have to convince him."
"You sure he isn’t just looking for an excuse to dump you?"
God, I wonder if Leanne realizes that little Mrs. Stallworth packs a vicious punch.
"Yes. He loves me. He just thinks we’ve hurt each other so much that we shouldn’t be together anymore."
"And what do you think?"
"I think we need to start fresh, and as long as we love each other, we can overcome anything."
"Men are stupid," she says matter-of-factly. "It’s up to us to tell them that. Sometimes that means using a frying pan over his head, and sometimes that means shaking your moneymaker his direction. Which you gonna do?" She sips her tea as if she hasn’t just suggested I either assault my ex-boyfriend or blatantly seduce him.
I smile. "The moneymaker, Mrs. Stallworth. The moneymaker. I’ve been taking the frying pan to people’s heads for too long."
"Good," she cackles. "You’ve got a grade-A moneymaker, girl. You might as well use it. But you’re gonna freeze it off if you don’t cover it up a little better. Less is more, dear."
I nod my head, looking down at my cleavage spilling out of the halter top I have on. "Yes, ma’am," I say solemnly. Maybe she’s got a point.
Walsh
A FTER I leave Tammy at the boarding house, I decide to go drag Mike’s ass out of The Bronco. Although there are days when it’s a place I shouldn’t be, I do go to The Bronco now and then. There’s not a hell of a lot to do in this town, and Mike and I get tired of working, eating, watching TV, and wallowing in our own crap. As stressful as my conversation with Tammy was, I feel a sense of relief. I’ve admitted my stuff. She’s admitted to hers. Maybe now we can both have a clean start at new lives. I decide that my new, lighter conscience will help me keep it together to go have an O.J. and club soda while Mike finishes chatting up whatever poor farm girl he’s victimizing tonight.
I walk into the big front room of the bar, and it’s packed, cowboys and women in tight denim from wall to wall. As convincing as I may have been with Tammy earlier, the men in this town are actually pretty damn polite to the women. Some sort of old-fashioned Texas-rancher thing. They open doors, pull out chairs, and say, "Yes, ma’am," quite a bit around here.
I can’t help but smile to myself. I shouldn’t have bullshitted Tammy like that, but at least I kept her from parading around town in that getup. I know she’s going to move on and meet someone else, and he’ll be a lucky son of a bitch, but I really hope that I don’t have to see it when it happens. I think I might hurt one of these guys if I saw him touching Tammy.
As I look around, trying to guess where Mike might have gone, that Florida Georgia Line song with Nelly comes on over the sound system. It makes me think of Mike’s truck, and I can’t help but shake my head.
"Hey, cowboy," a voice says next to my ear.
I turn and look down to see one of the waitresses, Marsha, giving me a smug little look, her curly red hair only moderately restrained by a bun on top of her head and her blue eyes crinkled at the corners as she grins.
I roll my eyes. "Hi, Marsha," I sigh.
"Just admit it. You’ve paid Jimmy to give you my schedule and now you’re stalking me."
I chuckle. It seems that I have an unnatural knack for only coming to The Bronco when Marsha’s working. The fourth or fifth time in a row that I showed up during one of her shifts, she started giving me shit about it, and she’s never let up. Day or night, workday or weekend, if I come to The Bronco, Marsha will be there. I’ve accused her of living here, but the owner, Jimmy, swears that she only works a standard forty-hour week. I’m not sure I believe him.
"You seen Mike around here?" I ask, scanning the crowd over as many heads as I can.
She gives me an odd look then purses her lips. "Yeah, I’ve seen him," she answers.
"Oh shit. What’s he done?" I ask, bracing myself to hear about his latest asshole maneuver.
"Come
"You sure he isn’t just looking for an excuse to dump you?"
God, I wonder if Leanne realizes that little Mrs. Stallworth packs a vicious punch.
"Yes. He loves me. He just thinks we’ve hurt each other so much that we shouldn’t be together anymore."
"And what do you think?"
"I think we need to start fresh, and as long as we love each other, we can overcome anything."
"Men are stupid," she says matter-of-factly. "It’s up to us to tell them that. Sometimes that means using a frying pan over his head, and sometimes that means shaking your moneymaker his direction. Which you gonna do?" She sips her tea as if she hasn’t just suggested I either assault my ex-boyfriend or blatantly seduce him.
I smile. "The moneymaker, Mrs. Stallworth. The moneymaker. I’ve been taking the frying pan to people’s heads for too long."
"Good," she cackles. "You’ve got a grade-A moneymaker, girl. You might as well use it. But you’re gonna freeze it off if you don’t cover it up a little better. Less is more, dear."
I nod my head, looking down at my cleavage spilling out of the halter top I have on. "Yes, ma’am," I say solemnly. Maybe she’s got a point.
Walsh
A FTER I leave Tammy at the boarding house, I decide to go drag Mike’s ass out of The Bronco. Although there are days when it’s a place I shouldn’t be, I do go to The Bronco now and then. There’s not a hell of a lot to do in this town, and Mike and I get tired of working, eating, watching TV, and wallowing in our own crap. As stressful as my conversation with Tammy was, I feel a sense of relief. I’ve admitted my stuff. She’s admitted to hers. Maybe now we can both have a clean start at new lives. I decide that my new, lighter conscience will help me keep it together to go have an O.J. and club soda while Mike finishes chatting up whatever poor farm girl he’s victimizing tonight.
I walk into the big front room of the bar, and it’s packed, cowboys and women in tight denim from wall to wall. As convincing as I may have been with Tammy earlier, the men in this town are actually pretty damn polite to the women. Some sort of old-fashioned Texas-rancher thing. They open doors, pull out chairs, and say, "Yes, ma’am," quite a bit around here.
I can’t help but smile to myself. I shouldn’t have bullshitted Tammy like that, but at least I kept her from parading around town in that getup. I know she’s going to move on and meet someone else, and he’ll be a lucky son of a bitch, but I really hope that I don’t have to see it when it happens. I think I might hurt one of these guys if I saw him touching Tammy.
As I look around, trying to guess where Mike might have gone, that Florida Georgia Line song with Nelly comes on over the sound system. It makes me think of Mike’s truck, and I can’t help but shake my head.
"Hey, cowboy," a voice says next to my ear.
I turn and look down to see one of the waitresses, Marsha, giving me a smug little look, her curly red hair only moderately restrained by a bun on top of her head and her blue eyes crinkled at the corners as she grins.
I roll my eyes. "Hi, Marsha," I sigh.
"Just admit it. You’ve paid Jimmy to give you my schedule and now you’re stalking me."
I chuckle. It seems that I have an unnatural knack for only coming to The Bronco when Marsha’s working. The fourth or fifth time in a row that I showed up during one of her shifts, she started giving me shit about it, and she’s never let up. Day or night, workday or weekend, if I come to The Bronco, Marsha will be there. I’ve accused her of living here, but the owner, Jimmy, swears that she only works a standard forty-hour week. I’m not sure I believe him.
"You seen Mike around here?" I ask, scanning the crowd over as many heads as I can.
She gives me an odd look then purses her lips. "Yeah, I’ve seen him," she answers.
"Oh shit. What’s he done?" I ask, bracing myself to hear about his latest asshole maneuver.
"Come
Similar Books
