surprised—her or I. She’s even more gorgeous than I remember, with her blonde hair, falling carelessly over her shoulders in waves. All I want to do is bury my hands in her hair.
Or my face in her tits.
Or my dick in her pussy.
I can feel my dick grow hard and I try to swallow the lust building inside of me. I can’t actually fuck her over the conference table, right?
Right?
My dick sure is begging me to.
Then we’re shaking hands, and I swear to God, I’ve touched an electric fence with my boots in a puddle. I’m surprised the lights don’t flicker from the sheer energy shooting up my arm. I’m holding onto her hand, not wanting to let go, and we’re just staring at each other, and finally, in some distant part of my brain, I hear a voice clearing.
Someone’s trying to get our attention.
I blink, slowly, and turn toward the sound, still holding onto Carla’s hand. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to quit touching Carla the Event Planner ever again.
I see Biff staring at me. When he catches my eye, he jerks his head toward Carla. Obviously, we can’t just keep shaking hands into eternity, although let’s be honest, my dick would like that…
And a whole lot more.
Reluctantly, slowly, I pull my hand away and let it drop to my side. We sit down at the conference table – thank God, finally something to help cover my erection – and then, Jason and Becca start into it. Surprised, I watch Jason begin to lay it on real thick with Becca.
“So how does a gorgeous lady like you get into a business like being a lawyer?”
I try not to roll my eyes. Could he be any more insulting while simultaneously trying to pick up on a girl? But thank God, Becca’s no wallflower.
“How’s a dumbass like you get to be at a negotiating table with me?” she asks archly.
“Oh, it’s all looks, baby, all looks.”
I do roll my eyes
at that one.
“Well, at least one of us got to this table by looks alone,” Becca shoots back.
I try to hide my grin. Oh yeah, Jason has definitely met his match with her. Usually, all the women fall all over themselves ‘cause they think he’s handsome, although if you ask me, his nose’s been broken one too many times for that to be true. But finally, here’s someone who will make him work for it.
About time.
I settle back into my chair and start into a staring contest with Carla, which I’ll admit, is quickly becoming one of my all-time favorite pastimes in just the past 15 seconds. As Becca and Jason try to see who can one-up the other and Biff tries, unsuccessfully, to get them to actually discuss anything useful, Carla and I engage in our own quiet battle of the wits.
I let my eyes run over her face, admiring her graceful eyebrows, her full pink lips, her adorable upturned nose. If I squint just right, I think I can spot a few freckles on that nose. I have to wonder if she gets them more when she’s been out in the sun.
Something I’d sure love to find out.
She’s staring right back at me, and I have to wonder what she sees; what she’s thinking. Has she noticed the scar over my right eyebrow yet, from when I got slammed into a fence post by an ornery bull? Does she hate cleft chins? Not everyone likes ‘em. I had one girlfriend ask me if I’d be willing to get plastic surgery done, to smooth out my jawline.
I want to shift in my chair. I want to smile at Carla. I want to wink at her.
I want to kiss her.
But I can’t ‘cause we’re still staring at each other and I swear to God, the light bulbs overhead are gonna burst any minute now.
