My Coyote Ugly Life

by Jessica Spoon

  “Well, it’s getting late, we all better head out and let you get settled,” my dad says standing up; everyone else following suit.

  I walk up to him and give him a hug, “Thanks, Dad. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, sis,” he wraps her arms tight around me and kisses the top of my head.

  I don’t care how old you are, nothing is better than having a hug from your father. No matter what mistakes you make in life, his arms are always there waiting.

  I hug my mom next, “Thanks for everything.”

  “I’ll come by tomorrow,” she says looking at me, “Go to Gert’s and get some rolls. We’ll have coffee, catch up and unpack some boxes.”

  “Sure thing, Mom,” I answer her.

  Wyatt gives me a manly one-armed hug around my neck, pulling me into his chest, “See ya later, pia,” he tells me.

  Pia is his nickname for me, in case you couldn’t tell.

  No, it’s not some exotic cute little pet name that a big brother gives his little sister to show how much he loves her.

  It is simply PIA.

  Pain In the Ass.

  See? Love. In its most basic form.

  He’s been calling me that since he was twelve and I was nine, and since we weren’t allowed to say things like ‘ass’ he simply called me ‘pia’. Our parents, their friends, aunts and uncles all thought it was so adorable for Wyatt to give his baby sister a nickname; especially since it sounds Spanish or Italian. I couldn’t even tattle on him (and believe me I would have) because I would have been in more trouble for cursing than he would have for abbreviating it. My dad probably would have said, ‘Way to be creative and innovative, son.’ But I have my ways.

  “See ya, burro,” I respond to him.

  Burro equals jackass for those of you that don’t know.

  Hey! I was nine, my best comeback before burro was ‘na-na, na-na foo foo’.

  “Bye, Abbey. Take care of baby Elle,” I tell her patting her tummy after I give her a hug.

  “Okay, Ree,” she laughs.

  I will get her to name this child Elle. Somebody has to name a baby after me! And they obviously can’t use my first name!

  They all get in their vehicles and take off leaving me alone in my awesome new home.

  I pick up our empty bottles and glasses and walk back into the house. When you enter the door you walk into a small foyer. It has

  a closet for coats and shoes and a key rack by the door and a little bench to sit on to take your shoes off.

  You walk further into the house, down a hallway and on the left is a day room, that I will be using as my office. You walk out of the hallway and there is another hallway down the left that leads to my bedroom and master bath. To the right is the hallway to the two spare bedrooms and a bath.

  If you keep going straight from the foyer, you walk into the family room (which also has a door to my bedroom). There is a half wall that separates the family room from the dining room and kitchen.

  I love my kitchen.

  Dark oak cabinets, dark brown (almost black) granite counter tops and an island in the center that holds the sink and dishwasher with bar stools on the opposite side. Off the kitchen, there is a short hallway that has a door to the utility room and one to the garage. Off the dining room is the stairs, which lead up to a large recreational room and another bathroom. I haven’t decided what to do with that room yet. For now it is just storage.

  Out back is the patio (large patio). There is a sliding door from my bedroom that leads to it and a regular stained glass door from the dining room.

  After I dispose of the bottles and place the glasses in the dishwasher, I refill my glass and head out to the patio. I had bought special furniture for this spectacular patio. There is a six by six foot section of the patio covered by a slatted roof and under that I placed a set of black wicker, olive green cushion couch and two chairs. There is a wicker coffee table with a glass top with two matching end stands. On the uncovered portion of the patio I placed a table and chairs set. There are eight chairs that are a black steel with the same color of olive green cushions. The table is black with a glass top and it has an olive green umbrella that comes up from the center.

  I make my way over to the couch and have a seat, enjoying the evening air.

  Life really doesn’t get much better than this…

  ChapterThree

  Fiery Poop Sack

  “Hello?” I answer the phone, my voice muffled from my face being shoved in my pillow.

  “Ree, honey?” my mother asks.

  “Yeah?” I lift my head up and look at the clock; it’s eight o’clock. “Oh, shit,” I jump up out of bed, throwing my covers back in the process. “Sorry Mom. I overslept. Give me twenty minutes before you head into town okay?” I rush around the room taking my shorts and tank off as I go (which isn’t easy to do with a phone attached to your ear) and run into the bathroom, turning the water on.

  “Okay, sweetie. I’ll see you soon, love you.”

  “Love you, too. Bye.” I throw the phone on the counter and jump in the shower.

  After the fastest shower in recorded Ree History, I throw on a pair of jean shorts, a turquoise tank top and brown leather flip flops. I throw my wet hair up into a messy knot and head out the door, grabbing my purse out of the foyer closet.

  Rather than drive I decide to take the short walk up to Gert’s Cakes to get some cinnamon rolls for Mom and me. I walk through the doors after a few minutes of power walking and smile.

  Big.

  Ah, I love that nothing here has changed.

  “Well, butter my buns and call me a biscuit!” My head whips to the left to see Gertrude Longhorn standing up and throwing her arms up in the air. “If it isn’t my little Azaria, finally home! Get over here you little shit!”

  I go running over to her and wrap my arms around her; giving her a kiss on the cheek in the process. Gertrude Longhorn is one of my favorite people in the whole freaking world. She’s in her seventies now, I think, with long gray hair that she twists up into a

  bun on top of her head. She’s thin and about an inch shorter than me. She not only makes the best baked goods in the continental U.S. (she also saved my ass numerous times from run ins with the law).

  I was a bit of a wild child back in the day and I liked to see how far I could push my limits. Nothing horrible, just regular kid things such as joyriding, underage drinking, Fiery Poop Sack (you know, when you place a bag of dog feces on someone’s porch, light it on fire, ring the bell and run like hell? Yeah… not one of my proudest moments), trespassing… the usual things kids in a small town do for fun. No, we didn’t go cow tipping. I have never done it, nor has anyone that I know.

  Well, luckily, for me, Gertrude loved me for some reason and always covered for me. She’d say I was with her learning how to bake cookies, pies, bread, or whatever else she thought of at the time. She said she liked my ‘spunk’ and I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Chief Herby and his army of Badass Belton PD officers back then hated me, I’m pretty sure, because I always had the sweet old bakery lady as my alibi.

  “Gertrude! I’ve missed you so much!” I tell her after I let her go.

  “Honey, how many times do I have to tell you? Call me Gert,” she tells me with a nudge from one of her knobby elbows, just like she always tells me when I say her name.

  “Why would I do a thing like that? Gertrude is much prettier. Gert sounds like a fart,” I give her my usual response.

  She laughs, “Alright, alright. What are you having today?”

  “I need some cinnamon rolls for Mom and me,” I say as we walk up to the counter.

  “Getting everything unpacked?”

  “The big things are done. Mom and I are working on the smaller stuff today.”

  “Good. I suppose you’re in a hurry too?” she asks me with a smile as she places a half dozen cinnamon rolls in a box.

  “I am,” I smile back with a wink, “I’m always in a hurry, Gertr
ude.”

  She throws her head back and laughs, “Don’t I know it! Girl, when are you ever going to slow down?” she asks looking back at me. “Are you gonna settle down, now that you’re back home?”

  “Pfft,” I wave my hand at her, “You know that’s not me.”

  “I know it,” she says shaking her head. She looks up and behind me for a brief moment, smiles (probably thinking about the past) and continues to ring me up. “Alright dear, ten dollars.” I set my purse on the counter, pull out my wallet, give her the ten and put another five in the tip jar. She scolds me with a look.

  “Don’t,” I hold up my hand to cut her off, “I can afford it. I’ve grown up. A little.” I wink at her.

  “If you say so,” she laughs.

  I put my wallet back in my purse, place my hands on the counter and lift myself up so that I can lean over it and give her a kiss on the cheek, just like I used to as a kid. There really is something to be said for going home.

  “See ya around, Ree,” she tells me while handing me the box.

  I take it from her, reply, “See ya,” and turn around to walk out.

  “Urmph,” I grunt out as I run smack into someone, face- planting in their chest because I was more worried about saving the rolls. “Sorr-,” I begin to say and cut myself off as my brain registers the police badge that is pinned to the chest of the individual I face-planted into.

  Fuck.

  Shit, fuck, fuck, fuckity, shit-fuck!

  My heart rate kicks up a notch and my skin turns electric as my body starts to freak out; knowing, this is when it’s time to run.

  “Erm… sorry,” I raise my head slowly, dreading looking at the guy, “officer…” my words trail off, not because I’m speechless, but because I can’t breathe.

  Did you hear me?

  I.

  Can’t.

  Breathe!

  Why can’t I breathe?

  Because I know this guy! Omigod, omigod, omigod!

  “Azaria,” he says my name in a deep rumbly voice that washes over my skin, making me feel like fairies are dancing all over my body in jubilation, such is the epic-ness that is his voice.

  He leans his head down (way down, because he is so much taller than me), I look up and notice a halo form around his face from the sun shining in the window, his caramel colored eyes flash with amusement as his perfect lips form a half smile. I suck in a breath. (Yep. I’m a fan of the half smile. Sign me up, for I would love to have that mouth smiling against some very intimate areas of my body.)

  Oh, my God, he smells so good. My body, completely of its own accord (I swear!) moves closer to him, making it easier to get a better whiff of whatever body wash it is that makes me want to take a chunk out of him with my teeth. My ‘gina begins to quiver; the walls vibrating with fury at not having him the other night.

  His head moves to the side of mine where he whispers, “I missed you the other morning.” Holy donkey nuts his voice is sexy.

  Oh. My. God.

  This can’t be happening. Nope. Not happening.

  No way.

  “O- officer,” I stumble over my words trying to think of something to say, and reminding myself that this, after all, is a cop.

  Not just any cop, of course.

  Nooo…

  According to his nameplate he is ‘Chief Cole’. Are you kidding me!? Why couldn’t he just be a gentleman and ignore the whole situation like a normal American!? No, he goes straight for it. Don’t hold back.

  Jerk.

  There, I think as I start to get a bit pissed. Now I’m getting somewhere. He is a jerk. A big jerky jerk. (I know, really mature. Bite me! This guy is sex on a freaking stick and my comebacks are lacking!) I take back everything I thought about him being a gentleman the other night at the bar and decide he is just a normal guy who thinks he can make an example of me for walking out on him.

  Well. He has another thing coming…

  I stand up a bit straighter and he lifts his head to look at me; his eyes still dancing with humor. Yeah. Real funny, jerkface!

  Okay, now how do I play this? I obviously can’t use the whole ‘Do I know you?’ routine. My ‘gina quiver made sure of that. I can’t just walk out and ignore him… Can I? Hmm…

  I don’t think, I’m capable of pulling off the whole ‘Show- respect-to-the-officer-because-I’ve-had-too-many-run-ins-with- the-law-and-I’m-a-bad-person’ routine either.

  Okay. Well, that only leaves one option.

  I step back, straighten my purse on my shoulder, get a better grip on my box of rolls and look him straight in the eye (with a polite, yet detached voice and face) and say, “Chief Cole. Nice to see you again.”

  And, ever so elegantly, I step around him and head out the door.

  Whew! Close one.

  “Azaria, wait.”

  Shit. He followed me outside! Now what do I do?

  Keep walking.

  Yep. Just… keep… walking.

  “Ree,” he says as his fingers wrap around my upper arm, halting my awesome walking away skills.

  He turns me around to look at him and I do a quick peripheral scan of the area to see how many onlookers we have to what is about to go down; not many. Yet.

  “Did you really just walk away from me… again?” he asks astonished.

  “Did it look like I walked away from you?” I ask, feeling a bit like a society snooty bitch and deciding to go with it.

  I notice a few people start to come out onto the sidewalks to see what is going on. Great. Well, they were bound to learn that I moved back sometime. May as well give them the show that they expect from me.

  “Yeah. It did,” his voice and face are completely serious.

  “Oh, well. Then I guess I did,” I shrug my shoulders and smile at him, this time sounding more like a dingbat valley girl.

  Someone call the shrink! Chief Cole is giving Ree Dissociative Identity Disorder!

  “Seriously?” he asks me with a furrowed brow, his hand still wrapped around my arm.

  “Yep,” I answer, nodding my head once.

  He closes his eyes slowly and I start to freak out. That is totally Cop Move 24!

  I slept with a man who uses Cop Move 24!

  I started to number the police’s collective habits when I was in school. It ranges from growling ‘young lady’ to ‘Do you know how fast you were going?’ to the ‘ol arms crossed and torso leaned back maneuver.

  “Azaria-,” he begins.

  “Ree,” I correct him.

  His eyes open and he looks back down at me, smiling again.

  Oh shit.

  “Ree,” he says, his voice low and oh-so-very freaking seductive.

  This is totally his panty dropping voice. Just a quirk of the lip and a quick line said in this voice and the bitches be throwing thongs at him and shit.

  I swallow hard, “Chief.”

  His smile deepens and he slowly runs his hand very deliberately down my arm until he encloses my hand in his.

  Is he-?

  He’s holding my hand!

  No. I don’t do hand holding. It’s too affectionate.

  I pull my hand out of his- well I try to. His grip tightens and he moves closer to me.

  I take a step back.

  He takes a step forward.

  I take another step back and he moves with me.

  “Ree, stop,” he orders me gently.

  “You can’t order me around,” I inform him. “I’m not breaking the law. I don’t have to listen to you. I have rights you know!” I yell out with a high pitched voice, starting to feel a bit hysterical. He won’t let go of me!

  I turn my head and note that Max Dunson, owner of The Grind (the new coffee house), is standing outside his door and shaking his head laughing; not even trying to be discreet about it. Nope. Just out and out laughing.

  I look back at Chief Cole and see he is laughing silently at me, his eyes roaming over my face.

  “Don’t you laugh at me, Chief Cole,” I say his name l
ikes it’s dirty. And oh, how I would love to get dirty with him.

  No!

  “You can’t make me stay here,” I say firmly.

  He yanks my hand lightly, bringing me closer to him and dropping his face closer to mine. I pull my lips together between my teeth and I make a little squeaky noise at the shock of it.

  “Do you want me to pull out the cuffs?” he asks, his eyes flashing with humorous seduction, making it obviously clear that he would very much like to.

  “Wh- what!” I scream, jumping back (but still not breaking away from his hand. Dammit). “That’s unlawful imprisonment! Cruel and unusual punishment!” I have no idea what I’m talking about really. I think I’m right, but I don’t know the law; I’m just hoping to make enough of a scene to get him to leave me alone, now.

  “Baby, trust me,” his eyes smolder, his voice remains quiet and controlled, he moves closer to me again and I have literally never been more turned on in my life. (Do you have any idea how hard it is to hold back a moan in front of this man?) His head drops and his mouth moves to my ear, his lips brushing against it, his tongue grazing against my skin while he says, “You would find nothing cruel about the way I would imprison you.”

  Oh my God.

  My ‘gina throbs sending a message to my, now, short circuited brain, “Get the penis! The penis is good!”

  I’m pretty sure the ‘gina quiver is about to turn into a full blown seizure.

  Fuck the shrink! Call the paramedics!

  “I have to go,” I breathe out, sounding weak and exactly like the pool of horny teenage that my body has become. I feel him smile against my skin.

  “Okay. I’ll walk with you,” he says, gripping my hand tighter and straightening away from me.

  The synapses in my brain finally start to function appropriately again and I tell him, “That’s fine. I can make it.” Thank God my voice went back to normal.

  “I’ll walk you,” his voice is firm and unyielding.

  “Fine. Do,” I snap and march off. He keeps up with me easily and moves his hand from mine, placing it on the small of my back. Why? Why does he have to go there? And why does a man placing his hand there cause women to get the urge to throw themselves at men and hump their leg. (That would be their third leg.)