Page 44 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

“I’m proud of you. I hope you know how much I admire you.” She changes the subject abruptly. “I know you were struggling this spring, but you seem to be doing much better.”

She’s right. I take inventory of my plate and find I’ve eaten nearly everything without consciously lifting each bite to my mouth, forcing myself to chew and swallow.

Between the twenty-four seven showing of Connor Dicks Down Delilah my imagination’s concocted, and distracting myself from said film, I ate my entire lunch without a thought. My pork green chili is dregs in the bottom of the bowl.

“Thanks Liv.”

“Let’s blow this pop stand and go to the glitter factory. Lucky Spurs Ranch has a special blend of horsehair and hay bits with our names on it.”

I allow myself to check my phone once we’re on the road. Olivia is performing a one-woman Broadway show in the driver’s seat, so I’m safe to indulge my masochism.

Studmuffin: You should’ve seen this huge ass elk today. It was as big as my truck!

Studmuffin: Thanks for picking up those drinks I like from the market.

Studmuffin: Our song was on the radio today.

I close my eyes and let the notes and lyrics of our song crash over me like a wave.

As long as old men sit and talk about the weather. As long as old women sit and talk about old men.

Maybe it’s strange two little kids latched on to a country ballad about endless devotion. But it spoke to us. It tugged on my heartstrings in an inexplicable way and wove itself into the fabric of my being. I’ll eternally think of my life with Connor every time I hear our song.

Me: Must’ve been a big elk. Pics or it didn’t happen.

Me: And you’re welcome. They were in the cooler by the register so I grabbed as many as I could carry.

Me: Forever and ever, right Connor?

Studmuffin: Right, doll. Forever and ever, amen.

Me: I miss you.

Three dots bounce on my screen and my heart stops beating, waiting for his reply. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. But I do miss him, terribly.

The dots stop dancing. The pavement gives way to dirt road and the bumps beneath the tires reminding me what I should be focusing on. My education. My career.

I may not ever have the love of my life—so this dream will have to be enough.

“You useless piece of shit!” The good for nothing gigantic blue dildo thuds against the wall before sadly wiggling around on the floor. I didn’t turn it off before my orgasm-denied temper tantrum. My purple pal never let me down like this.

Unsatisfied and pissed off, I turn the damn thing off and throw it into my underwear drawer.

I cover my sweat dampened skin with a light dress and throw my pillow ruffled hair into a top knot. A few muttered curses and my sandals accompany me out the door and into the blazing summer sun.

Do you know why summer is the most miserable, godforsaken season of the year? While children are frolicking around in swimsuits, and adults are enjoying the bright Rocky Mountain sunshine, I’m taking cold showers and leaving half-moon scars in the palms of my hands from how tight I clench my fists.

Everyone has their thing, and my thing has always undoubtably been Connor. Connor’s eyes. Connor’s lips. Connor’s laugh. Connor’s touch.

But summer is a real bitch because she brings the most tempting version of my thing out to play.

You know those douchey shirts the gym bros wear? The tank tops that’ve been cut to reveal every rib, or the T-shirts with the sleeves cut off, split nearly the bottom hem. Like, why bother wearing a shirt at all when the entire world can see your useless man-nipples.

The PROBLEM is that on Connor, those shirts aren’t douchey at all. They’re like the most expensive La Perla lingerie money can buy, made specifically for my tatted-up, muscles chiseled from hard labor, golden as a god, best fucking friend.

His arms are always out to play. I have a front row seat to the gun show every time I open my eyes. Droplets of sweat drip down his ribs into his low-slung jeans. I want to trace their salty path with my tongue.

My god, what’s wrong with me? Women complain about being objectified, but my lizard brain can’t do anything but objectify my best friend.