Chapter 17: Slow Strokes
Lolly, one of my favorite horses, jumps the fence and I spend the next afternoon with one of my ranch hands, Blake Tully. He and I try to get Lolly back with the other horses. Blake resembles Corey in a few ways: same blue eyes, black crew cut, and flat stomach. Every time I look at him my privates tingle underneath my denim. All I can think about is rolling around in the sack with Corey when my view lands on Blake. When he catches me during such awkward scrutiny, I turn my head the other way, usually coming up with a spit—even if I don’t chew tobacco.
Once Lolly is back with her Appaloosa buddies, Blake asks, “You looking at me?”
“Have to. It’s my job. I pay your bills.” Enough said. Blake knows not to ask me a second time. I clap him on the back and say, “Wish
