Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 163(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
For the most part, no one bothers me as I nurse my first drink. A few rugged looking cowboys glance my way, but none make a move. One old man winks at me provocatively but I pretend not to see him. Sorry, white chest hair isn’t my thing.
Feeling a bit restless, I down my gin and tonic too quickly and immediately order another one, along with a shot of whiskey. I’m not normally so out of control, but this trip has been a bit of a bore, and I need a wild night out.
A few minutes later, fueled by the shot and the second cocktail – which I’m fairly certain the bartender made twice as strong as the first one – I make my way to the dance floor where a familiar song blasts through the speakers. Along with several of my fellow bar flies, we break into a rowdy line dance. Bodies sway, people laugh, and I feel myself finally starting to relax. It could be the alcohol, but it could also be the good, clean, genuine fun I’m having.
One song melts into another and then another. My drink count goes up, and finally, completely parched, I head to the bar once more, but this time for a glass of water. As I sip the cool liquid, a large male hand rubs the small of my back. It feels good and I don’t think too much of it until a moment later, when the hand squeezes my backside hard.
I turn around sharply to see who would dare be so bold and am immediately revolted. The man who touched me is much older than I am and dressed like a filthy ranch hand. His breath reeks of whiskey and I wonder when the last time he took a shower might have been. His eyes are bloodshot from too much booze.
“Water?” he leers as he leans in toward me, his voice bearing the cadence of someone who clearly has had too much alcohol. “What, are you drunk?”
“Yep,” I say in a chipper voice, trying to get out of the conversation without any confrontation. I inch back a little, the rough edge of the bar pressing into my back as I press away from the gross man.
“Naw, a sexy little thing like you should be drinking something tasty,” he licks his lips as he eyes my body up and down. “Water ain’t gonna cut it.”
The loathsome man plants a hand on my waist as he speaks. By now, I’m practically bent over backwards over the bar in my effort to keep as much distance between us as possible. I can feel the coarse callouses on his palm through my thin shirt and find my gaze fixated on the bits of food stuck in his long, unruly beard. Why don’t men clean their beards after meals? It’s super disgusting to see mashed potatoes and broccoli up close and personal like this.
“I need to go to the ladies,” I say with as much cool indifference as I can muster. My head may be foggy from the booze and dancing, but I know I don’t like this man touching me.
“Now come on baby,” the sleazy rancher slides his other hand onto my waist, pulling me slightly toward him. Ugh, our thighs are touching and I’m utterly revolted.
“I said no,” I grit through my teeth, and shove him backwards with a burst of force.
The man stumbles a bit, but then bounces back into my space just as quickly. Now I have a close-up of the ground beef stuck between his teeth, as well as the enormous pores on his nose.
“You fucking bitch,” he hisses, eyes red with rage. “You should be grateful I’m even talking to a fat pig like you.”
I blink several times as I process his insulting words. What the hell? I’m not fat! Curvy, yes, but not obese by any means. But the vile man continues to speak, spittle hitting my cheek.
“Yeah I saw you over at Sherry’s Diner, eating that pot of mayo like it was your last meal on earth. Should have skipped it, sweetheart,” he snarls and eyes my body once more, this time with overt contempt. “Nobody likes a fat cow. I was just being polite to you but shit, you ain’t worth the spit on my boot.”
Suddenly, I feel uncontrolled rage begin to rise up in my chest. This horrible, disgusting man – who basically just assaulted me – is now saying that I’m lucky he decided to talk to me? Like he’s God’s gift to women? Besides, that mayo dip was good with its chipotle and garlic flavor!
With more strength than I knew I had, I shove the larger man viciously, knocking him into a nearby barstool. He stumbles slightly and grabs a table for support, wobbling wildly. But I don’t care.