Cord (Cuddle a Cowboy #2)

1. Mira

Mira

“Chicken nuggets for everyone! My treat!” I announce as I nudge my best friend, Ronnie, and point to the local fast-food restaurant.

She sends me a tight smile as her twins Brock and Branson high five in the backseat. They’re five, and they don’t realize their mom lost her job. I’ve offered her a position at my company twice now, but she’s too stubborn to take it. She insists she’ll hear something good any day now.

We place our order then park in the lot next to the restaurant. It’s an old, faded hardware store. The kind of mom-and-pop place that slowly dies because the big businesses around it can offer more competitive pricing and a larger selection of products.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of the kids happily munching their food in the backseat while Ronnie squints at her cracked phone screen. “The final alterations to your dress were finished, and the flowers are still scheduled to arrive on time.”

“You make a great wedding planner,” I tell her, trying not to think of my upcoming nuptials.

I dunk a chicken nugget in my honey mustard, careful to avoid dripping on her car interior.

She wouldn’t notice or care. She only cares about the boys since the day her husband abandoned her, leaving her to raise the twins on her own.

The woman has a spine of steel, and if I ever see her ex-husband in our city again, I will break his face for breaking her heart.

She chuckles, but there’s no mirth to the sound. “Maybe if the j-o-b hunt doesn’t work out, I’ll do that. Did I tell you I applied for one on a f-a-r-m?”

The boys are obsessed with horses, so there’s no way she’s getting them excited about it until she knows for sure.

Everything is about them now, and she’s never once complained.

She’s carried on in that unflappable way that’s completely Ronnie.

Still, I don’t want her thinking about the job search.

She’s under enough pressure. “Have you given any more thought to what I asked?”

“What I want for my birthday?” She glances toward the back seat to see if they’re listening.

They’re busy arguing over who gets the green toy.

It’s their favorite color, and there’s only one green toy.

“I want something fun to ride. Like really rugged and tough. You know, something to make me tingly.”

“Or someone,” I point out with a giggle.

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t have time for someone. Besides, marital bliss is not in the cards for me like it is for you.”

I shrug and toss my trash into the paper bag at my feet, my diamond engagement ring glinting in the late afternoon light.

My stomach twists at the sight. I can’t deny that lately something has felt “off” between me and Stuart.

It’s not something I can put my finger on.

Just a general sense of apprehension. Maybe it’s anxiety like my therapist suggested.

“I can’t believe I’ll be Mrs. Stuart Dean by this time next week. ”

“And drinking something fruity in Kauai by the hotel pool,” she says.

I open my mouth to ask her if she ever had doubts before her wedding.

“It’s mine, stinkyhead!” Branson yells, and it’s clear we’re only seconds from an all-out brawl in the backseat.

Ronnie calls both of their names in what she’s termed her “strict parent” voice, and they pause long enough to pay attention to her. “If you boys want us to get the lumber to fix the broken step on the treehouse ladder, then I expect you to behave.”

Brock tries to object, but Ronnie sends him a look, and the four of us go into the hardware store in search of the wood needed for the treehouse. Ronnie built it herself last summer with the boys. There’s nothing she can’t do when she sets her mind to it.

I follow the three of them through the store while Ronnie clutches her list and talks to herself under her breath about the repairs her place needs. They’ve already turned down another aisle when my phone dings.

I pull it from my purse, frowning when I see it’s not a text message from my dad. I half expected him to text me about that new legal contract I reviewed yesterday. Another brand wants to partner with us, and they put some sneaky language into the contract that could negatively impact us.

Together, my dad and I run a company called Molly and Milo, a nod to my own Jack Russell Terriers who inspired me to create a blend of dog food that’s healthy and satisfying for dogs. Three years ago, the brand went viral and now the company is growing like crazy.

The notification isn’t from my dad though, and it’s not a message from Stuart either. No, this is a notification that the camera in my bedroom has been turned on by the motion sensor.

I installed them two weeks ago after Molly needed emergency surgery because she ate one of my socks when I wasn’t home.

She’s already on the mend, and the vet says she’s going to make a full recovery.

But installing the cameras was my idea. If my baby ever starts acting like that again, I’ll have a way to see what she has been up to for the last few days.

But it’s not Molly or Milo that have activated the camera. It’s a different kind of dog, the kind I thought I was going to share my life with. I watch in shock as Stuart hurries into my bedroom, his arms wrapped around a skinny blonde with boobs that cannot possibly be real.

My mind spins, trying desperately to come up with a logical explanation for why he has a woman in lingerie in my bedroom. He’s already moved half of his boxes into my townhouse. We’re supposed to go house hunting together after the wedding. This doesn’t make sense.

They start touching each other, exchanging heated kisses before falling onto the bed. My bed. With the sheets I just freshly laundered yesterday.

I think I’m supposed to feel something. Anger or betrayal. But there’s only cold numbness washing over me.

I scramble for the earbuds at the bottom of my bag, stuffing them into my ears and pressing play on the sound icon. It’s over. All fifteen seconds of pasty humping because Stuart has never had much stamina. Hard to develop stamina when you play video games for eight hours a day.

“Well, how much longer until we can be together out in the open?” She’s pouting, the kind of pout that only happens when you’ve had too many rounds of lip filler, and your girl squad doesn’t love you enough to talk you out of them.

“All it’s going to take is the wedding. Baby, you know you’re the one I love,” Stuart says, tucking himself back into his pants.

Truthfully, there’s not much to tuck. It’s more for show, but whatever.

“After the wedding, her dad should finally croak from that brain tumor. I think he’s only holding on because of her fat ass. ”

I make a noise of disgust. My dad had a brain tumor, but the surgery was successful and his prognosis is excellent.

We were lucky that he’d been in a car accident and required a head scan.

It caught the tumor before it became symptomatic.

Most people just think he took a few weeks off and came back to the company.

They have no idea that he went through major surgery and private man that he is, that’s the way my dad wants to keep it.

“Then you can divorce her and take half of her inheritance,” Pouty Blonde says.

“And we can finally go to Paris, just like I promised,” Stuart answers, leaning down to kiss her because why the fuck wouldn’t he be kissing another woman in my bed?

“There you are. You lost us,” Ronnie says then takes one look at my face. “Boys, you see the paint chips down there? Go pick a few. We need to repaint the treehouse.”

I watch them run halfway down the aisle, close enough to be visible but not able to overhear us discussing this.

“Sweetie, what’s going on?” Ronnie’s voice has the concerned note that it did the day I told her about my dad’s brain tumor. She was the first person I told. Not Stuart, Ronnie. “Is it--?”

“I don’t want to talk here,” I tell her. I need to be in private. I need time to think this through and figure out...what, I don’t know. All I know is that Ronnie will help me. We’ve been through so much together, and she’s the one person I can count on when my world is falling apart.

“I just kept feeling like something was wrong,” I admit in a small voice, hours later when I’m sitting at Ronnie’s kitchen table. The boys are outside playing in the sprinkler while the two of us talk.

Molly and Milo are curled up asleep on her lumpy couch. She stopped by my townhouse and picked up the dogs, so I didn’t have to go in there. I couldn’t swear I wouldn’t set my sheets on fire. Or Stuart, though he wasn’t around.

Ronnie nods and sips her tea. She’s sat with me for hours, digesting this news and listening to me process everything out loud.

“I don’t know what to do,” I tell her though I’ve thought about confronting him, keying his car, and destroying his video game collection. After all, he slept with another woman. In my bed. Three days before our wedding.

“Well, you don’t have to make any decisions today,” Ronnie reminds me gently, parroting my words from the night she discovered her ex-husband was cheating. I was there for her then. I never expected that one day I’d be on the opposite side of this conversation.

“You know the worst part? I knew something was wrong, and I ignored it. I ignored it because I…want to be married. I’m almost thirty. I want the husband, the kids, and the dogs, even the van with the crushed cereal bits.”

She reaches for my hand across the table and gives it a gentle squeeze. “With the right partner, marriage can be an amazing adventure that’s fulfilling for both of you. With the wrong partner, it’s hell on earth.”

I sniff, tears threatening again. “I know. I saw your marriage. It’s a good thing I figured it out now, but my dad is going to be crushed.

He actually likes Stuart. If he realizes that the sleazeball has just been counting down the days until he dies...

ugh, why is he such an awful person? Why can’t he just love me? ”

“Because his initials are literally STD.”

I chuckle then. It’s a weak sound, but I’m not surprised that the first person that could make me laugh in the middle of this is my best friend. “He thinks I can’t do better than him. He told me that once.”

“So, prove the asshole wrong.” She shrugs.

“I should! I should have someone interrupt the wedding. Someone hot. Revenge for jilted women everywhere.”

“See, that’s the spirit! All you need is a hot guy.”

“And I know just where to get one,” I tell her, the plan already forming in my head. This may not be the wedding of my dreams, but it’s still going to be memorable for all of our guests.