Chapter 2: Michael
1859 Words
Michael's pov
Sitting up slowly after another romp with a bar bunny, my half-drunken state made it harder to focus as I quietly searched for my jeans, boots, hat, and shirt. Usually, I keep my clothes on, but my stupid drank arse passed out and woke up naked next to the bunny of the night.
Looking down, I sighed, seeing bright pink kiss marks covering my chest. I need a long shower to get rid of this mess. Rolling my eyes, I laughed at how some girls try to claim their conquests like they’re worth keeping around. Can you imagine dating a girl who slept with all your friends?
Yeah, not going to happen. Besides, I’m not the settling down type.
But then again, tonight is just one of those nights with faded memories. This has been my life for so many years, it gets to a point where they all start to blend together.
Escaping before having to engage in an awkward conversation has been my specialty. Greet them, please them and leave them. Their names do not matter. To avoid calling them by the wrong name, which could lead to blue balls, I learned to use words of endearment, calling them baby, honey, sweetie, or sugar, especially when dealing with a quick transaction.
Let’s get real, satisfying my s****l urges is the goal. Once accomplished, I have no desire to stick around.
Reaching my truck in stealth mode, only to find a pair of white panties stuck in my boot, I rolled the window down, quickly tossing them into the breeze. I thought she wore pink like her lipstick. Oh well, it could be the bunny’s panties from earlier. Ah, who cares, I never made plans to go back. Like all the others, bunnies will move on to the next guy who looks their way.
Driving down the deserted road while searching for a country song, You Proof by Morgan Wallen starts, and the volume is turned up. Yeah, this song relates to me more than I’d like to admit. Okay, I finally had the balls to go after the one girl who I had been pining over for longer than I’d like to mention. But thanks to the bro code, I walked away.
Over the years, no matter how many bunnies I sleep with or shots I drown, nothing can get her out of my head.
The song ends as the guitar intro to Dear Rodeo by Cody Johnson begins and I smile. Taking in the breeze from my window, I inhale a lung full, loving how the drier air indicates rodeo season will be approaching soon. There are two seasons in Montana; winter, and rodeo.
And rodeo season is when I’m a God.
Okay, so I sound arrogant, but the truth is, I’m talented in the bedroom/ bed of a truck and on a horse. Living off my rodeo wins all these years simply proves my point. Hey, but when it comes to the opposite s*x, I would never chase them. They always search me out. What can I say, I'm a pleaser.
Lost in myself, I glanced at the clock, then realized I was late for work. My dad’s going to kick my arse.
Everyone in my large family pitches in; maintaining the ranches while arranging for the large animal auctions, helping Ms. Ashley with her oil process, and preparing for the upcoming winter. It’s an ongoing cycle that could drown most people, but not those raised in Montana.
We were bred to survive and thrive.
Speaking of thriving, my best friend, Matt, who’s brilliant arse earned a masters in engineering by the time I managed to earn a bachelor’s degree, all while becoming top contenders in Vegas for team roping.
Ever since we decided to rope together back in high school, our focus has been to compete against the best. And uh, our gold buckles and bank accounts prove our hard work was paying off.
Okay, so I’m a bit cocky, but you can’t win championships if you let doubt take over.
And doubt was never a part of my vocabulary. Dominating in the MHSRA (Montana High School Rodeo Association), we earned full-ride scholarships to our family’s alma mater, MSU (Montana State University). Everyone said college would be hard, but classes were a breeze once you found a classroom bunny to do your work, giving us more time to practice and eventually dominating the college circuit.
Matt always refused a bunny’s help, insisting he’d have to waste time correcting their errors. Can you believe this guy? He pulled more arse than me and walked across the graduation stage with top academic awards and such. Take away his good looks and charms and he was a hard-core nerd, but he’s my brother from another mother. I’d do anything for him.
That includes ignoring my attraction to his sister.
Now hold up, if you’re questioning the “bunnies” comments, it’s pretty simple. Whether located in a bar, a rodeo or a classroom, bunnies are your basic s*x-driven females who crave to be with a champion. In high school, Matt learned the power of winning back-to-back championships when he banged the mayor’s wife, Angela. Sure, she tried to get me to look her way, but sloppy second cougars were never my style.
Not to mention, I was banging the Police Chief’s daughter at the time.
Don’t get me wrong, I have had my fair share of females and I have no shame in my reputation. Guys want to be me, and girls want to bang me. This has been my life for far too many years; I love the attention, and I love the freedom to do whatever I want without consequences. And I always make it clear up front that I don’t date.
Never have and never will. If they want more, then they have the wrong guy.
So, excuse me if I’m selfish, because I really don’t give a crap. I have never had a girlfriend. Why? Because they will never be loyal. Too many of my friends put themselves out there, only to get their hearts stomped on.
No, more like shredded.
I choose to spend my free time with unattached bunnies. Let’s be serious, all bunnies want me for my status as a champion cowboy or my family name. Being family friends and growing up on the Richland’s ranches, everyone knows who you are, especially in our small town.
Why not use it to my advantage?
Now, I must admit, selecting a worthy transaction each night is losing its appeal. Bunnies started to look alike and gave me less pleasure than I'd like to admit. It's not like I need one of those blue pills, but I found myself having to think of the one girl I can't have, just to get hard.
By the end of college, I started listening to my oldest stepbrother, Kemper, and slowed my rotation of bunnies, trying to be more selective or at least keep my transactions to only out-of-town bunnies.
Forget the rumors that say he's a dog. He claims to be faithful to his girl or the month.
It was good advice since my focus at the time was transitioning onto the pro rodeo circuit without any road bumps, like a random bunny claiming I knocked her up. Sure, I always used a raincoat, but even coats get holes and there was no room for a mistake.
Yeah, I know you’ve heard the recent rumors about my womanizing ways. But you can’t blame me when a couple of bunnies were naked waiting inside my hotel room wanting to party. Who would say no to that? A well-earned buckle deserved a good time. (Wink - wink).
But even with the three bunnies, my mind imagined how Rianne would look on her knees, on my lap, on my face, on all fours and wrapped in my arms.
She only lives in my dreams, the one I can not have.
Dang, I keep jumping around in my mind. I can’t focus as I speed along side roads remembering we’re unloading animals at the auction yard across town. Changing my direction, I rubbed my forehead, knowing what was to come. I hate hearing disappointment from my dad. He’s a good guy but he’s mastered the guilt trip lecture and my hangover is not ready for another lecture.
Why am I not the perfect kid? Well, take Kemper, the one who always follows the rules and aims to earn big smiles and pats on his dumb head. He’s so pathetic sometimes.
Just thinking of how well Kemper plays the game so well with adults gets my blood rate roaring. I'm a charmer, but Kemper is in a class all by himself.
Pulling up to the auction yard, I was greeted by that f*cker’s smug smile. Y’all know a Kemper, the one who always thinks you want an earful of their opinion. Well, here he goes before I can turn the engine off.
Based on my appearance, he insists, I am going to regret my past. Okay, so he may have a point, as I peeled a yellow thong that was stuck to the side of my leg. Not sure where they came from. I rolled my eyes, walking to the building’s side door as Kemper stood near and continued rambling.
Catching bits and pieces, I stopped in my tracks when he rattled about my future wife. Future wife, can you believe this guy? He constantly sounds like a hopeless romantic, like a love-sick puppy wanting to be rescued. Letting him ramble hoping the pounding in my head would ease up, I paused, unsure which direction to go, and ended up having to follow him.
This stupid place is too large.
Grabbing a coffee inside the office, my head cleared up a little but then soaked in more of Kemper’s precious speech. Now get this, he believes I will find the one and when that day comes, I will want to change my ways.
Okay, would I change? Yeah, but I would never admit that to him. I know I can never have the one girl that I want, so no one will ever be good enough. Man, I sound like a broken record. Besides, my life is good as it is, no need to rock the boat. That sappy brother of mine can continue living in his fantasyland and leave me out of it.
Oh, by the way, Kemper is single. Guess his romantic ways aren’t working out too well for him, huh?
For now, bunnies with clown faces, fish lips and fake breasts are my calling card. You know, the ones you get stuck with, rather than choose.
Besides, how could a female, who prefers to stay home and cuddle, be any different than a random pair of long legs in a sexy outfit? I will tell you; those long legs could rock your night, then you leave, no questions asked.
“Damin it, Michael!” was yelled across the group of men as we entered a larger room.
Yep, there’s no escaping my dad’s wrath.
- Writer
