“Yay! Okay, I’ll talk to Mom, Coop. We’re going out tonight!” she sings and slams the door behind her.
“Isn’t she a vet … for people’s animals?” I ask Fletch.
“I don’t know how she still parties like we’re still twenty-one and then gets up and handles one-ton bulls the next day.”
“She’s a wild one,” I mumble as we head back to the barn.
“Always has been,” Fletcher says.
Chapter 2
Mae
LasttimeIwentout with the girls I went classy, which is normally what I wear. But Rachel told me I should wear a shorter skirt and something a little more low-cut because it might be more attractive.
A guy approaching me for a short skirt feels vapid and shallow, but it’s worth a shot. I split the difference and picked a skort that looks like a skirt and has a small slit up the thigh. My top is sheer, and anyone can see my bra. I borrowed it from Cassie and I’m severely regretting it already. But my heels are on, and my phone buzzed with a text.
“Here goes nothing,” I mumble to myself.
“I’ll see you guys later,” I yell.
“Have a good time,” Mom says, rubbing one of her stiff hands.
“Be smart, little girl,” my dad yells after me.
I shake my head, smiling to myself, and head out for the night.
***
We end up at The Range, and the bouncer immediately lets us in because we’ve been a thousand times. It’s a large, modern club with a sleek bar lit up with multi color LED’s and a dance floor that takes up most of the space itself. The girls like coming here because they always find someone. Me? Not so much. I’m not … lucky that way.
I walk in beside them and lift my chin. Rachel, Cassie, and Sarah are notably taller than me, which is why I typically go for platforms or ankle-breakingstilettos.I hate them.We make our way to the bar, order a shot, and I get my club soda with a lime, while the others order some too-sweet drink of the week.
“Skol!” Cassie yells over the bumping music.
We clink our tiny glasses and toss the vodka back. I wince and slide my glass back to the bartender, chasing the burn with my club soda.
“Alright, girl, anyone you have your eye on?” Rachel asks.
I spin around, spotting some guys in suits, the classic outdoorsmen, and some in t-shirts or button-ups. This is Denver, Colorado, and it’s a toss-up if you’re going to get a finance bro or an outdoorsy hiker-man. So the conversation is either, ‘What’s your favorite hiking spot?’ or ‘Have you heard of this new tech startup?’
“You look hot, by the way,” Rachel says into my ear.
I smile, lifting my drink to her in thanks, and keep observing.
Faking it until I hopefully make it. For years now, I’ve always been the girl who opens the door to my pretty friends, or I’m the step before he finds a wife. They take me on a date twice, and then it’s the, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’,and he inevitably finds his wife right after.
But most of the time, of all the interactions, I’m simply invisible. I get a polite smile and a nod, and I’m the one ultimately left driving one of the girls’ cars home because they went home with the guy they picked up.
I’m not looking for a hookup, I’m looking for a husband, and after a few years of going out and having fun, I’m coming to the conclusion that my lack of desire for a one-night stand is not only a turnoff, but is also reason to believe that my husband is not in a club.
The moral of this story is: I’m tired of being alone. I want the husband, the kids, the stupid white picket fence. I don’t literally want a white fence, but it’s the thought that counts.
Sarah says that’s what she wants too, yet she doesn’t give most men the time of day unless they cater to her every whim. Cassie and Rachel don’t seem to be bothered by it. Probably because they’re with a new guy every week. To each their own, I guess, but that isn’t me.
Yet here I am, going out with my friends because we want to have a good time. When in reality, I had a long day and I’m tired of all of this. Mom had a rough day, and Dad got home later than he usually does.
I pull my skirt down because it feels like it’s riding up my butt.
