Page 5 of Cowboy

“Darlin’?” she mocks, grinning a little broader. “Seriously?”

“Don’t like that one? How about baby girl?”

“Oh no, not that one.” She laughs, and the tease in her tone tickles down my spine like a featherlight caress. My balls tighten, and I slide my hand down the exterior wall, bringing my body closer to her. Leaning in for her neck, I’ve never worked this fast before. I’m worrying I’m about to blow it as my nose glides up the side of her floral-scented skin, and I inhale.

“How about sweetheart?” I whisper, elongating the endearment as my lips brush the shell of her ear. Her breath catches, and her breasts heave, softly dragging against my shirt.

“That’ll work,” she whispers, and I slide my cheek against hers.

“Sweetheart it is, then,” I say, my exhale hitting her lips like a kiss. Only I’m ready for the real thing, so my mouth takes hers. She’s quick to respond, giving back to me what I’m giving her. Soft sucks and tender tugs, then tongues seek, and I’m pressing firmer against her. She tips her head as I’m quite a bit taller than her. Hands slip up my chest and around my neck, latching onto me, and she uses her elbows at my shoulders to leverage herself higher. The next thing I know, her legs are around my waist, and I have her pinned to the exterior wall.

“How about that bed?” she says against my mouth.

“Anything you want, sweetheart.”

Her lips smile against mine, and we return to kissing for another minute.

Yeah, I’ll be giving this woman anything—for one night and one night only.

3

Two Mornings After

Scarlett

“Well?” Rita asks, elongating the word and waiting on details. It’s been two days since my one-night stand, and I don’t know what to say.

“What do you want me to tell you?” I impishly ask, lifting my large coffee mug of dark roast. My eyes lower to the maple syrup walnut muffin on the marble coffee table before me. Rita and I sit on a plush peach couch in the Busy Bean Café, a local coffee house on the same property as The Gin Mill.

“Girl, I am living vicariously through you. Give me all the details,” Rita says with a good-natured laugh. I’d love to tell her everything, but for some reason, I won’t. I can’t tell her how Bull took me against the door, over a desk, and on the bed, twice. How his thick fingers, wicked mouth, and amazing penis brought me to climax five times in twelve hours. How looking at that maple muffin on the table reminds me of the maple syrup sample in my rental at the Green Rocks and how Bull used it on me, making me a human muffin of sorts. Or how I woke alone in the morning torn between satisfied and disheartened.

“It was . . . fun.”

“Fun?” Rita sputters, spraying a bit of her black coffee from her lips. “Going to knitting club is fun. Listening to kids laugh is fun. Watching a hockey game is fun. Bull Eaton is not fun. That hunk of a man is seriously hot and hung. I mean, I imagine he’s hung. I have no idea if he is, but he has to be. His name is Bull.” Rita’s voice rises in exasperation at my lack of facts, causing me to laugh.

Rita is my oldest friend. We met in college and formed an instant connection with one another. I hate that life got in the way for both of us after graduation, meaning we haven’t seen as much of each other in the past two decades. I’ve missed her. In a weird fluke of the cosmos, she called me on the day my life crumbled, and I’m so grateful I answered the phone. It’s like some higher power knew I needed a friend, and there Rita was, encouraging me to come to Vermont to visit her.

“Would you keep your voice down?” I chuckle again, looking over my shoulder. The Busy Bean Café is a quaint establishment. Quirky and eclectic, it’s the definition of fun. The place has large, leaded glass windows overlooking the Winooski River, wide pinewood floors, and walls in a warm brick color. Heavy beams painted in black chalkboard paint are decorated with cartoon figures of coffee drinks and sayings like “May the odds be ever in your flavor.” Cute pun. Furniture like this plush peach couch is just a part of the novel collection of tables, chairs, and easy furniture arranged for maximum socializing. The coffee bar itself is topped with a thick zinc counter and holds a glass display case with various pastries. It’s wacky, warm, and wonderful in here.

“Look, if I can’t live through you, what is the purpose of my life?” Rita teases. While that might have been true when I had the lush apartment, the sexy husband, and the energizing job, it’s no longer the case. No one wants to live through me, not even me.

“You don’t think badly of me?” I hesitate. “I mean, it’s only been a week since I left Boston.” While I probably should feel a little more guilt that I so easily slept with a virtual stranger one week after leaving my husband, I don’t. He slept with someone else first, but it’s not as easy as tit for tat. Shelton and I have been distant for longer than I was willing to recognize. The reality of our waning closeness has weighed heavily on my mind this past week.

“Girl, I would never think badly of you. We all make decisions for a variety of reasons. Falling into bed with a hunky man doesn’t seem like the worst to me. You deserve a reckless night once in a while.”

“But I’m still married,” I remind her.

“Which your husband seemed to have forgotten long before the other night.” Rita’s correct, and my guilt subsides a little more. There’s no reconciliation in sight for Shelton and me. I don’t want to go back to who we were or who I was.

“What I really want to know is when will you see Bull again?” Rita asks.

“I won’t.” I shrug. Bull was more than fun but waking up without his number was a good reminder I’m not really a one-night stand kind of girl. On the other hand, I’m not looking for a relationship that involves any kind of commitment.

“Why not?”

“He didn’t leave me his number.”

Rita stares at me, blinking behind red-framed eyeglasses. They’re fun. “He didn’t leave his number?” Rita’s expression matches her incredulous voice.