Urban Cowgirl 1.2A

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“I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You came to the right place,” Monica says, pulling me into a tight embrace before I’ve had the chance to reply. She takes my small bag out of my hands, and then steps out of the way and gestures me to walk inside her apartment. “My brother’s visiting, but he can stay in the couch. You’ll have the bed in the guest room.”

“Oh, I don’t want to—”

“Not up for debate,” I hear Ben say. He jumps out of the couch the moment I step inside the living room, and I have to do a double take as my gaze lands on him. I haven’t seen Monica’s brother for ages now, and he has definitely…matured. There’s a short stubble on his face, and his shoulders seem broader than I remember them to be. His eyes, though, they remain as bright as I remember them to be.

“You look different,” I mutter, not knowing what else to say.

“Better, I hope,” he laughs, closing the distance between us and hugging me tightly. “Monica told me all about that Peter asshole, so I went out and got us some red wine.”

 “That’s my brother,” Monica says as she grabs one of the bottles from her kitchen counter and busies herself with pulling the cork off. Three hours later—or shall I say three bottles later?—and the three of us are sitting on Monica’s couch, the conversation split between all the catching up we have to do and a lot of curse words aimed at Peter.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Ben suddenly says, looking at me from the other side of the counter. “I wish it had been under better circumstances, though. But this was nice.”

“It was,” I agree, finishing my glass of wine and leaning back against the couch. “When was the last time I saw you? We were only—”

“Sixteen,” he laughs, the depth of his voice reminding me that we’re no longer teenagers. Well, deep down I still feel like the silly girl I’ve always been, but Ben…I don’t know how he feels, but he sure as hell looks like a man.

Easy there, I caution myself, doing my best to stop the wine from putting thoughts into my head. Even though I don’t want to, I excuse myself and drag my feet toward the guestroom, the whole apartment spinning with each step I take.

When I finally collapse on top of the bed, I can’t help but repeat Ben’s words.

“This was nice,” I whisper, my words coming out slurred. “This was nice.”

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