Page 42 of CowSex
Koa’s in the truck with the engine running when I return. I open the passenger door and then come to a halt.
“What’s your problem?”
“It’s a long way up.”
“There’s a handle, hold on and—”
I hold my right hand up to him. “It’s a bit awkward with my left,” I explain.
He stares at me—I assume—for a few seconds and then hisses, “Shit,” quietly through his teeth. It’s his only comment as he unbuckles his seatbelt and comes around to the passenger side to help me.
At least I thought he was gonna help me, lend me a hand for leverage or something. Instead, he takes over and lifts me by my waist so I can climb into his truck.
“Nice ass,” he says from behind me.
“Yeah, you’re all right I s’pose,” I deadpan as I turn to face him in my seat. Loving the fact that the banter is back and there’s hopefully gonna be no more awkwardness between us.
“Wow, your comedic talents are endless. I thought you went to grab your purse?”
“I did, it’s here.” I hold up my favourite Michael Kors wristlet.
“That’s your purse?”
“Yep. When you travel as much as I do, you learn to do it lightly, and I can comfortably fit everything I need inside my Michael Kors.”
“Michael Kors?”
“Yep.”
“I’m trying to work out what that might rhyme with.”
“It’s the name of the designer,” I explain.
“Oh, so not like Hank Marvin or Scooby Doo then?”
“Scooby. Just Scooby. And yes, nothing like that at all.”
“Gotcha.”
“So yeah, anyway. I’m good to go, Cowboy.”
“What about your lipstick and Kleenex and all the other shit women carry with them?”
“Not wearing lipstick, but I have my Clinique, chubby stick, popping poppy, tinted, moisturising, lip balm with me, so fear not. I’m all good.” I pat his cheek. “But thanks for your concern.”
He closes the door without another word and makes his way around to the driver’s side. Hedoesn’thave any trouble getting to his seat.
We pull out onto a wide country road. The snow has been cleared, but it’s banked up on either side of us.
The radio is playing quietly in the background, and I’ve no clue who’s singing, but I like it. It’s what I would call ‘sexy country rock.’ Not sure if that’s an actual genre, but that’s where I’m placing it. I listen as the man sings about a woman’s body, how he compares it to a back road and knows every curve. It’s kinda hot, something I’ve never considered country music could be.
I attempt to Shazam the song but have no signal.
“Who’s this?” I ask.
“Singing?”
“Nah, flying that plane that’s just passing forty thousand feet above our heads.”
