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by B. A. Tortuga
Category: Erotica/Erotic Romance/Romance
Description: Emmy doesn't really like cowboys. She might be from Texas, but she's a city girl, truly invested in keeping Austin weird, just like the slogan says. With her corsets and tattoos, she stands out at the western bar where she ends up after being abandoned by her friends. That might be why she catches the attention of Cotton, who's a bullrider by trade, and definitely a cowboy. Cotton thinks Emmy might be the most fascinating girl he's ever met. She's not a cowgirl, and she's not model skinny, but she's beautiful and smart and he wants her like he's never wanted anything before. As one date turns into months of seeing each other in between bullriding events, Cotton starts to think that Emmy is the all-important One. Cotton's friends and family might not be so sure, though. As Emmy's life starts to unravel around her, Cotton has to fight his fears and his confusion to prove to Emmy that city and country might just be able to work after all.
eBook Publisher: Torquere Press/BBA, 2011 BBA
eBookwise Release Date: July 2011
5 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [294 KB]
Reading time: 187-262 min.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me, Em."
Emily was going to beat her best friend to death. With a hammer. A dull, rusty hammer. "Oh, stop it, would you? My fucking feet are tired, Ricki, and I want a goddamned beer."
Ricki's kohl-rimmed eyes went wide as she stared at the neon sign above the club. "The Wagon Wheel. Yay."
Emily sighed and nodded, knowing this wasn't the best possible choice, but the bus didn't run for another hour and fifteen this late and Sixth street was another hour's walk and... Hell, her feet were killing her in her thigh-highs. Really. Even with the platforms, the heels were deadly.
"I'll buy. One beer each, huh? I swear to you, the steel guitar won't kill us."
Ricki blinked, looking more and more like a raccoon with each passing minute. "No, but the shit-kickers might."
"One beer. I'll protect you. I'm butch."
There were country music types milling around out front, and a guy with worn-down boots and a big cowboy hat was sitting on a stool by door. "Ladies' night. No cover for y'all ladies."
"Thanks, man." She grabbed Ricki around one rubber and lace-clad arm and tugged. "Come on."
Hell, if Ricki hadn't fought with Preach and Tin Lizzy, they wouldn't be hoofing it home from the rubber ball, would they? No. No, she'd be in the back of that weird-assed conversion van heading down toward SoCo.
Conversation just inside the door stopped dead when they walked in. The girls were all plaid shirt-Daisy Duke-straw hat types, and they obviously didn't like the Goth look.
"Just one beer, huh? Then we'll go." Em doggedly tugged Ricki toward the bar, her desperately tragic-looking, waifish best friend managing to dig those Doc Marten's in good and hard.
"Screw it. I'm calling a cab. You're on your own, Auntie."
She was never going to live down the Wizard of Fucking Oz. Ever.
"Thanks, man. You're a pal." She rolled her eyes and let go, trying not to rejoice too hard at the way Ricki stumbled backward and almost fell. Knowing Ricki, she'd at least get her cab ride free. The skinny girls always did better that way. Em made her painful way to the bar, propping herself up on a stool, and waited for the bartender to notice her.
Like anyone in this hick bar hadn't noticed her five-foot nine, corsetted, stiletto-heeled, pink and green highlighted hair, tattooed self.
The bartender was more freak-friendly than expected, with a ponytail and a gold tooth. "Hey, darlin'. What'll you have?"
"A Shiner, please." She smiled back, propping her heels on the rungs of the barstool.
"You got it." He gave her a wee napkin and some nuts before heading off to get her beer. Which was when she noticed the little pod of cowboys standing off to her right.
Did they call a group of cowboys a herd? A round-up?
A posse. That was it. A posse of cowboys.
God, they were all tiny.
Her head was as big as some of their shoulders.
There was one who kept staring at her out of the corners of his eyes. He was adorable, all red hair and big green eyes, that smile enough to light up Rockefeller Center at Christmas.
Utterly, totally edible.
She was careful not to make eye contact -- guys like that didn't look at girls like her, but still...
In a totally aesthetic way, of course.
He stood like he owned the world, hips thrust forward and to the side a little, thumbs hooked in his front pockets. He glanced over every few minutes, each look longer than the last.
"You want a glass, honey?"
"No. No, the bottle's fine, thanks." She was a girl; she knew how to work a longneck bottle with the best of them.
"Cool. You running a tab?"
"I... Yeah. Yeah, I am." She pushed over a credit card for him to run. She wouldn't have more than two.
"There you go." He left her after that to fill a bunch of froofy beer orders for a little group of cougars dressed in really tight clothes. There was no way on Earth those tits were all real. No fucking way.
She looked down at hers, which were -- if not little and perky -- at least firm and very well presented. Not to mention the ink and the pretty little rings that no one could see. That made her grin, made her feel settled in her skin a little more.
She was getting good at ignoring the crowd, and just about finished with beer one when the bartender, whose name was Jib, came to check on her. "Want another one?"
She checked her watch. "Yeah. Yeah, one more. I have half an hour before the bus comes."
"I'll get this one, Jib." The cowboy had a surprisingly light voice. Not girly or anything, but the kind of voice tiny people have.
"Oh? Thanks, man. That's sweet." It was the pretty cowboy, too, with a look in his eyes that promised pure evil.
"Sweet." He nodded, his chin strong enough to pound nails. "That's me. Soul of kindness. What's your name?"
"Emily." She chuckled. Someone had lost a bet and had to talk to the scary girl. "What's yours?"
"Cotton." He held out a square, oddly pale but freckled hand. That single hand said a lot about him. It looked like it had been through a war.
"Cotton? Like the plant?" That was rocking cool.
That hand was strong, solid. Firm.
"Yep. When I was born, my momma thought I was an albino. I had little tufts of cotton white hair." He grinned, and the world almost caved in. He had the most amazing smile ever. ENDEXCERPT