Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 33324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33324 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 167(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
You do you, I’ll do me and may we never disagree.
“You did good, girl.” Dolly rubs my back as I drop my head between my legs like they teach you to do when you think you’re going to pass out.
“I almost threw up all over you,” I mumble to the floor, trying to distract myself by counting the blobs of gum flattened on the sticky black linoleum.
Blood rushes through my ears, into my head, warming my cheeks as my liver sucks up the alcohol, making the world wavy around the edges.
Just as I’m starting to feel pleasantly woozy, dread returns, as my Dolly shouts, “Who wants to buy us two more?!”
This little honky-tonk bar erupts with excited male voices, as my stomach lurches, and I grip the edge of the high top, pulling myself upward. Walking on the wild side with Dolly is nothing new. You know that friend you always seem to be with when trouble comes calling?
Yeah, that’s Dolly.
But for all her craziness and tough love, she has a gooey soft center and is my ride or die, one hundred percent. We met in kindergarten when Bobby Malloy was teasing me about my Hello Kitty backpack with matching shoes and lunchbox. She showed up in her black combat boots and Slenderman t-shirt and took him down with one punch, and we’ve been yin and yang ever since.
Willie Nelson’s slow melodic drawl streams from the ancient jukebox on the side wall. An older couple probably close to eighty, wearing matching polyester baby-blue wranglers and plaid snap-up shirts, spin and side-step on the small dance floor, alongside a handful of thirty-something women holding each other up, eyes glazed, with the one in the center wearing an “I’m the bride, again” satin sash.
The drive up to Ompotomic took twelve hours, six am to six pm, and when I got here, I crashed before the sound of Dolly banging on the door to my room at the bed and breakfast woke me from a dead sleep.
The Black Swan B & B is the best this town can manage, which isn’t saying much, but for one last night of luxury it’s better than nothing. The room was a pleasant enough surprise, with a squishy soft queen-sized bed, a bathroom with one of those white cast iron clawfoot tubs, and a good view of the wooded mountains that will be my home for the summer. Plus, nary a spider web was found even under the bed. And, trust me, I checked.
Dolly knows the town well from her years at the camp and she told me there’s only one place where a couple of girls could kick back and have a little memorable fun.
And that’s how we ended up at One Horse Earl’s, dressed like cowgirl strippers. Dolly can talk me into almost anything. Including the most uncomfortable pair of Daisy Dukes ever created.
Every head turned when we walked in. I wanted to go hide in the corner, but instead Dolly draped her arm around my shoulders and sashayed us to a table in the center of the room under a spotlight that should be pointing toward the dance floor but surely got knocked off-kilter in some chair throwing brawl.
But, for all my uptight reticence, and the foul-tasting shot, I am having fun. Letting loose in a town where you know no one, and anyone you might get to know you’ll never see again, has a certain freeing effect I hadn’t expected.
“Here you go.” The smiling waitress nods toward a couple guys slugging back long necks at the bar as she slides two whipped cream covered shots in front of us.
Outside of some White Claw and overpriced craft beer on occasion, I’m not much of a drinker, but seems tonight that’s going to change.
Dolly nods, holding up one of the shots to our benefactors. One of them nods in return, clearly eye fucking her from across the room, while his friend with a clean-shaven head and dirty t-shirt looks away, more annoyed than interested.
“You get first dibs.” Dolly tosses back the shot, while I opt for a fake first taste, as my brain starts to buzz. “Why wait? This place has got v-card punchers of all shapes and sizes, ready and willing to serve. You know what I say, the best way to get over an ex is to get on top of someone new.”
“God, no. Not tonight.” I shake my head, blowing my long bangs from my cheek, as Dolly tips the bottom of my shot glass upward.
With a hard swallow and a swipe of my hand over my mouth, I take in the selection of men in the small space.
I push the toes of my…well, Dolly’s…cowboy boots together, along with my knees, wondering if my summer goal of losing my virginity is such a good idea after all.