Page 19 of Rough Ride

“It ended six months ago,” I told him. “It ended badly.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Johnny said, his expression serious. “I wasn’t trying to pry.”

I stared at him. “Ask me why we broke up.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it…”

“Ask me,” I said more firmly, “why we broke up.”

He sighed and said, “Why did you break up?”

I refilled the shots, switching back to the fake liquor for mine. Both of us drank simultaneously.

“We broke up,” I said bitterly, “because he cheated on me.”

His eyes widened in alarm.

“It was a Wednesday night. I was supposed to work until close, but we weren’t busy, so my boss sent me home early. I could smell her slutty perfume the moment I walked into our apartment.” I shook my head. “They were naked on the couch together. The couchIpurchased. That pissed me off the most. It was the first adult purchase I had made, that goddamn couch. And her bare ass was sitting on it like it was hers. I don’t know what I said, but I started screaming at them. I remember beingso devastated, soangry, that I was glad I didn’t own a gun. Because if I did, I would have shot them both.”

Johnny was looking at me with pity in his eyes. The expression I hated the most. That’s why I didn’t share this story, yet something had made mewantto open up to him. And despite the pitying way he was looking at me, I didn’t regret sharing.

“That fucking sucks,” Johnny said, swaying gently on the stool.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It did. But I’ll never make that mistake again.”

Johnny blinked, then frowned at me. Behind his almost-drunk eyes was a moment of clarity. Of understanding.

“What did he do for a living?” he asked softly.

I glanced at the bottle of whiskey, then back at Johnny. “Sorry, cowboy. I don’t think you can handle another shot.”

“What did he do for a living?” he asked again.

I sighed. “Lets get some water in you first.”

I started to turn away to get him that water. But with quicker reflexes than I expected, he snatched the bottle out of my hand and poured himself another shot. He handed the bottle back to me, threw back the shot of whiskey, and slammed the shot glass onto the wooden bar.

“Sky eyes,” he said, holding my gaze. “What did he do?”

Sighing, I poured myself another shot to match his. Arealshot. The brown liquid was like fire down my throat, warming my stomach as I put the shot glass back down on the bar.

“He was a bull rider,” I said, biting off the words. “He competed in the rodeo.”

Johnny sighed, mirroring my own emotion. Admitting it out loud felt like one long exhale. But I was glad to have said it, like the admission lessened the weight of the pain.

“So that’s why you…” Johnny began, then blinked a few times. “Ugh.”

Yeah. That last shot was a mistake.

I stood up on the stool that was behind the bar and used it to look across the room. Eli was easy to find; he was taller than most men, currently line-dancing with about twenty other people over on the dance floor. I waved at him, and he immediately saw me and came over to the bar, pushing through the other patrons who were waiting to order drinks.

“I think your buddy needs help,” I said, gesturing at Johnny, who was now resting his forehead on the bar.

“He’s not my buddy,” Eli replied

“I know. He’s your frenemy. Can you take care of him?”

Eli let out a drunken giggle. “Frenemy. I like that. We’re totally frenemies. Like, a combination offriendandenemy.”

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