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Cowboy or not, I wished my tenant took up far less brain space.

17. MR. VODKA

CHLOE

“You got any vodka?”

On my first night back home from my tour I went out with two girls from the barn to an overly ambitious cocktail bar nearby. We eventually left with some guys in nice suits whose tastes in drinks gave chain restaurant happy hour. Their choices made my basic ass brother's taste in old standards look adventurous. However, Mr. Vodka—the one who’d glommed onto me—was giving off a strong energy. I was horny, road-weary, and wanted so badly to crawl into bed with someone who knew what they were doing. He looked like he could do the job, but it may have been the blackberry mojitos talking.

“Freezer,” I answered, nodding in that direction.

I made myself a G and T and propped my elbows against the counter.

“Uh-huh,” he said.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out to see it was from Sexy Daddy. Lanie must have renamed Cole’s contact card when I was in London. I was mortified, but since I missed her, I didn’t have the heart to change it. I assumed it was retribution for naming her now-husband “Daddy Vibes” and referring to Baz as such almost exclusively for the first year of their marriage.

SEXY DADDY

Our washer just died. What do I do?

ME

Please tell me you weren’t washing horse blankets in it.

The washer was tiny. If he was using it to wash turnout rugs, he was stupid and an asshole.

SEXY DADDY

I’m not an idiot, Chloe.

ME

I just wanted to check. I can get a guy out. Do you need anything?

SEXY DADDY

I have a whole hamper of soaking wet laundry and a child asleep on the couch. Can I just dump it in your washer and finish the load?

I looked around at the many people in my house and the man fixing himself the saddest vodka drink I’d ever seen. I wanted to tell Cole to stay away because it was awkward, but I also didn’t like the lack of a thank you for flashing my tits. I had great tits. He hadn’t even bothered to appreciate them!

SEXY DADDY

Sorry. It’s late.

ME

Yeah, sure. I have friends over, but feel free to come through the kitchen and dump your load in my washer.

I cringed. That wasn't meant to be dirty. It just came out that way.

Cole arrived a minute later with a muck bucket rather than a laundry basket. It obviously hadn’t been used, but I questioned it all the same. Did he not know what laundry baskets were? And why the fuck was he toting around a muck bucket anyhow?

“Hi,” Cole nervously entered the kitchen.

Vodka Dude stared, confused.

“Is that your pool boy?” He whispered.