“Stop objectifying the man,” I told Dee. “And I don’t play games like that.”
Sharon craned her neck to look at Dawson again. “Mm. You should, honey. I’d like to objectify thefuckout of him.”
I spent the rest of the evening waiting for the ladies to be ready to leave and carefully avoiding looking in the direction ofeitherof those two men.
Both of whom seemed to be taking great delight in pretending to be crazy about my fool self. I hadn’t had this much male attention in ages.
And Dee was acting like I was the world’s biggest man-killer. She wanted pointers on how I was getting so much attention from them.
To console myself, I drank a little more than usual.
My normal one-drink cutoff had been exceeded, and I was finishing drink number three right now.
The bartender had made me something called a Mountain Gold. I had no idea what was in it, but I knew it was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted before.
It was almost worth the drive to Red Oak Mountain just for that.
And now that I’d had time to think about it, Chris had my blood boiling.
I was replaying our conversation in my head, and every time I ran through it, I got more and more pissed off. I wasn’t normally the pissed-off type. But a woman scorned can hold on to a serious level of resentment.
He was slow-dancing with his date, whispering in her ear and pretending like he hadn’t propositioned me right under her nose.
I was more pissed for her sake than mine. Whoever she was, she deserved better than Chris.
Maybe it was the combination of the Mountain Golds along with the kiss he planted on her lips that had me seriously considering telling her how much of an ass he was.
That’s when Sharon suggested that I ride the mechanical bull.
I had enough of a happy buzz going that it sounded like a semi-decent idea.
Nothing in me wanted Chris back.
But Ididwant him to know that I had one-hundred percent moved on with my life and that I was ever-so-happy now.
In fact, I wassohappy that now I rode bulls in tiny mountain bars surrounded by hot men in flannel on my Friday nights. I just wanted him to know I was over him.
Even as I thought it, I laughed. The truth was, I’dneverride that bull.
I was too chicken.
I didn’t take risks in life. I played it safe and steady. And maybe I could admit that my fun quotient had been alittlebit lacking ever since Chris and I broke up.
The mechanical bull sat there teasing me.
You could ride me if you wanted to.
Look at all the pictures of people who rode me and survived.
You’d survive.
You might even like it.
I snickered into my drink while Sharon tugged me over to the bull. “Come on. Do it! Prove you’re a real rodeo cowgirl.”
“I am the furthest thing from a real rodeo cowgirl,” I told her.
Sharon was deep in her drinks tonight, and I was glad that Ann was the designated driver. She was the quiet in our group. She’d been over in the corner of the bar texting all night while she babysat the rest of us.
