Page 20 of Sexting the Cowboy
She waits. I wait with her. The waiting is half the fun when you respect the person on the other end.
Your turn,I type.What would you do to me if you had me against your door?
Bold.
Professional hazard.
She sends a dot, deletes it, sends another, deletes it. Then,I would tell you not to touch me until I asked. And I would stand there with my hands on your chest just feeling heat and leather and stubbornness until my day stopped talking. I would put one hand around the back of your neck and pull you down and bite your bottom lip and make you earn the first real kiss.
“Jesus.” I have to set the phone down and breathe. I pick up the thread.And after I earned it?
Then I would tell you to pick me up.
Yes, ma’am.
Don’t yes-ma’am me unless you mean it.
I mean it.
Good. Then I’d tell you where to put me,she says.And I’d tell you to keep your hat on because I like the shadow it makes.
I look at the dresser. Hat waiting. I can feel the brim without touching it.Old habit,I tell her.The hat stays on until it doesn’t.
And when doesn’t it?
When you take it off.
She doesn’t answer for a few seconds. Then,We’re being ridiculous.
We’re being honest.
You keep saying that.
Because the road is full of people who pretend not to want what they want. It wastes my time.
Is my time being wasted?
Not if we see each other tomorrow,I send.Coffee. Ten minutes. I’ll even let you pick a place that doesn’t smell like hay and regret.
She surprises me.I don’t meet men from the job.
Understood.
She sends a single dot, holds it, deletes it.You’ve been single a long time,she says. Statement, not a question.
Long enough to forget what it’s like to want the same person twice.
And now?
Now I’m remembering fast.
The AC rattles again. I push the curtain open another inch and watch a truck crawl into a slot under my window. Two boys tumble out laughing, chaps draped over their shoulders like capes. I’ve been them. I’ve outlived being them. It feels like staring back through a glass I can’t reach through to warn them about ice baths and mortgage rates.
You ever get tired of this life?she asks.
Rodeo?
The hotels. The faces you don’t keep. The miles. The way every morning starts with a new place and ends feeling exactly the same.
