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"You motherfucking asshole!" Sexy New York Girl yells, bursting into our circle.
And that's when she lets loose with the mace spray.
42
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 ar
ound 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.
Fucking hell, I'm out of here!
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.
43
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?”
“I know. It’s like they think we care about where posters are hung up and ads are run. All I want is to ride my horse, catch some cows, and win some money.” With a heavy sigh, I toss back the rest of my whiskey. People who meet me often mistake me for a regular ol’ cowpoke – just someone who likes to wrestle rough stock around. And I do like it, and I do prefer it, but what they don’t see is that I have a small fortune amassed. I don’t like to brag or nothing, but my oil fields back in Texas will keep my pockets lined until the day I die.
I don’t need to do a damn thing for the rest of my life.
