Page 17 of CowSex
I look at the floor, and because I’m tired and injured and he’s hot, I decide that I’m definitely going to need some help.
“If you don’t mind?” I try my best to sound casual while I’m anything but.
He steps towards me, places his hands on my hips, and slides me forward so I’m sitting on the very edge of the worktop and he’s right between my legs.
He’s close enough for me to be able to breathe in the scent of his aftershave. It’s fresh and earthy with a hint of citrus. The top he’s wearing smells slightly floral, some kind of fabric conditioner if I had to guess. Added to that is the smell of alcohol and a definite hint of smoke. It’s not tobacco, though, it’s like an open fire smell.
I stare at his chest and the hairs at the base of his throat as I take all of these details in, knowing all the while that he’s looking right back at me.
“Put the ice pack down. I’ll make you another one to take to bed with you.”
I set down the two now-soggy tea towels, and he slides his hands to my waist and helps me down.
“Thank you,” I mumble before making my exit and heading up the stairs to my room. I’m not really embarrassed so much as pissed off that I needed his help.
IWAKE IN AN UNFAMILIARroom bathed in muted sunlight. It takes me a few moments to remember where I am, and when I do, I replay last night's events in my head and the possibly homeless situation I might now find myself in.
The curtains on the window are only partially drawn, and I watch the dust motes dance in the bright sunlight escaping through the gap.
I have no recollection of getting into bed last night. I look down at myself and realise I’m still dressed in my vest, bra, and knickers. I remember toeing off my boots and struggling to get out of my jeans, and I obviously crashed after that, but I don’t remember lying down.
When I reach for my phone that’s sitting on the chest of drawers next to the bed, a jolt of pain shoots through my entire right hand and arm, reminding me of my injury. My hand is huge and doesn’t look like it belongs to me—it’s swollen to almost twice its normal size and in the process of turning purple.
I seriously have nothing with me that I can coordinate with this colour.
Letting out a long sigh at my first world problem, I grab my phone with my left hand and am shocked to see that it’s almost three in the afternoon.
I also note that I have several texts and missed calls from both Kod and Rod.
Rod is Kimmie’s brother Ryan O’Donohue. He is a shareholder in my business and runs our website and all of our social media. He also set up our fantastic app that allows users to order items from our line and then makes outfit suggestions according to the likely weather conditions for whatever event they might be attending. It also allows the user to purchase ticketstothe event.
Rod was my first ever crush, and from the age of five, I planned my entire life around our future together. It wasn’t until I was fourteen that I realised that future was never going to include Rod as anything more than a friend. Rod likes boys a whole lot more than he likes girls and has been with James for around six years.
I call Kimmie first, acutely aware of the bollocking I’m about to receive because I didn’t get in touch with her last night, or this morning—whenever it was that I should’ve let her know I’d arrived safely. I snort and consider whether ‘safely’ is even the correct term.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
“Good afternoon to you, too.”
“Twenty-four hours, Grace! I’ve not heard from you in almost twenty-four fucking hours. I’ve had to practically sit on my brother to stop him from flying over there, or at the very least contacting the CIA, FBI, MI5, and Interpol.”
“Inter who?”
“No clue, just heard Bourne or Jack Reacher or some other dude that saves people mention it and know that they’re the go-to fuckers when someone’s missing abroad and shit. What happened?”
“I crashed.”
“I figured that’s what had happened. I was still worried, though.”
“Awww. That’s sweet.”
“So, how is it?”
“Cold, snowy, and my cabin came with its very own resident cowboy.”
“Wha’ da fuuuck?”
“Yep. I got here last night and thought that someone had broken in. Called the Old Bill and everything. They told me to get out and hide, which I’d already done, but then a security light came on just as the police arrived. I legged it down the driveway, only to get rugby tackled to the ground by the geezer that owns the place.”
