Page 36 of CowSex
“Montana.”
I shrug, feeling none the wiser. I’ve done business in New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago. East Coast, West Coast, the middle, other than that, I’m not great with American geography.
“How far away is that?”
“Ten hours if you drive, an hour and a half if you fly.”
“Is that where you grew up?”
“Nope. I grew up right here in Addison.”
“Oh. Your parents retire there or something?”
He breathed in deeply through his nose.
“You know, for such a little-bit, you sure do make some noise.”
I probably should be offended, but he just called me a little-bit, and for some reason, it’s made my chest feel warm and caused my throat to feel tight.
I let him finish his food while I compose myself. As soon as he sets his knife and fork down, I dive straight back in.
“So, how come they’re there, but you’re here, even though this isn’t your house and where’s your wife, or your son’s mum?”
He retrieves his beer bottle from the floor and drains the contents.
“My dad died when I was a kid. Worked construction. Had his own business. Built this place in fact.”
“Wow.” I’m genuinely impressed.
“Working on a roof one day while building a house in Woody Creek, slipped, fell, broke his neck. I was eleven.”
“I’m so sorry, Koa.” And I really am. I was exactly his age when I lost my grandad, and I know it’s something I’ll never get over. “It’s hard, losing someone close. I have no one now.”
His eyes slice back to me and dart all over my face.
“My mom remarried when I was fourteen. Bill’s great. He inherited a ranch just as I turned fifteen, but rather than mess up my schooling and football, we stayed here until I went off to college and then they moved to the ranch in Montana.”
“And then you had a baby.” It’s not a question, I’m just assuming he was eighteen by then, and if he was younger than his son is now, then that’s the point where the baby happened.
“Then I became a father, yeah.”
“How’d you manage that?”
He ignores my question, gets up, and leaves the room. A few seconds later, he comes back with a bottle of bourbon and three whisky tumblers, one of them filled with ice.
I’m even less of a fan of bourbon than I am of beer, but, if that’s all that’s on offer, I’ll give it a go.
He sets everything on the coffee table, puts ice in each glass, and then pours us both a drink. Taking my almost empty beer from me, he replaces it. I watch him as he then collects both of our trays and takes them out to the kitchen. Finally, he returns to his seat, puts his feet up onto the coffee table, and takes a sip from his glass.
I curl my legs under me in the opposite corner of the sofa.
“How’d I manage that? Not sure how you go about it in your country, Essex, but here you start with a man and a woman, and they have these parts on each of their bodies—”
“Fatherhood, you dickhead. How’d you manage with being a father at such a young age? That’s what I was asking.”
“Was what it was. Had no choice but to deal.”
“Were you together, or was it a one-night stand thing?”
