by Mona Cox
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.
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.
34
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.
Which sounds as boring as shit.
So, I do rodeos and travel around the country ‘cause it’s damn fun. The adrenaline rush, the screaming crowds, pitting myself against competitors to see who’s the best – it’s what I love.
But planning meetings? Oh hell no. They’re what I abhor, and if I could clone myself and force my clone to attend them, I would. With one last longing look at the polished bar, Jason and I head out into the bright sunlight. It’s time to face my doom.
Or at least a committee full of people who don’t know the first thing about the difference between a steer and a calf.
Which is just about the same thing.
35
Carla
“Beeeeeccccccaaaaaa,” I whine.
God, I hate my whiny voice. I bet you Becca hates it even more. But I can’t help myself.
“I fucked it up. I fucked it all up. Me and my mace. Why do I think I need to carry mace, anyway?”
I prop my chin on my hand, staring off into the distance, remembering his dark brown hair, the way it curled over his forehead, and his gorgeous blue eyes.
A cowboy. A real life cowboy! Here, in New York City!
But it’s been three days, and I haven’t seen him since. It seems like I should’ve been able to run into him – surely a guy riding up the street on a horse would catch someone’s attention, right? – but all the videos on YouTube just show what happened on the street that day, when he’d saved me and more importantly, my Louis Vuitton purse. Nobody seems to know his name anymore than I do.
So, have I watched and re-watched those videos on YouTube? You betcha.
God, now I’m even starting to sound like a cowgirl! Pretty soon, I’m going to be chewing on straw and wearing overalls to work.
The thought makes me smile. At least something is making me smile.
“Well, he shouldn’t be hard to find, Carla. I mean, how many cowboys could there possibly be in New York City?”
“It isn’t that there’s so many to look through, it’s that I don’t know where to start looking!” I wail.
“Did someone say they’re looking for a cowboy?” Biff, our Rodeo Manager, asks, walking through the door to the conference room. In behind him, trails two cowboys.
Very handsome cowboys.
And one of them, I already know.
I stare in shock at his face, something I’d already memorized from hours of watching YouTube videos – the square chin, the cleft, the dark hair, the scruffy beard.
It’s him! Oh god, oh god, oh god, it’s him!
I’m not sure if I was going to faint from embarrassment or excitement…or both.
36
Chase
Biff introduces us to Becca, who is the lawyer for Madison Square Garden and has drawn up all of our contracts, and Carla Roman, the event planner for the MSG.
Carla.
I roll the name around in my head, loving the sound of it.
We stare at each other. I’m not sure who’s more surprised—her or I. She’s even more gorgeous than I remember, with her blonde hair, falling carelessly over her shoulders in waves. All I want to do is bury my hands in her hair.
Or my face in her tits.
Or my dick in her pussy.
I can feel my dick grow hard and I try to swallow the lust building inside of me. I can’t actually fuck her over the conference table, right?
Right?
My dick sure is begging me to.
Then we’re shaking hands, and I swear to God, I’ve touched an electric fence with my boots in a puddle. I’m surprised the lights don’t flicker from the sheer energy shooting up my arm. I’m holding onto her hand, not wanting to let go, and we’re just staring at each other, and finally, in some distant part of my brain, I hear a voice clearing.
Someone’s trying to get our attention.
I blink, slowly, and turn toward the sound, still holding onto Carla’s hand. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to quit touching Carla the Event Planner ever again.
I see Biff staring at me. When he catches my eye, he jerks his head toward Carla. Obviously, we can’t just keep shaking hands into eternity, although let’s be honest, my dick would like that…
And a whole lot more.
Reluctantly, slowly, I pull my hand away and let it drop to my side. We sit down at the conference table – thank God, finally something to help cover my erection – and t
hen, Jason and Becca start into it. Surprised, I watch Jason begin to lay it on real thick with Becca.
“So how does a gorgeous lady like you get into a business like being a lawyer?”
I try not to roll my eyes. Could he be any more insulting while simultaneously trying to pick up on a girl? But thank God, Becca’s no wallflower.
“How’s a dumbass like you get to be at a negotiating table with me?” she asks archly.
“Oh, it’s all looks, baby, all looks.”
I do roll my eyes at that one.
“Well, at least one of us got to this table by looks alone,” Becca shoots back.
I try to hide my grin. Oh yeah, Jason has definitely met his match with her. Usually, all the women fall all over themselves ‘cause they think he’s handsome, although if you ask me, his nose’s been broken one too many times for that to be true. But finally, here’s someone who will make him work for it.
About time.
I settle back into my chair and start into a staring contest with Carla, which I’ll admit, is quickly becoming one of my all-time favorite pastimes in just the past 15 seconds. As Becca and Jason try to see who can one-up the other and Biff tries, unsuccessfully, to get them to actually discuss anything useful, Carla and I engage in our own quiet battle of the wits.
I let my eyes run over her face, admiring her graceful eyebrows, her full pink lips, her adorable upturned nose. If I squint just right, I think I can spot a few freckles on that nose. I have to wonder if she gets them more when she’s been out in the sun.
Something I’d sure love to find out.
She’s staring right back at me, and I have to wonder what she sees; what she’s thinking. Has she noticed the scar over my right eyebrow yet, from when I got slammed into a fence post by an ornery bull? Does she hate cleft chins? Not everyone likes ‘em. I had one girlfriend ask me if I’d be willing to get plastic surgery done, to smooth out my jawline.
I want to shift in my chair. I want to smile at Carla. I want to wink at her.
I want to kiss her.
But I can’t ‘cause we’re still staring at each other and I swear to God, the light bulbs overhead are gonna burst any minute now.
The more I stare, the more I realize that she has these flecks in her eyes that I hadn’t noticed before. I can’t tell from here what color those flecks are. Are they black? Dark brown? Dark green? I can’t tell, and I’m just itching to know.
I break first. I can’t stand it any longer.
I stand up abruptly. “I’m thinking a little coffee might help clear the brain,” I say loudly, interrupting Becca and Jason’s debate over the proper clothing that a woman should wear to work. I have to say, Carla’s short skirt and form-fitting jacket are a winning combo in my book. Anything to get a better look at those legs of hers. “Want to come with me, Carla?”
“Sure!” she says brightly, jumping to her feet. “We’ll be back soon,” she tells the others, and without waiting for them to respond, she and I escape through the door. I can hear Biff pleading for them to start working on contract details, just as Becca and Jason start into each other again.
Oh yeah, I’m happy to leave them behind. As soon as they stop spitting nails at each other, they’re gonna want to fuck, and I don’t want to be around for that. Let them do their courtship dance without me in attendance.
I have my own courtship dance I want to do.
37
Carla
We go back into the office area of the MSG and I drag him into the employee break room. It’s day time and we don’t have a show running at the moment, so there’s no one around. I swear to god, my hands are shaking. I never thought I’d react to someone like this.
I never have before, that’s for damn sure.
“Milk or creamer?” I ask him, burying my head in the fridge, fishing out my favorite coffee creamer. Who doesn’t love Dark Chocolate and Cream?
“Oh no, I’m fine,” he says, and I realize he’s right behind me. “Should we go somewhere to get coffee?”
“Oh no, I’m fine.” I unconsciously parrot his words back to him. Moment of truth: I’m mostly telling him no ‘cause I don’t know if my legs will carry me somewhere else to go buy coffee. Walking seems to have become a questionable pursuit right now.
His hand brushes up against my neck and I jerk up from the fridge and spin around just as he looms over me, placing a hand above my head and leaning in to whisper, “I noticed.”
Okay, also something that I’d never normally go for—cheesy pickup lines. I’d had them used on my entire life, thankyouverymuch. I don’t need some guy who can’t be more original than some of the most-used pick-up lines in the singles world.
Except…Chase is sexy as fuck.
And he’s staring down at me.
And I swear to god, my knees are going to give out if this trembling keeps up.
And it turns out that if Chase the Sexy Cowboy God is saying the cheesy pick-up lines, I don’t mind them as much. Or at all. Weird how that happens.
He reaches up with his free hand to stroke me up my arm. “Are you okay?” he rumbles. “You’re trembling like a leaf.”
“I…yeah. I just…I’m not around cowboys very often,” I say lamely.
If his pick-up lines are cheesy, my witty repartee is also sorely lacking.
“Truthfully, I didn’t even know there were cowboys around anymore. Didn’t you guys die out in the 1800s or something?”
“Something like that,” he said with a laconic grin. “Maybe us cowboys just live for a real long time.”
I roll my eyes at that. Vampire cowboys. As if. Even I knew there was no such thing.
Right?
He did look like he was going to start nibbling on my neck...
I tilt my head to the side as an invitation. If I’m going to go all Bella Swan on his ass, I might as well enjoy it.
“And you live in the country, right?” There was a big swath of the country that everyone likes to call the Flyover States but even I knew better than to call it that to his face. “On like a ranch or something?”
His breath gets warmer as he gets closer. My eyes drift shut. “Something like that,” he whispers, right before his lips touch my neck.
Oh god, oh god, oh god, I can’t breathe.
“Ohhhhh…” I squeal incoherently, feeling his warm lips on my skin and then his tongue is flicking out and touching my skin and I can feel myself growing more moist by the second. There's a very good chance there's going to be a puddle on the floor before this is over.
“I own a ranch in Texas,” he murmurs as he runs his mouth down my collarbone, across the hollow of my neck, and across the other side.
I’m panting, fucking panting.
“Texas? God, uh,” pant, pant, breathe deep, “you might as well be in Jersey, that’s so fucking far away.”
“Actually,” he’s nibbling his way up the other side of my neck, “I think Texas is farther away from New Jersey.”
Right. A small part of me tries to pull up my geography lessons from fifth grade but I quickly give up. That was a long time ago and I just don’t care that much right now.
I feel my legs give way beneath me and I begin an unplanned descent down the front of the fridge. Chase, lightning fast, grabs my arms and stops me mid-slide.
We stand there for a moment, staring at each other, and then he slides his arm underneath me and scoops me up into his arms.
“I think it’s about time we test out the strength of the couch, don’t you think?” he asks, carrying me over to it.
Sounds like a damn good idea to me.
38
Carla
There’s a lot to be said about kissing. Nowadays, most men just want to get their clothes off and stick their cocks somewhere dark and warm; kissing has been relegated to the lesser category of foreplay. But that’s wrong; kissing is an art form, and a lost one at that.
That’s why a kiss can tell you a lot of things, especially about how good everything
else is going to be. And when Chase’s lips touch mine, I only need a fraction of a second to realize that, with him, I’m in for a treat.
His mouth fits on mine like the long lost piece of a puzzle, and I just close my eyes and surrender to him. His hands are on my waist as he pulls me into him, our bodies pressed tight as I use my tongue to part his lips and explore his mouth. He tastes differently from all the other men I’ve kissed, and I can’t help but think that this is how a real man should taste. It reminds me of the ocean and of long plains, a day’s work under the setting sun.
Our tongues dance around one another softly, and I feel myself growing wetter with each passing second. The fabric of my thong is already sticking to my skin, my fluids drenching it as desire takes over me. I’ve never been a naive woman; I’m a city dweller, after all, but I don’t think I’ve ever been this horny in my entire life. It’s as if there’s an aura around Chase, one of power and manliness, and that aura envelops and subjugates me without a word between us.
“Carla,” he says, my name hanging heavy in the air around us. I stare into his eyes, my mouth slightly ajar as my heart starts drumming a wild song of lust and sin.
“Fuck me,” I find myself saying, the sound of my voice coming out of my lips honeyed and sweet. I don’t think I’ve ever been this direct with a man, but with Chase, I just know small-talk isn’t something that’s necessary. One exchanged glance and we already know everything there’s to know.
He doesn’t reply; he just smiles, his lips curling into a grin, and then kisses me again. His hands go around my waist and then down, over the curve of my ass cheeks, and he pulls me into him harshly. I thrust against him without even thinking, needing to feel my crotch against his; there’s something big there, something long and thick, and it’s pulsing with a raw hunger that makes my insides clench.