Page 2 of Cowboys Can't Kiss

He huffs and stands as well, his lips curled in a sneer.

“I knew you were too uptight. Romance is dead, Riley. I’m not sure why I even thought this was a good idea.”

“Then you don’t need my help to get laid, Anthony. Have a good day and good luck.”

Of course, he leaves and gives me the middle finger because he’s classy like that. Just as classy as wanting to fuck on the back of a horse. Immediately, I open our contract and pull up his email to refund the consult fee he paid. He was definitely not a fit for me.

Honestly, I thought it would be easier planning romantic moments for people than dating them. But all it serves lately is to remind me how lonely I am. Maybe I should have stuck with the escort service. At least I had company. Mostly fake company, but still. A guy can dream that one of his clients would give him aPretty Womanmoment and whisk him off to a life of romance with a handsome, less famous version of Richard Gere.

At least my next client is a couple who asked me to plan their wedding reception. They’re already in love and just want a magical romance filled day.

And I will deliver. Romance is what I live for. Just not for myself.

Right after, I call my Aunt Agnes.

She picks up on the second ring.

“Is this my favourite nephew?”

Snorting, I shake my head even though she can’t see me.

“It’s your only nephew.”

“Still my favourite.”

“I’m just checking in. Have you taken your meds?”

Aunt Agnes is terrified that she’ll forget her pills one day and die in the bathroom naked. Her words, not mine. Now I call her every day at lunchtime to remind her of her meds. Which is good for us both, really. She reminds me life is for living and not always about work. I ignore the reminder most of the time because I’m stubborn like that.

“I did! I’m having grilled cheese for lunch and my pills went down first. Are you eating lunch today?”

Checking the clock, I’m surprised the morning has passed.

“You know what? I think I will. I’ll go to the little bistro around the corner. They have an amazing goat cheese and beet salad.”

She makes a gagging noise and I laugh.

“You need to eat meat, Riley. Not salads all the time.”

“I like salads. And I eat plenty of meat. Don’t worry about me.”

Besides, the bistro is the one place in this town where I can avoid cowboy hats and belt buckles and men spitting their chewing tobacco in cups. If it wasn’t for Aunt Agnes, I’d never have moved back here.

Cowboys are not my favourite. Not since Chase.

Oh, they’re delicious to look at. A hundred percent. But you’ll never be first place in a cowboy’s life. Even one who’s not a pathological liar. It was a hard lesson to learn, but one I remember well.

“At least take a break from work and get out. Will I see you tomorrow?”

My cheeks stretch with a smile. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Go eat your lunch then, Rye. I love you.”

“I love you too, Auntie. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Now that I’m thinking of that salad, I grab my phone and keys and slip out of my office. The bistro is a block away and sits on the corner of a busy downtown street. It caters to the business crowd, especially for lunches, and closes late afternoon. The best part about it is it’s almost always filled with people in dress clothes. Bankers, lawyers, receptionists, and anyone else working in the downtown core.

It’s all business-y businesses. Professionals with suits, ties, and pressed shirts with polished shoes. There’s no business to draw the cowboys here, not even a farm supply store. It’s firmly out of cowboy territory. A definite plus for me.

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