against mine.
All I can think about is a voice that whispered Come on, Jackson , into my ear six years ago.
I get hard instantly. The girl who’s on me curls her body against mine just a little harder. Fuck. She thinks it’s for her.
If I have a couple more drinks it could be.
I keep my eyes on the karaoke — they’ve moved onto Brooks & Dunn — and try not to think about Lula-Mae.
That song ends. Another one starts, and I get pulled onto the stage. Now there’s six of us up here and we sing Friends in Low Places , and I’m shouting at the top of my voice, not even bothering to attempt the tune.
Midway through a girl comes bounding onto the stage and throws a fuzzy pink boa around my neck, and everyone laughs as I look at the thing, puzzled. Out in the bar, someone whistles loudly.
“Give us a dance, cowboy!” someone else shouts, so I pull it over my shoulders and shake back and forth for a moment.
Everyone goes nuts, and the girl who threw it comes back on stage. She grabs either end of the boa and I let her pull me off with it, right past Mae.
Mae’s snapping away, looking at the camera and not at me. Someone hands me a shot and I sniff it. Jack Daniels. I shoot it, and the girl pulling on the boa around my neck laughs drunkenly.
“Looks like I lassoed me a cowboy!” she shouts, still tugging.
“Ain’t no lasso,” someone says.
The girl rolls her eyes, but I’m already taking the boa off myself.
“You want to lasso you a cowboy,” I say. “You got to have the right equipment first. Namely, a lasso.”
I tie a lasso knot in the boa, looping it in on itself. It’s the worst rope I’ve ever had the pleasure of using, but I manage, and then I try to work the thing.
Everyone laughs. A feather boa doesn’t make for a very useful lasso. Someone grabs it from me, someone a little better at roping than me, and after a couple of tries he manages to land the lasso around an empty beer pitcher.
I sneak another glance at Mae, who’s laughing along, still watching through the camera. The world’s starting to feel a little unsteady, and then I realize I’ve been looking at her a little too long. I’m still looking, too drunk to drag my eyes away when my brain tells me to.
Finally she looks at me, her eyes so bright they almost glow in the dark, and as she holds my gaze something changes in her face, like she’s thinking of a secret that the two of us have, alone, even in the middle of this crowd of people.
Come on, Jackson.
I guess we do have a secret.
The cowboy with the boa lasso manages to rope someone else’s head. Another boa appears, and I’m wondering if there’s a box somewhere in this bar full of weird costume props. Now Mae is standing and people are on the couch, two girls and a cowboy, all posing like they’re in a photo booth.
Mae’s being very obliging. I wonder if the pictures will turn out the way they think, and then a girl pulls me down onto the couch and I’m way, way too drunk to resist.
She grabs my hat from where it was sitting, puts it on herself, and then sits on my lap, a boa around my neck. Mae snaps the picture and the camera’s in the way of her face, so I can’t see it.
The girl kisses my cheek. Snap . She pulls my hand onto her ass and I squeeze, out of habit. Snap .
She takes off my hat and holds it in front of our faces.
“I bet these pictures are going to be so hot,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I say, because I’m pretty sure I have to say something.
“You going home alone tonight, cowboy?” she asks me, her tequila breath hot on my ear.
It’s getting a little stuffy here, behind my hat, but I’m on autopilot. I’ve got one hand on her ass and one on her thigh.
“You tell me,” I say.
The girl kisses me on the mouth. Her lips are soft but almost flaccid, she’s at a weird angle, and she’s drunk. Her mouth is only half on mine when she pushes her tongue past my lips and giggles, the cowboy hat still covering our faces.
I try to
All I can think about is a voice that whispered Come on, Jackson , into my ear six years ago.
I get hard instantly. The girl who’s on me curls her body against mine just a little harder. Fuck. She thinks it’s for her.
If I have a couple more drinks it could be.
I keep my eyes on the karaoke — they’ve moved onto Brooks & Dunn — and try not to think about Lula-Mae.
That song ends. Another one starts, and I get pulled onto the stage. Now there’s six of us up here and we sing Friends in Low Places , and I’m shouting at the top of my voice, not even bothering to attempt the tune.
Midway through a girl comes bounding onto the stage and throws a fuzzy pink boa around my neck, and everyone laughs as I look at the thing, puzzled. Out in the bar, someone whistles loudly.
“Give us a dance, cowboy!” someone else shouts, so I pull it over my shoulders and shake back and forth for a moment.
Everyone goes nuts, and the girl who threw it comes back on stage. She grabs either end of the boa and I let her pull me off with it, right past Mae.
Mae’s snapping away, looking at the camera and not at me. Someone hands me a shot and I sniff it. Jack Daniels. I shoot it, and the girl pulling on the boa around my neck laughs drunkenly.
“Looks like I lassoed me a cowboy!” she shouts, still tugging.
“Ain’t no lasso,” someone says.
The girl rolls her eyes, but I’m already taking the boa off myself.
“You want to lasso you a cowboy,” I say. “You got to have the right equipment first. Namely, a lasso.”
I tie a lasso knot in the boa, looping it in on itself. It’s the worst rope I’ve ever had the pleasure of using, but I manage, and then I try to work the thing.
Everyone laughs. A feather boa doesn’t make for a very useful lasso. Someone grabs it from me, someone a little better at roping than me, and after a couple of tries he manages to land the lasso around an empty beer pitcher.
I sneak another glance at Mae, who’s laughing along, still watching through the camera. The world’s starting to feel a little unsteady, and then I realize I’ve been looking at her a little too long. I’m still looking, too drunk to drag my eyes away when my brain tells me to.
Finally she looks at me, her eyes so bright they almost glow in the dark, and as she holds my gaze something changes in her face, like she’s thinking of a secret that the two of us have, alone, even in the middle of this crowd of people.
Come on, Jackson.
I guess we do have a secret.
The cowboy with the boa lasso manages to rope someone else’s head. Another boa appears, and I’m wondering if there’s a box somewhere in this bar full of weird costume props. Now Mae is standing and people are on the couch, two girls and a cowboy, all posing like they’re in a photo booth.
Mae’s being very obliging. I wonder if the pictures will turn out the way they think, and then a girl pulls me down onto the couch and I’m way, way too drunk to resist.
She grabs my hat from where it was sitting, puts it on herself, and then sits on my lap, a boa around my neck. Mae snaps the picture and the camera’s in the way of her face, so I can’t see it.
The girl kisses my cheek. Snap . She pulls my hand onto her ass and I squeeze, out of habit. Snap .
She takes off my hat and holds it in front of our faces.
“I bet these pictures are going to be so hot,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” I say, because I’m pretty sure I have to say something.
“You going home alone tonight, cowboy?” she asks me, her tequila breath hot on my ear.
It’s getting a little stuffy here, behind my hat, but I’m on autopilot. I’ve got one hand on her ass and one on her thigh.
“You tell me,” I say.
The girl kisses me on the mouth. Her lips are soft but almost flaccid, she’s at a weird angle, and she’s drunk. Her mouth is only half on mine when she pushes her tongue past my lips and giggles, the cowboy hat still covering our faces.
I try to
Similar Books
