WINNIE
Girls night
Pawhuska, Oklahoma
"GIRLS just wanna have fun”
***
Cassie’s place was a sanctuary—a small cottage painted soft blue, smelling like lavender, cinnamon, and a hint of old takeout she pretended wasn’t there.
The moment the door shut behind us, the tension from the barn slid off my shoulders.
For one night, I wasn’t ranch manager or “Beau’s mystery barrel racer.
” I was just Winnie, at my best friend’s house, in soft shorts and borrowed socks.
Cassie tossed her keys and her giant tote onto the counter with a clatter.
“Ground rules,” she said, already in full general mode.
“One, no talk about manure, fences, or Pops’ never-ending list. Two, no stressing about regionals.
Three, we can talk about your feelings for exactly five minutes total.
After that, we only talk about his dick and my commitment issues. ”
She yanked a tub of cookie dough ice cream from the freezer and handed me a spoon. No bowls—girls’ night was feral.
She flopped onto the patchwork couch and pointed the spoon at me like a mic. “All right, Jameson. Important questions first. Does Beau have a huge dick?”
I almost inhaled a chunk of cookie dough. “Cassie!”
“What?” She grinned, eyes wicked. “I saw you stumble out of that barn looking like you’d seen the face of God. Don’t you dare pretend that man is packing ‘respectable average.’ I require measurements. For science. For my fragile emotional investment.”
I pressed my spoon to my lips, trying not to smile. Failed. “I am not giving you measurements.”
“So yes,” she decided. “Got it. How ‘holy shit’ are we talking? ‘This is fine, I can still walk’ or ‘schedule a chiropractor’?”
I grabbed the nearest throw pillow and buried my face in it. My voice came out muffled. “Through his jeans, Cass. And I still thought, ‘holy shit.’”
She let out a whoop that rattled the picture frames. “Knew it. That much repressed energy had to be attached to serious hardware. And the way he was looking at you at the Spur? That is not ‘respectable average’ behavior. That is ‘I will ruin your life and your pelvis’ energy.”
I peeked over the pillow, laughing. “You’re disgusting.”
“Correct. Now, follow-up. Has the dick been… deployed? Full penetration, balls in play, choir of angels?”
“No!” I threw the pillow at her. “We haven’t… we almost… in the barn… and in the hallway before that. But no actual sex yet.”
“But he’s seen you naked,” she sing-songed.
“Technically towel-naked.”
“Please, that towel was holding on by hope and surface tension.” She leaned forward. “Okay, walk me through the barn. Slow. Use adjectives.”
I felt my face heat, but the wine cooler in my hand and the smell of cinnamon candles made it easier to talk.
“He had me pinned against the post. One hand under my shirt. His hands are rough from work now—you can feel every callus—but he was so gentle at first. Then he squeezed my boob and I just… short-circuited. And when he put his hand over my shorts… Cass, I swear, one more minute and I was going to come fully clothed in front of a bale of hay.”
Cassie made a low appreciative sound. “I’m happy for you, but also offended you didn’t FaceTime me so I could applaud live.”
“Yeah, hi, poor connection in the orgasm aisle.”
She snorted. “God, Win. He’s ruining you for the rest of the local dating pool and he hasn’t even gotten his dick out yet. Meanwhile, I’m over here ghosting perfectly decent men because they use too many emojis.”
“You ghosted that one guy because he said ‘sup’ instead of ‘hey,’” I reminded her.
“Because I’m not dating a man who can’t commit to fully formed words.” She dug into the ice cream. “Also because he asked me on a second date while I was still on the first. Stage five clinger. Hard pass.”
I stretched out, propping my feet on her coffee table. “You know your standards are, like, sky-high and underground at the same time, right?”
“Correct again. I accept only two types of men: completely unavailable, or hot and emotionally uncomplicated and gone in three to five business days.” She tapped her spoon against her chin.
“Which is why Beau is your problem, not mine. My heart would actually explode if someone looked at me the way he looks at you.”
“How does he look at me?” I asked, even though I knew. I just wanted to hear it.
Cassie paused the Netflix rom-com she’d queued up and turned to me. “Like you’re the answer to a question that’s been driving him crazy his entire life,” she said simply. “Like he just realized the universe isn’t actually in Dallas, it’s in your barn.”
I swallowed around the sudden lump in my throat. “He’s intense,” I agreed. “He’s trying so hard to be this ranch guy, but he still spins out about his dad and the board and money. I think he’s more scared than I am.”
“You’re both scared, you’re just scared of different things.” She waved the spoon at me. “He’s scared of staying. You’re scared of him leaving. I,” she added, “am scared of a man wanting brunch two weekends in a row.”
I laughed. “God forbid someone remembers your coffee order.”
“Exactly. That’s how they get you. First it’s oat milk, then it’s ‘meet my mother’ and suddenly I’m planning a joint Costco membership.” She shuddered theatrically. “I am a free-range chaos raccoon. I do not thrive in captivity.”
“You literally alphabetize your spice rack.”
“Emotional captivity, Win. Keep up.”
We fell into a comfortable rhythm: commenting on the movie’s terrible dialogue, pausing to dissect Beau’s hands, and occasionally roasting Cassie’s dating history.
“So what about you?” I asked when the male lead did something particularly dumb on-screen. “You talk all this shit about me ‘keeping’ Beau. What about Mr. ‘I drive a Tacoma and do CrossFit’ from last month? He was nice. Hot. Gainfully employed. You bailed on date three.”
She groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. “He asked me what my five-year plan was.”
“That’s… a normal question?”
“Not on date three while I’m eating nachos.” She peeked at me. “He said the words ‘shared life trajectory.’ I hadn’t even seen his dick yet. Let me at least see the goods before we map out our retirement.”
I snorted my wine cooler. “You’re allergic to commitment.”
“Damn right I am,” she said cheerfully. “My parents were a masterclass in how not to do marriage. Yours too, in their own tragic way. You think I’m gonna sprint toward that? No thanks. I’ll take situationships and orgasms without joint tax returns, please.”
I went quiet for a beat, tracing the condensation on my bottle. “I don’t want marriage right now,” I said slowly. “I just… don’t want to be the only one who cares more. Again.”
Cassie nudged my shoulder with hers. “Then make him show up,” she said. “Don’t fall for potential. Make sure he’s actually doing the shit. You’re not asking for a ring—you’re asking him not to treat you like a summer elective.”
“Summer elective with good tits,” I added dryly.
“The best tits,” she corrected. “Look, commitment freaks me out, yeah. But even I can see it: that boy is down bad. Board meeting, trust funds, daddy issues—and he still chooses to get hard for you in the middle of a workday. That’s devotion.”
I burst out laughing. “Beautiful. Put that on a Hallmark card.”
We took a break from the heavy stuff to do karaoke, because apparently the night needed more chaos. She dragged out the ancient machine, cued up Shania, and we screamed “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” at the top of our lungs until my voice cracked.wikipedia+1
By midnight, we were sprawled on her bed, crumbs everywhere, makeup smeared, stomachs aching from laughter.
“Okay, serious hour,” Cassie said, poking my cheek. “What actually scares you about Beau? Besides the dick, obviously.”
I stared at the ceiling. “That he’ll choose Dallas. That he’ll decide I’m just this… hot ranch phase,” I admitted. “That he’ll go back to his life and I’ll be here with the horses and the bills and this… crater where he used to be.”
“And if he doesn’t?” she asked softly. “If he chooses you and the ranch and the terrifying thing called a ‘future’?”
“Then I’m scared of how much I want that,” I said, voice small. “I don’t… do this. I don’t hand people the power to wreck me. You know that. You’re the only person I’ve ever really let all the way in.”
She shifted, turning to face me, eyes serious for once.
“Win, I’m never gonna be the example of healthy romantic attachment.
I panic when a man leaves his toothbrush at my place.
” She snorted. “But I know good when I see it. And what you two have? It’s messy and horny and complicated, sure. But it’s not casual.”
I let that settle in my chest, warm and terrifying.
“Also,” she added, ruining the moment in pure Cassie fashion, “if he does hurt you, I get to kick him in the balls. I’ve been doing squats. I can end a bloodline.”
I barked out a laugh. “Deal. Ball-kicking rights secured.”
“Good.” She flopped onto her back again.
“And for the record, just because I flame out at date three doesn’t mean you have to.
You can want the icky long-term shit. A man who knows your coffee order and your cycle and your emergency ‘I need to be railed in a barn’ face.
I’ll still love you if you become Disgustingly In Love Girl.
I’ll just bully you occasionally so you don’t get boring. ”
“You could always… try it sometime,” I said quietly. “Let someone in past date three.”
“Maybe,” she said, voice noncommittal, eyes a little too bright. “If I ever find someone who makes me look at them the way you look at Beau when you think no one’s watching.”
We drifted off talking about everything and nothing—old disasters, new dreams, the time in high school Cassie made out with a guy behind the bleachers then ghosted him because he called her “ma’am.”
For one night, it didn’t matter what Beau’s last name was, or who was watching the ranch, or what the internet thought of me. It was just me and my best friend, eating junk, butchering karaoke, and laughing until our sides hurt.
And yeah, underneath all that, every time I closed my eyes, I saw the way Beau had looked at me in the barn. Felt the way his hand had pressed between my legs, the way his voice had dropped when he said he wanted to hear me scream.
He was going to get that wish. I just hoped, when I finally wrapped my mouth around his dick or let him all the way in, I still had enough sense left not to fall completely in love with him.
Knowing me, and that man, I wasn’t betting on it.