“You see that list of names?” Skylar pointed towards the DJ booth, where a tall woman in a cowboy hat and a rhinestone-studded shirt held a microphone and MC’d the bull riding. Behind her stretched an electric scoreboard. One half held this evening’s highest scorers, while the other held the list of All-Time Best.

Skylar gave a wry grin. “When I was in high school, my friends and I couldn’t wait to be twenty-one, so we could get our names on that board.”

Do hips do that naturally, or does she practice her moves? “That woman’s so sexy.”

“That’s Gigi Cavanaugh. She’s my girl crush.”

“You know her?”

“She’s a few years ahead of me, and I only knew her because her dad mentored my cousin when he came to live with us in middle school. She’s one of those extra cool girls who didn’t care about popularity. She’s just always had…flair.”

“I’ll bet she dated the hottest boy in school.” Rosalina had only had two margaritas, but since she rarely drank alcohol, it was going straight into her bloodstream.

“The hottest boy was my cousin. They never dated because of her dad, but there was definitely something going on between them. He won’t talk about it, so I’ll never know the whole story. All I know is that he pretty much destroyed her. She’s never been the same since. Actually, come to think of it, neither has he.”

“Well, that’s just sad.” Just as Rosalina turned back to the bull, the ride ended.

After a snazzy dismount, the woman grinned and took in the wild applause. In a move right out of a shampoo commercial, she flipped her hair forward and then swung it back up, letting it fly and settle around her shoulders. The woman was dazzling. “You think you’re born sexy, or is it something you learn?” She turned back to Skylar.

“Okay, I’m going to take a stab here, but when you said he ‘lost interest,’ I’m assuming you meant the douchenozzle cheated on you? Because I can’t think of any other reason why a woman like you would question whether she’s sexy.”

“But I’m not.” She saw the challenge in Skylar’s eyes. “I’m not saying that like I feel sorry for myself or that I want you to tell me how sexy I am. I mean it clinically. Like, objectively speaking, I don’t wear a lot of make-up. When I go shopping, I think about whether something’s flattering or pretty. Not the sexy factor. I never think about how I move my body. I don’t do seduction, you know?”

“Is that why that man’s been eyeing you since you walked in the door?”