by Mona Cox
Table of Contents
Description
Also by Mona Cox
Dirty Lil’ Angels
Carla
Chase
Epi
Preview - Lisa Vs. Outlaw!
Lisa
Carla Vs. Cowboy
Mona Cox
Naughty Angel Publishing
Contents
Description
Also by Mona Cox
Dirty Lil’ Angels
1. Carla
2. Chase
3. Carla
4. Chase
5. Carla
6. Chase
7. Carla
8. Carla
9. Carla
10. Chase
11. Carla
12. Chase
13. Carla
14. Chase
15. Carla
16. Chase
17. Carla
18. Epi
Preview - Lisa Vs. Outlaw!
Lisa
Also by Mona Cox
Dirty Lil’ Angels
Carla Vs. Cowboy
By Mona Cox
Copyright 2017 by Naughty Angel Publishing
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work is intended for adults only.
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Description
I’m being totally serious when I say I’m gonna ride my cowboy into the sunset…
But does he like me?
I can’t tell.
Is he willing to go the distance?
He swoops in on his horse and rescues me whenever I get into trouble. But will he stick around?
Or will he just go off one morning.
He’s not like any other guy I’ve ever met.
I mean, he’s a cowboy. In New York City. That alone makes him unique, ya know?
All I know is that if he stays, then he’s my lobster.
I would be so freakin’ happy. It’s no question I’d ride on his “saddle” all day till the sun goes down. And straight through to sunrise. And then sunset again.
Geez…I'd need a horse after that because I won’t be able to walk.
*** It's the cute single girl versus the cowboy in this seventh installment from Mona Cox. Guaranteed to be sweet, sassy, steamy, and fun. No cheating or cliffhangers. Happily Ever After? Always, babe ***
Also by Mona Cox
Alicia Vs. Billionaire
Ashley Vs. Boss
Natalie Vs. Prince
Christine Vs. Professor
Kim Vs. Stepbrother
Lisa Vs. Outlaw
Dedicated to chopped liver. She knows who she is…
Dirty Lil’ Angels
Hi ladies!
If you’re like me, once you finish, you’re not going to want the story to end!
To receive exclusive sneak peeks, (before anyone else!), bonus content not seen anywhere else, giveaways, and tons more swag, visit me and my Naughty Angels on Facebook at Dirty Lil’ Angels.
We’ll make it worth your while…
:)
Alexis
1
Carla
I sip my Long Island Iced Tea, glancing out over the city. Even though it isn't nighttime, and really, that's when 230 5th Avenue is the most breathtaking, the view is still awesome. Who wouldn't love sitting in a rooftop garden, the city stretching out in every direction?
Can I just say, it’s way cooler than listening to Lisa and Ashley drool over their boyfriends, and their ginormous engagement rings that astronauts are probably checking out right now. I have to wonder if they’re going to get armed guards to follow them around and protect them from thieves. Those fuckers are massive.
I’m not jealous … just a little worried about someone jabbing an eye out. I mean, talk about a safety hazard!
Not able to stand another minute of their gushing, I finally blurt out, "So I went out on a date last night!" They quit comparing engagement rings long enough to turn and look at me.
Finally.
"It was a bust, though," I admit, taking another sip of the tea, letting the pungent alcohol soothe my nerves. Really, who could expect to be happy after such a date?
"Awww ... honey. What happened?" Ashley takes a sip of her drink, her ring flashing in the sunlight. We were under an umbrella, blocking out direct sunlight, and of course I had on my Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses, but still, the light seemed damn bright to me.
I ignore it. I can't exactly ask Ashley to take off her ring—her symbol of her undying, eternal love for her CEO. Blech. How boring is that? I can't imagine loving a CEO. I might as well fall in love with a banker.
I am not falling in love with a banker.
"Well, I met him at Flash Factory – you know, that dance club over on West 28th Street? Anyway, he was pretty hot and heavy with me all night, bragging about how big his dick was, and then we go back to my place, and ... you guys." My voice breaks with disgust. "His dick was three inches long! I've never seen such a pathetic thing in my life!"
They just bust up laughing and the alcohol in the Long Island Iced Tea allows me to relax enough to laugh, too. It's funny. Now. Twelve hours later.
At the time? Not so much.
"So he's one of those real dicks–" they start laughing again so hard, I have to shout over them, "who won't even go down on a girl," and of fucking course, they stop laughing abruptly, trying to hear what I'm saying, so I end up shouting that into the hustle and bustle of the restaurant. Everyone stops.
Dead silence.
All eyes on me.
I close my eyes, doing my best ostrich imitation, but only if an ostrich can turn about seven shades of red.
What.
Ever.
Finally, the restaurant employees and customers resume their own lives, chatting, and laughing, and working, and my eyes spring open. Leaning forward, I shout whisper, "So he's refusing to go down on me, and I'm not about to touch that ... thing, so there we are in bed, and like, what the fuck was I supposed to do with him then? I threw him out, told him not to come back, and then I had to finish the night with a good round of Slick."
"Slick?" Ashley asks, befuddled. "Who's Slick?"
"My 8-inch dildo, remember?" I say, reminding her. We'd all gone dildo shopping together. She'd been there when I'd bought my best friend. Surely she remembers.
"Oh, right! I forgot. I haven't used mine in so long; I forgot about him. What did I name him...?" She's staring off into space, trying to remember, and all I want to do is throw my drink at her head. I mean, not that I'd waste a perfectly good drink like that, but c'mon. Did she have to rub it in?
"My outlaw's dick is ... perfect," Lisa sighed happily. "Have I showed you the picture of it yet?" She digs out her phone and flips through it, looking for the pic in question. I have to admit, I want to see it, if only to give myself something to fantasize about tonight.
"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?
2
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.
3
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 around 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.
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.
4
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?”
