Page 44 of For Cowgirls and Kings
Kevin,I think his name is Kevin, narrows his eyes and tilts his oversized head to the side. He’s shorter than me by at least six inches, and from what I remember seeing from school, suffers from severe short-man syndrome.
I know he likes to get drunk and fight, just to prove his dick’s big. Or at least, that he has one because someone who’s so insecure that they have to fight other adults to prove their“size”must have a small penis,full of self-loathing.
Lucky for me, I seem to be his target this evening.
I almost smirk at the realization that he sees me as the true alpha here, and he’s intimidated.Cute.
“Kevin, it’s Kevin right? This is a great party, the beer’s great—I raise my still nearly full red-solo in a salute—“you really know how to throw a rager and I’m just grateful I was invited. I’m just here to chill.”
Not stroke your ego, big guy.
This seems to appease him slightly, and he nods, squeezing his grip on my shoulder tighter before letting it go. “Cool man, well, have a good night and tell the don I said hi.”
He saunters off, high fiving a taller red headed guy who’s name I’ve never even made an attempt at learning.Don’t care.Even if his parting comment about my dad being a don was a very pointed attempt at getting under my skin.
He thinks I’ll get drunk enough to want to fight over it later. Little does he know I’m not a total jug head like him.
“Little does he know he’s talking tothe don.” Dale’s voice fills the space behind me, and I try to ignore the bolt of lightning that races through me at her nearness. She has no idea what effect she has on me, or those around her.
She’s too innocent.
I face her with a teasing smile, but it instantly melts as I take in her appearance.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” My words come out as a bark, every rational thought fleeing my mind almost as quickly as every cell of oxygen flees my lungs.
She tips her head, her inky black hair typically in soft curls, or a braid, or a low bun with a fucking bow in it, now sits in a high, slicked-back ponytail. The tresses brush past her waist and it’s where they end that my eyes zero in on. Her body’s covered in black: a sheer black top over what looks like a lacy black bra that stops above her belly button, black skinny jeans that hang low on her waist, and tall black cowboy boots that go well above her knees.
Who is this fucking girl and why does she look like…this?
She huffs, pulling a red-solo to her lips that I hadn’t noticed until now, and drinks deeply, the liquid spilling past her nearly black lips, running in little beads toward her chest. She takes another swallow, and then must reach the bottom of the cup, because she lowers it, the rim tipped downward, pinning me with a glare.
I’ve never even seen her irritated. And seeing her pissed, glaring at me for who knows what, is hot.Like too fucking hot.Like get on your knees and beg for forgiveness,hot.My knees quiver and I contemplate doing just that.
“God, everyone’s being so weird tonight. I thought you’d at least act normal, seeing as you’re turning more heads than me, and seem to hate the looks.” What she’s saying makes sense, or at least it should. But I can’t seem to reconcile the girl I know with…this girl. Woman? Goddess? Devil?
“Wh-what?” I stutter.
“Really Mateo?” she sneers, more pissed than before.
I shake my head, desperate to clear it from the fog and sirens filling it. “For real, what’re you wearing Dale?”
She looks down at herself, and then raises her face upward again, her eyes wide and those dark lips in a perfect‘o’, her expression full of mock surprise.Brat.“Oh my gosh, I forgot to wear my church clothes to a rager. Mama will be so mad!”
She’s mocking me, but I know there’s truth in her words. Not only will her mother be mad she’s at a party—drinking by the way—but also, wearing what could only be described as the Coyote Ugly uniform;she’ll be furious.
God. Dale may never leave her house again.
“Your mother’s going to be more than mad,” I hiss, finally snapping out of my stupor at the thought I might never see Dale alive again, and grip her elbow, ready to pull her from this party and take her home. She yanks against my grip though, surprising me enough that I let her go.
“I don’t need you to take care of me, Mateo. I know what I’m doing.”
I let my eyes sear over her again, unable to control myself from staring a beat too long on that strip of skin between her shirt and pants, and then finally travel back to her face. Which is now crimson with blush, but also full of indignation and irritation.
“You’ll never be let out of the house again if they see you.”
She grips her ponytail in a tight fist and then throws it back over her shoulder, the mane so shiny and soft it glitters even in the dim lights of the party. “They won’t see me.”
“How can you be so certain?” I growl, my frustration growing both at her defiance and her ignorance.
