Urban Cowgirl 1.2C

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            “I’m sorry.” I don’t know why I’ve said it, but the words left my mouth before I could stop them. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” I continue, biting the inside of my cheeks to stop the tears from coming.

            “What’s your name, miss?” He asks me, a kindness to his voice. Tall and young, he looks like a more rugged version of Peter. The kind of man you’d picture as playing the part of a rogue but brave cop on a TV show.


            “I’m Officer Henderson,” he tells me. “Evan Henderson. Care to tell me what happened, Ashley?”

            “I…I lost it,” I admit, raking one hand over my face as I sigh. “I just lost it. Today was supposed to be a big day, you know? I just got promoted, and I wanted to come home and celebrate with my…”


            “Boyfriend,” I correct him. The moment I say it, I then feel the urge to correct myself. “Ex-boyfriend, actually.”

            That’s when the tears start coming. I bite on my bottom lip to stop them, but it’s of no use: the tears stream down my face warm and salty. “I thought he was going to propose,” I continue, babbling. “He was supposed to propose. We’d get married, buy a house, have two or three kids, maybe even a puppy…and now it’s all over!”

            “It’s alright,” he tells me softly, resting one hand on my shoulder. “Take a seat, please.” Directing me to the couch on my living room, he makes me sit down and goes down on one knee in front of me. “Take a deep breath, Ashley. What happened when you got home?”

            “He was…cheating on me,” I reply, these three words making everything that happened too damn real. Too damn final. “And then I just saw red. I lost it. I started breaking everything I could get my hands on.”

            “I see. What a fucking asshole,” he whispers, more to himself than to me. Clearing his throat and back to a more official demeanor, he then offers me a smile. “I’m sorry, Ashley. Some men simply can’t see how lucky they are. Under normal circumstances, I’d have to write a report on this, but…” he trails off, as if he were weighing his own options, and then goes up to his feet. “Let’s just sweep it under the rug, shall we?”

            “Thank you,” I sob. I was already picturing myself on handcuffs on the back of a police car, but I guess not all men are assholes. “Really.”

            “Don’t mention it,” he smiles, grabbing his notepad and jotting something down. Tearing one page off, he then hands it to me. “That’s my personal number. If that asshole decides to come back here, just give me a call.”

            Not knowing what else to say, I just look up at him and smile.

            He winks at me and, just like that, he’s gone.

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What’s better than one foot of man meat inside of you?
Well, how about two?