A middle-aged cowboy who hadn't seen his belt buckle in at least a decade thumped his boot on the stage as he sang an upbeat ditty about his ex-wife who had done him wrong. Couples two-stepped in a circle in front of the stage, their boots shuffling against the wooden dance floor, moving in time to the beat. He passed through a trio of men mesmerized by the action on the dance floor, turned left at the door marked Cowgirls Only and slid onto the barstool Chris had saved for him. The first swig of cold beer went down smooth and he hoped it would temper the heat eating away at his stomach lining ever since Josie had strutted her sweet little ass out of his office this morning. “Tell me again why you always want to come here, Chris?” “This is where all the cool multimillionaire lottery winners hang out when they're hiding from pain-in-the-ass accountants.” “Trouble in paradise?” Chris thunked his bottle down on the polished bar, sending foam spurting out of the opening.
