“I second security cameras!” Josie’s crossed leg bounces off her other knee, kicking the side of my leg each time.
She doesn’t notice, doesn’t care, or is absolutely doing it on purpose, waiting for me to crack first.
It’s undoubtedly the latter.
“Stop encouraging her. I don’t want to be here all night.” I pivot my legs out of her reach.
“If we get your topic discussed on time, will you duck out early with me to Kiwi’s?” She flings a lone kernel in my direction.
It bounces off my cheek and lands on my clipboard. I tilt it, and the piece slides onto the floor.
Even my sister’s worst rants over drinks are more coherent than whatever trainwreck is happening here.
“Yes.” The word is so painfully hard for me to say.
Josie salutes me with a wink before her hand shoots in the air.
She always reminds me of a cowgirl who stumbled into a wild, moonlit night with fringed leather boots, layered jewelry, a flowy poncho, and boyfriend jeans rolled at the cuff.
“I vote no cameras! No fingerprints! Moving on!”
Is she under the impression she’s running this meeting? Given she’s been attending since pigtail years, I don’t doubt it. And her half-braided pigtails today? Not a coincidence. It’s strategic nostalgia on her part.
But ducking out of a meeting is so unlike her. Makes me wonder why she’d offer, or what she’s up to. Josie only does things for Josie.
“Speaking of Hart—”
Shewas speaking of Hart.
“—isn’t he supposed to be helping you with this sponsorship presentation thingy?” My sister tosses a handful of popcorn in her mouth and chomps loudly.
“It’s not a presentation.” I drum my pen against the clipboard resting on my lap.
“Well, whatever it is, isn’t he supposed to help you?” Josie flicks a kernel off the folded pleats of her prairie-chic skirt.
It lands on my clipboard—again—and is as annoying as this conversation about Hart.
I nudge the kernel over the edge.
“I don’t need his help.”
I didn’t want his help.
I didn’t ask for his help.
It just so happened that when the town forced our families into planning a joint sponsorship for an out-of-town rodeo, that’s precisely what happened: him helping—if you could call it helping.
That man?
He’s the thorn in my side, the grit in my boots, the walking definition of everything I don’t have the patience for. Planningthis sponsorship with him has pushed me past polite and clean into full-blown eye-twitching territory.
So, when the mayor said tonight’s just a recap, I figured I could handle it solo.
No drama.
No interruptions.
No him.
