Page 7 of Playing Cowboy
“Like you knew exactly how this would play out when you sauntered in here just now, all high and mighty.”
He leans against the doorway, looking like he belongs in an old-timey saloon door rather than my measly corner office.“Well, I did.”
“No one likes a know-it-all,” I call over my shoulder, hastening down the hall.
“Ginny McBride does,” he croons, naming off his latest conquest, a hairdresser down at the Cut Above Salon on Cattle Drive.“And as soon as you’re gone, I’m about to head on over and show her just how much I know ...about lovin’!”
“Gross,” I mutter to myself as I enter the main reception suite.
“You got that right,” Ginny mutters without lifting her head up from a glossy fashion magazine on her desk.
Chapter Four
Chet
“Here comes trouble...”
I glance up from reading the menu, struggling to hide the disgust on my face when I glance up at Trixie, my over-the-top, countrified, sweet-as-sin waitress.
“Over yonder,” she explains, nodding as the cowbell over the door—Jesus, save me from all the cowboy cliches in this one stoplight town already—rings and in walks Grady Palmer himself.
“Ugh,” I groan before I can stop myself, despite the fact that his long, rangy swagger does something to the front of my stylish grey slacks.
Trixie gives a girlish little giggle, the perfect complement to her ginormous breasts, tiny waist, and the mountain of teased blonde hair piled atop her appreciatively nodding head.“I see you’ve met?”
“Only briefly,” I admit, waving to the second coffee mug on the table across from me.“That’s his.”
“But how’d you know?”
I sigh as Grady struts up to my booth, all 6’ 2” of straight, pure, sugar-enriched country boy.“I ...do this for a living,” I explain as she gives old Grady the once-over, the way a cattle rustler might a prime Angus in the pasture.“Better bring that glass of ice now.”
“Sure thing,” she says absently, freshening her cherry cola (probably) lip gloss with a slow, lurid drag of her big pink tongue.“Howdy, Grady,” she purrs, wriggling her shapely rump like a caterpillar struggling to cross the road.Suddenly?Her accent is twice as thick, her boobs twice as big, as she gently leans toward him.
“Hey Trixie,” he says awkwardly, not even taking a gander at those giant moneymakers of hers.“How’s that term paper going?”
She beams.“Oh, you know, still getting my footnotes together, but almost ready to turn into Professor Higgins.Fingers crossed.”Then she turns to me with a vaguely triumphant wink.Leaning closer, she stage-whispers loudly enough for Grady to hear, “I’ll go get that ice now, Sugar.”
