Page 8 of CowSex
“Go then. Abandon me alone in a foreign country.”
She yawns. Loudly.
“Bored. Love you. Going.”
The call ends.
“That bitch,” I say to no one in particular. “I’m so sacking her arse when I’m sober and can find a replacement.”
I raise my brows and stare at a woman, who’s watching me talk to myself as I make my way towards customs and immigration, my absolute favourite part of visiting America—said no one ever.
TRYING TO GET A TAXIonce I’m outside the airport is an even jollier experience than going through customs.
What’s worse is that I totally miscalculated my arrival time, and it’s almost nine at night locally, pitch dark, and bitterly cold. Occasionally, a flake of snow floats past me, and when it’s finally my turn, I show the bloke controlling the taxi queue the address of the cabin I rented.
It takes forever, and I try not to stare as the driver seems to argue with the controller about something. When he walks back towards me, my stomach drops.
“He’s worried the snow will be falling heavier where you’re going, and he has no chains with him. I’ll call one of the drivers who has an SUV, and we’ll get you on your way.”
“Cheers, mate.” I smile nervously, panicking inside about what I’ll do if I can’t get a taxi. I’ll have to wait inside the airport until I’m sober enough to drive and then pick up the rental I’d booked and drive myself.
I step back out of the queue and let the people behind me take the taxi that wouldn’t accept my fare.
Fifteen minutes later, my face, arms, legs, fingers, and toes are numb, and still, there’s no car. I watch warily as the controller once again approaches me.
“Every driver with an SUV is busy. There’s a winter festival happening the next town over to where you wanna get to this weekend and another the weekend after. I’m gonna have to put you in a regular cab and insist that they take you, ma’am. You okay with that?”
I nod, my lips too numb to form words.
THE TAXI DRIVER HATES ME.
I ask if I can sit in the front, as I thought it’d be warmer and I needed to thaw out a little. My boots, ski jacket, hat, scarf, and gloves were no match against the bitter cold. I don’t think anything would have protected me against the minus four-degree night I’d spent almost a half hour standing motionless in.
He shakes his head and motions to the back, so I slide in and listen to him launching my cases into the boot of his car before slamming it closed.
“Do you think you could turn the heating up a bit? It’s proper freezing back here,” I request.
His dark eyes capture mine in the rear-view mirror, and he gives his head a slight nod right before the interior lights go out.
“Address?” he asks, without adjusting the heating.
I show him my phone, displaying the address of the cabin.
He makes a tutting sound, shakes his head, and taps the address into the sat nav before pulling away.
Meanwhile, using the torch app on my phone, I search for the heating controls in the back of the car. I find two small vents but no way to turn up the heat or the flow, so I have to settle for making sure they’re as wide open as possible.
“Is it usually this cold so early in winter? I thought the snow didn’t arrive until January.”
He shrugs. “Usual.”
I nod, not really knowing how else to reply to his one-word answer.
An hour into our journey the car slides on what I assume is ice, and we spin almost one hundred and eighty degrees before the driver manages to right the car and turn us back to face the direction we should be travelling.
His only reaction is a few mumbles to himself in a language I don’t understand, and he doesn’t bother to ask if I’m okay. I hold on tight to the ‘oh shit’ handle above the door—as well as my stomach contents—for the rest of the journey. Despite the cold, I can feel myself sweat, and I’m seriously worried that I might wet myself, or worse, out of fear.
Around forty minutes later, we turn onto a dirt track, which I’m relieved to see has been lit up on either side all the way up to the picture perfect cabin, which is also illuminated.
