Page 16 of The Cowboy's Cabaret

“I shall also request Ye Old cheeseburgers to follow our merriment this eve,” I try in my best regal voice.

“As you wish, Princess.” I ignore the butterflies threatening to take flight at the pet name and turn toward the window, grinning as the cityscape flies by.

Finally,we’re pulling into a gas station and I’m ready to burst. No sooner is the truck in park and I’m throwing the door open, sprinting to the bathroom. I hear Wes’ chuckle as he says he’ll meet me in the store. The bathroom is beyond sketchy and I’m not fully convinced there wasn’t a glory hole near the sink.

Glory hole bathroom behind me, I head to the snack aisle, ready to grub. I’m filling my arms with sour worms and BBQ chips, when I feel someone behind me. When I turn, I crane my neck to see Wes’ heated gaze. Fuck, he’s so much taller than me. He reaches around me to grab a second bag of gummy worms.

His warm breath caresses my ear as he whispers, “I don’t share.”

He strolls to the counter, completely unaffected while I scurry behind him in a stupor. I’m pulling my wallet out to pay,when he plucks my snacks from my hands and pays before I can protest.

“I can pay! You don’t have to do that.” He opens the door to leave and gestures out. “I know you can, but I like to take care of my friends.”

The restof the car ride passes by with belly laughter and two rounds of the license plate game. We fall into comfortable silence as we park and walk to the venue. The place is buzzing with energy and being with Wes feels like I have a guard dog with me. He may look intense, but in reality, Wes is a major sweetheart. My mind walks off with the idea of this feeling all the time, what it’d be like to have that strong presence belong to you.

I’m more distracted than I realize, because Wes is nudging me with a quirked eyebrow. I nudge him back and smile, not wanting to open my mouth and accidentally share my feelings aloud. Wes looks good tonight. He’s dressed in black flannel and some worn jeans and Vans.

“Another fun shirt, I see?” He nods at my top.

“I figured a goose with a knife would send a message, I’m not to be fucked with.”

“Not to be fucked with, indeed.”

Sinning Saints endsup being a fun show with an insane crowd. People are launching themselves in every direction and we’re all smashing into each other like a snow globe being shaken up. Wes is a pretty good buffer between me and thehuman windmills doing their thing and we’re both wearing face splitting smiles.

Following the show, Wes makes good on his promise for Ye Old burgers and we stop to eat in a dimly lit parking lot. It’s late as hell now and I know we’re both tired.

“So, what exactly do you do on the farm?” I’m curious what it’s like. Growing up in Florida is like being at your weird cousin’s house, except their air conditioning is spitting fire and everything sucks. Chronic swamp ass and alligators aside, I didn’t spend time on any legitimate farms.

Wes swallows down a bite of cheeseburger. “A little of everything, I suppose. Jasper’s the foreman, so he supervises anything and everything. I’m his right hand—he says and I do. It’s not a bad gig.” He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t.

“Not a bad gig, but…” I trail off.

“But, I don’t know if I wanna work this for the rest of my life. I don’t think it matters though. I won’t leave Jasper to do it on his own.” Wes stares out the windshield.

Not wanting to pry too much, I nod my head in understanding and steal a fry. We eat our parking lot dinner and a contentment falls over me as I experience a rare moment without worry. After we’re both good and full, we start the drive back to Brooklyn.

“So, Miss Dahlia Damsel, how did you find yourself doing burlesque?” Wes breaks the silence, looking across the cab to me.

“It’s not all that interesting. I was in a dance program when I was younger. My home life changed and the classes got too expensive for my grandma to afford. Eventually, I couldn’t go anymore.

I knew I liked to move my body and since you can dance anywhere, I started doing my own thing, dancing whenever Icould. During my sophomore year of college, Daphne and I were invited to a Halloween burlesque show at Cunting Season. It was horror themed—imagine sexy Michael Myers in a strip tease.”

I remember that night so fondly, Daphne and I dressed as sexy mimes. It was so funny miming at people all night, though I’m sure the bartender was ready to kick us out after our fifth pantomime requesting shots.

“There was a flyer in the bathroom for burlesque open auditions. I signed up in my drunken state for shits and giggles. When the audition came, I danced and they offered me a few performances to see how I fit in their lineup.”

“I gotta say, it’s a pretty bad ass job.” He grins. “Do you ever get stage fright? Being on display is one thing, but being on stage and taking your clothes off feels like another level.” I appreciate his curiosity, because it is a bad ass job, one I love very much.

“In the beginning, I was genuinely scared out of my mind and regretting signing up. Daphne knows me better than myself sometimes, and she wouldn’t let me back down. She knew if I chickened out, I’d regret it more and gave me the pep talk of a lifetime. There was a promise of moving to Finland if I bombed on stage.”

“Thank fuck you didn’t bomb, huh?” I move to punch Wes in the shoulder, but he covers my fist with his hand to stop me. My breath hitches, hopefully he doesn’t hear. I’ve noticed Wes is quite a touchy person, not that I mind. It’s just every contact we have sends a tingle through me, and I’d quite like this misguided tingle to fuck off.

“I kid, I kid. I wouldn’t have met you if you moved to Finland though!”

“Maybe Finland wouldn’t be so bad. I bet I would look adorable in Helsinki.” I pull back my fist and cross my arms. Briefly, Wes’ eyes dart down to my chest and then back to the road. “But yeah, the first show went well, second and third wentbetter. After I proved myself, they offered me a more permanent spot in their rotation. The tips are good, the hours work well for school, and it’s fun. I love getting all dressed up to get undressed. I feel really comfortable at the club and dancing is a huge stress reliever for me.”

After he badgers me to see pictures, I relent, showing him the early iterations of Dahlia Damsel when we pull up to a stoplight. I don’t miss the way his eyes trace my form on the screen, heat rising in my cheeks and I look away.