Problem Child (Jane Doe #2) - Victoria Helen Stone Page 0,26
into their gossip.
“That’s Clarence,” the woman with the cleavage says as she leans closer. She tips her head toward the waltzing cowboy. “He’s harmless. Comes down from a ranch an hour north of here to keep us company on Mondays.”
“Harmless, huh? You sure about that?”
She giggles when I wink, but he really does look harmless, thin and gentlemanly with deep layers of wrinkles on his leathery face. Before I know it, I’m on my second drink and being pulled out onto the dance floor for the Electric Slide. I’ve done it a million times, but I’m still terrible at it. I’m no good at music or art, but I also don’t have any shame, so I throw my hands in the air and slide and spin, making the ladies laugh when I bump into them. They’re my new best friends. We’re having so much fun together.
By the time we exit the dance floor, the place is finally starting to fill up. I survey the men—and they’re all men—but I’m disappointed by the findings.
Cowboys wear tight jeans no matter how old they are or how big their gut is. You can still fit a size 34 waist under a huge beer belly if you wear those jeans low enough, and I admire that kind of persistence. But these traveling oil field workers? Good Lord, I’ve never seen such a baggy, sloppy mess of men. Worn-out, oversize jeans, canvas cargo pants with pockets stuffed full of who knows what . . . There are even a few guys here still in coveralls, their boots half laced and muddy as hell.
That really doesn’t give me much hope for the state of their groins.
Would picking up one of these men—one of the few recently washed ones—be cheating on Luke? I’m not sure if we’re still together. We’re on some sort of a break, but which sort?
Sex with Luke is of a far higher quality than anything I can find in a bar. He knows right where my clitoris is and worships it with the lavish attention it deserves. Given my own personal studies, I’d guess that none of the guys here would even try to find it.
But I definitely miss the mystery of it all. The strange fun of strange bodies. Big men with little dicks. Little men with big dicks. Short, fat guys with skinny dicks. Tall guys with . . . You get the picture. With penises you just never know. It’s a surprise package and you can unwrap a new one every night if that’s what you want!
Same goes for women’s parts, of course, but I’m only rarely interested in those. Still, everyone likes a little variety. Would it be cheating if I went home with one of my new line-dancing buddies? Cleavage lady went to a lot of effort with her lingerie tonight.
I mean, I guess it would be cheating if Luke and I are still together. If.
I get out my phone. What are you doing? I text to Luke as another slow song starts. Are you out? If he’s at a bar, taking advantage of our “break,” then that will be a clear answer.
Just finished a jog, he texts back a minute later. About to get in the shower.
Ooo. Send a pic.
How about I send one later when you’re in bed too.
You filthy boy. Absolutely.
He sends back a smiley face. He’s still mine if I want him. I think I still do.
My friend Meg was my only connection in this world. She felt emotions so deeply and so frequently that I could absorb her experiences and pretend they were mine. But they weren’t mine, and when she died, I thought I would never feel attached to anything again.
But then I found Luke.
He’s a real person, with a real life. He has a family: a brother and brother-in-law and their adorable baby daughter. He accepts me as I am and gives me space. Or he did until now. The now part is the problem.
I suddenly wish I were home. His hand around my ankle as I read. My cat snuggled between us, with her soft fur and deadly claws. Warmth and happiness and the illusion that I’m a real girl.
What a dumb thing to wish for. Any guy here would be happy to wrap his hand around my ankle. Still, I look over the growing crowd and feel my lip curl.
Yeah. I’d rather have cookies and some phone sex tonight. What the hell do I want with muddy shoes and