Free Steal Me, Cowboy by Kim Boykin

me.” He was panting now.
    “I am, baby. I’m inside you. I’m all over you, eating you up. Come for me, baby.”
    My body unleashed every ounce of wanting inside me. And when we went over the edge together, I screamed Adam’s name. But it was Beck’s face I saw hovering over me, smiling. Gorgeous.
    What the hell was I doing? Granted, we’re talking imaginary lovers, but why had my brain replaced Adam with Beck? Was I punishing Adam for ignoring me, for leaving me with so many unanswered questions, questions I was afraid for him to answer? God knows Adam deserved to be punished eight ways to Sunday for that. Or was Beck right about him and me?
    The last thought brought on a heaping portion of good southern girl guilt, which is every bit as potent as anything the Baptist s or the Catholics can dole out.
    What the hell was I doing? I’d better straighten up. I’d make it up to Adam when I saw him. Of course he would never know I was giving him mind-blowing penance-filled sex. And to be honest, as committed as I was to the task, I don’t think he would care if he did.
    “Wanna go again?” He asked after some pillow talk.
    “Babe, I’ve got a long day ahead of me tomorrow. I should probably get some sleep.” And scold myself some more.
    “Rainey, I’m sorry I was a jerk. It’ll be good for you to be here.”
    “I’m glad, baby. You okay?”
    “Yeah. Kind of. I’m not sure about this coaching thing. I was used to being one of the players, so I tried to act that way with the guys. That doesn’t work so well if you want them to listen to you. Then I tried to act more like a coach and now they think I’m a dick. So, I don’t know.”
    “I’m sorry, Adam. I wish I could help.”
    “You do help babe. You’re my backup.” For a man who always spoke in sports clichés, you’d think he could have chosen a better one. Was I a backup? Just a replacement for whatever he didn’t have at the time? But before I could protest, he said, “You’re always there for me, Rainey. I love you.”
    “I love you too.” I ended the call and lay awake, my body still faintly humming, trying not to think about Beck Hartnett.

 
     
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    I put on my makeup in the mirror the next morning. “ You belong to Adam Harper. You are wearing his jersey,” I said out loud, hoping the cliché would stick. I slipped into a cute yellow sundress with spaghetti straps just before Nell stopped by to pick me up.
    “I don’t know how you kids wear street clothes to work,” Nell said. “I’ve been wearing the same uniform since I opened my doors. Well, that’s not true, a long time ago they didn’t even make uniform pants. Just dresses, but now, nobody in this town wears uniforms. Except me.”
    “I love your uniform, Nell. It’s so you.”
     

     
    The day was slow, but better than yesterday. Four silver heads for a total of $44 plus ten bucks in the pickle jar. Three-thirty rolled around and my California lady was thirty minutes late. I sat down in Earline’s chair and prayed she’d show.
    “She’ll be back,” Nell said. “I saw the look in her eyes when she left here. She’ll be back.”
    But then it was 4:30 and no one but Nell and me were in the shop. The rest of her clientele was probably eating their dinner or getting ready for bed. Even Nell looked worn out although she’d only gabbed and swept up hair all day.
    “She’s not going to show, Nell, and you look tired. Why don’t we close early?”
    “I’m telling you she’s coming. So we’ll wait,” she said with a little fire left in her. “You haven’t been at this long enough to know. But I do.”
    It was just before five. I put my box away and grabbed my purse just as Miss California pushed through the door, looking a mess. Chin quivering, mascara running. “I couldn’t find your card to call. Am I too late?”
    “No, honey,” Nell ushered the poor woman to the chair. “What happened to you?”
    “They. Made. Me.” She could barely