Page 77 of CowSex
She’s wearing a pale, dusky-pink tutu that’s short at the front and longer, almost to the floor at the back. She has on cream-coloured woolly tights with pink hearts over them and a cream-coloured top, which hangs off one shoulder. The whole outfit is joined together by a wide, sparkly gold belt cinched at her waist. Her hair’s hanging long and straight down her back, and on her feet, she has a pair of the sexiest biker boots I’ve ever seen. Big, black, and chunky with metal chains around each ankle and silver studs around each heel.
Her hands are resting on Lee’s shoulders, and she’s looking up at him and talking as they sway to “What Hurts The Most” by Rascal Flats. I know this song inside and out, must’ve performed it live over a hundred times. It’s a song about a man who loses his woman because he never told her exactly what she meant to him. I run through the lyrics in my head, wanting to crawl out of my own skin with how uncomfortable they make me feel. I drain the last of my beer, wishing it were bourbon instead.
Lee shifts their positions and takes Gracie’s hand. Instead of them just swaying, he leads her around the small dance floor. He thinks he has moves, I’m thinking all he has is a death wish.
The song changes. It’s still Rascal Flats, but this one is faster. “Yours if You Want It” starts to play, I set down my bottle, and before I have a chance to overthink the consequences, I move towards Gracie. I don’t even see Lee as I mumble an, “Excuse me for cutting in,” and cut right in.
She wants a man who can dance? Well, she need look no further.
Gracie looks kinda shocked as I take her hand and waltz us around before twirling her out and pulling her back in tight and close. I slide my hand down to her ass and pull her hips against mine.
She doesn’t miss a beat and matches my rhythm and moves right along with me. She smiles, encouraging that one dimple to make an appearance, and that fucking knot in my belly tightens a bit more at the same time as my dick gets hard.
GRACIE
FUCK.ME!THE COWBOY HASmoves, and I don’t mean hot and heavy, sweaty in da club, bump and grind kinda moves. I mean, actual, proper old-school kinda moves. The kind you’d expect a cowboy to know. I can’t wipe the smile from my face as he twirls me around and pulls me close to him.
He doesn’t take his eyes from mine. He smiles a cocky smile but isn’t laughing like I am.
“You like dancing with Lee, Essex?”
“Yeah, he’s a good dancer.” A few other couples are up on the tiny dance floor, so he slows us down a little. He nods his head at my response and looks over my shoulder in the direction of where Lee’s sitting at our table.
“What were you talking about?”
“England.”
“What about it?”
“Just that he’s always wanted to visit.”
“News to me.”
Koa’s still eyeing Lee over my shoulder, and I wonder if I should mention that he has asked me out to dinner on Wednesday night. There’s a local place called Fathers that apparently does the best ribs for miles that he’d like to take me to.
I didn’t exactly say yes, but I didn’t say no, either. Koa had his head between my legs last night and has flirted all day relentlessly. It could mean everything or nothing. I just don’t know.
I allow myself a quick fantasy involving the pair of them fighting over who’s gonna take me home. It’s an old-fashioned spit-and-sawdust bar brawl, with loud sound effects as punches get thrown, and tables get smashed. The barmaid fires a gun in the air and orders the boys to break it up. Meanwhile, the evil Logan kidnaps me while nobody’s looking. He ties me to the train track, and I can see the smoke of a steam train hurtling—
“You like this song?” Koa asks into my ear. His voice and hot breath cutting into my fantasy.
“I’ve never heard it in my life,” I admit.
“You’ve never heard this song, what about the last one?” He sounds like he doesn’t believe what I’m saying.
“Nope. Are they yours? Is this you singing?”
This time he laughs. I Googled his band in the car on the way back from town yesterday. They’re big on the country music scene, huge. Until earlier this year, they held the record for the longest song at number one with a hit called “Will You Take a Walk with Me.’ I haven’t had a chance to listen to it yet, but I’d silently watched a video of him on stage, rocking the double denim with his guitar over his shoulder.
I’d also read an article that said the band were taking some time out to spend with family but would be back with a new album late next year.
“Not me, Essex, this is Rascal Flats. You heard of them?”
I nod this time. “I have but couldn’t tell you a single one of their songs, though.”
“That’s okay, I’m reckoning six months should be enough time to convince and educate you about a lot of things.”
He says the words directly into my ear; his breath is hot against my skin. Goose bumps spread, and my spine and scalp tingle.
