“Oh, don’t tell me you’re a wine-cooler girl.” When I didn’t answer, he continued, “Cocktail? Whiskey? I give up.”

“I don’t drink.”

“You don’t … huh?”

His confused expression made me grin.

“I don’t drink,” I said, enunciating each word.

“I don’t understand.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I drink,” he said. “I also smoke. But that’s one thing they won’t let me do in here.”

“Disgusting. I’m even less attracted to you than before.”

Taylor was unfazed, leading me to a tall table. He waited until I climbed onto a stool.

“I’m going to grab a beer,” he said. “You sure you don’t want anything? Water? Soda?”

“I’ll take a water. What are you smiling about?”

“You just said you were attracted to me.” His self-satisfied smile was contagious.

“Yeah, but that was before you spoke.”

Taylor’s smile immediately vanished. “You’re so fucking mean. It’s disturbing that I like it so much.”

He approached the bar, my insults not affecting his arrogant swagger in the least. Music heavy in steel guitar and twang filled the entire space of the two-story dance hall. I let my chin rest on the heel of my hand as I picked out the people I knew from the tourists. Then I observed Taylor chatting up Shea, who had graduated a couple of years after I had and had been tending bar at Cowboys since the day after her twenty-first birthday. I waited for Taylor to flirt with her or do something else that would help solidify my initial opinion that he was a total slimebag.

Shea cocked her head and looked completely smitten, but then they both turned to me. There was no point in looking away. I had already been caught.

I waved, and they waved back.

Shea popped the cap off of Taylor’s beer, and then she filled a plastic cup with ice and water. She patted his shoulder just before he carried the drinks toward me.

“Shea,” he said.

“I know her.”

“You asked me for the name of the last girl I bagged. It was Shea.”

I made a face.

“It was my first weekend here. She’s a sweetheart … and wild as hell.”

“Bagged her? What does that even mean?” I asked, already wishing I hadn’t.

“Intimate relations. Intercourse. Coitus. Doing the deed. Nookie. Fornicating. Laying pipe. Screwing. Sex. Tapping that ass. Fucking. Need I go on?”

“Please don’t.” I sipped my water.

“I’m a vagrant, as your dad put it.” He lifted his bottle and took a swig. “There is little else for us to do between calls.”

“Only if you have no imagination.”

“What do you suggest?”

“Oh, I don’t know. August is a good time to summit Pikes Peak. The Garden of the Gods. Manitou Springs. The zoo. The Fine Arts Center. Seven Falls. The Air and Space Museum.”