Page 26 of CowSex

“Glad we agree on that.”

A few strands of her hair have come loose from the rat’s nest on her head, and I have to fight the urge to tuck them behind her ears.

“You need to get that arm in a sling.”

“I need to unpack; I can’t do that with one hand.”

“Let me deal with that wrist, and I’ll help you,” I suggest, looking over her shoulder at what appears to be a clothes explosion going on in her room.

“You wanna perv over my knickers, Cowboy?”

She leans her shoulder against the door and cocks her hip.

“Your knickers? You wear those great big things?” I know that she doesn’t. I’ve seen up close what she wears to cover that fine ass of hers, but the word ‘knickers’ conjures images of those big bloomers my grandma used to wear.

The music changes and I’m a little blown away by what starts to play.

“Is that...are you listening to Hank Locklin?”

She looks over her shoulder as if there’s someone actually standing there singing and playing the guitar.

“Yeah, why?”

If the man were still alive, he’d be about a hundred by now, and the fact that she’s even heard of him, let alone listening to his music, has me shocked.

“How—” I shake my head. “Why...who taught you about his music?”

“He’s...my grandad. I grew up listening to him.”

“Your grandad was Hank Locklin?”

“What? No. I meant he was one of my grandad’s favourites.”

She blushes from her chest to the tips of her pretty little ears.

It’s beautiful.

“And the Bee Gees?”

“My mum.”

“Your mum was a Bee Gee? I always did wonder about those boys. With all that hair, it had to be Barry.”

That earns me a smile that’s even more beautiful than her blush.

“Yeah, was it my amazing teeth that gave it away?”

“That, and the hair. The resemblance is uncanny.”

“Thanks, I have regular trims, only use plant-based colours and only condition once a week—and that’s just my teeth, don’t get me started on the work I have to put into maintaining my fabulous hair.”

Her shoulders relax, and she gives me a full-on grin, her one dimple showing.

“My mum listened to their music. She was a fan, and again, it was something I grew up listening to.”

“Was?” I shouldn’t have asked that. It’s none of my business, and I don’t wanna care about her answer, but I can’t help notice the way she draws in air through her nose and seems to hold on to it. She closes her eyes for a second too long for it to be considered a blink, then swallows before opening them and looking directly at me. Right at that moment, as her eyes hold mine, I do care. I’ve seen that look, it's stared back at me each time I’ve looked in the mirror over the last eighteen years.

They show a whole world of hurt.