She pinches my arm. The corner of her mouth turns up. “So, not to change subjects or anything, but how hot were the cowboys in Texas? You must have had some working at your aunt’s ranch? C’mon, details.”
Another bad topic. The mention of cowboys, and I smell the hot beer breath on my face and feel the rough hand groping up under my shirt. He had me by my ponytail. It never paid to be caught in the tack room alone after dark when Aunt Sophia’s workers were hanging out drinking. That night, I took the shears to my hair. To change the subject, I do the I’m-going-to-vomit sign. “Nah. Only if you like toothless, smelly fat guys. No hot ones like on the covers of those romance books you read.”
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