“Baby, you gotta listen to me”—hiccup—“she means nothing to me. I dunno what I was thinkin’. I wasn’t thinkin’—”
“Yes, you were,” I said, stepping out of the car into the chilly evening air and taking in my surroundings. The sun was setting behind the pines, washing the Tennessee sky in pink and orange hues. “You were just thinking with the head between your legs versus the one on your shoulders.”
“Never again,” he slurred. “Never, ever again, Josie. Starting right now, I’m your man and your man only.”
I stepped inside the store, ignoring the bell as it jingled overhead. The clerk looked up from their phone, mumbling a hello before turning their attention back to their doom scroll. My shoes stuck to the floor as I hunted the aisles for junk food and energy drinks. I hadn’t slept in well over twenty-four hours, and I was still at least two hours from the cabin.
“Honestly, Wyatt… You should have ‘been my man’ since the beginning. I shouldn’t have to catch you with your dick in someone else for you to have an epiphany about our relationship.”
“No, I swear it. You’re the one for me. You’re it. I wanna get married.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh from bubbling up as I reached into the fridge and grabbed two energy drinks. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen. Let’s just call it, okay? We gave it a shot and?—”
“But your dad was going to sponsor me in the upcoming season…”
The words were a shot to my chest, sending my heart crashing into the pit of my stomach. Of course, it all boiled down to a stupid sponsorship. Wyatt didn’t regret cheating on me. He didn’t regret getting caught. It was all about losing what I assumed was a large chunk of money.
As a retired world champion team roper, my dad made a name for himself through horse training. People had traveled from allover the country to attend his clinics, and his stables were always full of yearlings in need of a guiding hand.
And since his name still held significant weight on the rodeo circuit, having his endorsement could’ve catapulted Wyatt’s already budding career into something he could only dream of.
Too bad the cheating bastard would never see a dime of my dad’s money now.
I added four bags of chips and a bag of mini SweeTarts to my haul and took it to the counter. The cashier looked just as bored as they had when I walked in, putting their phone down with a sigh before scanning each item.
“Well, maybe you should have thought about that before you fucked Trisha Lawson out in the open for God and all his children to see.”
He tried pleading with me, but I didn’t listen.
“Have a nice life, Wyatt.”
I hung up, quickly cursing myself for my stupidity. The clerk stared with wide eyes and a slack jaw, their hand outstretched, my bag hanging between us.
“Cowboys,” I mumbled before swiping the food and heading back to the safety of my car.
lincoln
. . .
“How about another round, stud?”The blonde standing in front of me placed her hands flat on the bar top, trying and failing to push her tits together as she gave me a saccharine sweet smile.
Was that supposed to be alluring? I guess for some men, it was, but I’d done this job for a long time. This woman was on the prowl, looking for someone to show her a good time.
Unfortunately for her, that wasn’t going to be me.
“Sure thing. What’ll you have?” I asked, pulling out a line of glasses and filling them with ice.
She tapped her long, manicured finger against her lips in thought. I didn’t know who she was trying to fool, but it wasn’t me. She’d been sipping on vodka and cranberry juice all night, one of the most basic drink requests I could think of.
My dad always said you could tell a lot about a woman based on her drink of choice. I used to laugh him off because there were a lot of reasons for people to drink weird shit. Hell, every now and then, even I enjoyed a fruity little cocktail over a beer.
But working at this run-down bar in the middle of nowhereopened my eyes to the truth. I realized I’d spent too much time chasing after the vodka cranberry women over ones who knew how to shoot their whiskey.
As if on cue, the woman turned over her shoulder to the rowdy group of girls in the corner. “Who wants another vodka cran?” She was met with a chorus of cheers, and I smiled as I grabbed the bottle of clear liquor and began to pour.
They all wore bright pink sashes with different sayings in gold glittering letters. I couldn’t tell if it was a birthday celebration or maybe just a bunch of girls from the city running away to the mountains to “find themselves” at some kind of bullshit yoga retreat the hippies up there like to put on.
The woman, little missSexy & Singleaccording to the words across her chest, turned back and slid her card across the sticky bar top when I told her the total. “Can I start a tab?”
