The Booty Read online

  THE BOOTY

  Copyright © 2020 by Devney Perry LLC

  All rights reserved.

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  ISBN: 978-1-950692-43-9

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  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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  Editing & Proofreading:

  Elizabeth Nover, Razor Sharp Editing

  www.razorsharpediting.com

  Judy Zweifel, Judy’s Proofreading

  www.judysproofreading.com

  Other Titles

  Calamity Montana Series

  The Bribe

  The Bluff

  Writing as Devney Perry

  Jamison Valley Series

  The Coppersmith Farmhouse

  The Clover Chapel

  The Lucky Heart

  The Outpost

  The Bitterroot Inn

  The Candle Palace

  Maysen Jar Series

  The Birthday List

  Letters to Molly

  Lark Cove Series

  Tattered

  Timid

  Tragic

  Tinsel

  Tin Gypsy Series

  Gypsy King

  Riven Knight

  Stone Princess

  Noble Prince

  Fallen Jester

  Tin Queen

  Runaway Series

  Runaway Road

  Wild Highway

  Quarter Miles

  Forsaken Trail

  Dotted Lines

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Once upon a time, a girl met a boy who won the Wrangler Butt Contest at the annual Testicle Festival in Bozeman, Montana.

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  The girl married that boy.

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  And they lived happily ever after.

  * * *

  (Also, the boy doesn’t know that the girl is using said real-life experience as inspiration for this story. She can’t wait to see his face when he finds out.)

  Chapter One

  “Put that down.” I swatted at the red Solo cup in Joann’s hand.

  “Hey!” She dodged my attempt, clutching it tight. “Knock it off.”

  “Where did you get that?” I scanned the crowd. “Who poured it for you? Were you watching? What if someone dropped a date-rape drug in there?”

  “Ugh.” She rolled her eyes. “Stop being such a downer. I watched the dude pour this. And now I’m going to drink it.”

  “But it’s . . . beer.” I cringed as she chugged.

  A dribble of white foam escaped the cup and her lips, falling down her chin and landing on the dirt beneath our shoes. She pulled the cup away, sighed and—“Burrrp.”

  “You are so attractive right now,” I deadpanned.

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m not here to find a man.”

  “Why are we here?” I asked as a man bumped into my shoulder, jostling me around. All night I’d been touched by strangers. Not even my masseuse was this handsy.

  “It’s fun, Lola.” Joann smiled, her eyes slightly unfocused.

  “Oh, you are drunk.”

  “That’s the plan.” She hiccupped. “Will you lighten up? Let’s parrrr-ty. Whoop!”

  “I’m going to have to hold your hair back later, aren’t I?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.” She laughed. The three tequila shots she’d slammed before we’d left her house were clearly numbing the pain.

  That pain and my duty to support her through this life change were the only reasons I was here tonight, standing in a monstrous barn.

  On Valentine’s Day.

  At the Testicle Festival in Calamity, Montana.

  When she’d told me the name of this party, I’d laughed, certain she’d made it up. Nope.

  “Should we go get a testicle?” Joann giggled, knowing it would make me cringe. Again.

  “Please stop saying testicle. I beg you.”

  She stuck out her tongue. “Testicle. Testicle. Testicle.”

  I closed my eyes and visualized myself in a happier place. At home in my apartment, with a glass of wine, a good book and chocolate.

  The waft of frying oil and beer batter snapped me back to reality—the Testicle Festival. Or Testy Fest, as Joann and the locals had so affectionally shortened it. Vinyl signs hung on the barn’s steel walls. Banners streamed above the two portable bars, each set up at opposite ends of the building. The logo for the event was a cartoon bull, his rear end proudly displayed and his large testicles swinging free. They’d even branded a heart into the bull’s side, in honor of this Hallmark holiday.

  “Aren’t they called Rocky Mountain oysters?” I asked.

  “Technically. If you want to get fancy.”

  “I always want to get fancy.” Tonight, there wasn’t a lick of fancy to be found.

  I’d been to Calamity a handful of times over the years. After Joann had married Riley, they’d moved here for his job with the forest service and to be close to his family, who lived around this area of Montana. And on occasion, I’d traveled here to visit my best friend.

  In the summer, we’d go hiking in the mountains. In the winters, we’d drive to the closest ski hill and spend the day on the slopes and drinking hot cocoa in the lodge. Calamity had that small-town Montana charm. It was peaceful. Friendly.

  The locals must have been on their best behavior during my previous visits because tonight their true colors were showing. There was nothing quiet about this party. It was raucous and rowdy. Raunchy and riotous. I’d been adding r adjectives to my list since we’d walked in the door.

  Joann glanced around the crowd, her lips moving, but I couldn’t make out a word she was speaking over the noise coming from the live band.

  “What?” I shouted.

  She leaned in to talk directly in my ear. “I said, let’s get in line.”

  Before I could protest, she latched on to my wrist and dragged me through the crowd toward the line of patrons waiting to collect their oysters. We dodged drunken cowboys as we moved. There were young adults—kids—who didn’t look old enough to be holding keg cups. Every other woman was dressed in a thin tank top and Daisy Dukes.

  “It’s fifteen degrees outside.”

  “What?” Joann said.

  “Nothing.” I waved her off. What am I doing here?

  This was not how I’d planned to spend Valentine’s Day. This was not how I’d planned to spend my trip to see Joann.

  But from the moment I’d arrived in Montana earlier today, Joann had been acting off. She was too chipper for a woman about to get a divorce from the love of her life. I’d planned to spend time with her and learn more about the downfall of her marriage than I had on our phone calls over the past month. Except she hadn’t stopped moving long enough for me to investigate.

  First, we’d had to drop off my things. Then we’d had to get changed. And after those tequila shots of hers and the announcement we were headed to a party, I knew things were much, much worse than I’d imagined.

  Joann was devastated and doing her best to hide it behind that pretty smile. No matter how many times she said how glad she was to be divorcing Riley before they had
kids, I saw straight past the ruse.

  This was heartache. This was desperation. This was drowning her misery in some cheap booze because she wasn’t ready to face the fact that her marriage had imploded.

  “Uh, Jo.” I leaned in close as we finally reached the end of the line. “Is Riley going to be here tonight?”

  She shrugged. “Probably.”

  “Is that why we’re here?”

  “No!” She said it too loudly and too quickly.

  Ahh. Now the party made sense. We weren’t here so she could get wasted and forget her sorrows. We were here to spy.

  It was almost cute how she’d thought she could hide her motivations from me.

  My friend was hoping to run into her soon-to-be ex—either to torture him or torture herself—and to see exactly what he was up to since she’d booted him out of their house one month ago.

  “Jo, let’s get out of here,” I said. “If you want to get drunk, then we’ll pick up some vodka on the way home. But if this is about Riley—”

  “It’s not about Riley.”

  “Oh, Joann. My sweet, sweet Joann. You’ve never been good at lying.”

  She raised her chin. “This is one of the biggest events in Calamity. It raises a lot of money for the food bank, and I want to show my support. Can you just loosen up for like an hour?”

  “Nice try. I’m still not buying it.”

  “Gah. It’s infuriating how well you know me.” She huffed. “Fine. You’re right. I want to see if he came here with her. One hour. Please?”

  I groaned. “One.”

  Then I was dragging her out of here, driving her home and taking a long, hot shower to wash away the stench of fried bovine testicles and sweaty humans.

  Valentine’s Day was supposed to be spent in pajamas with an aroma therapy candle. Instead, I’d been avoiding beer spills for the past hour. Cupid had sent me into the pits of hell this year. Apparently, hell smelled like Bud Light and grease.

  “I’m too old for this kind of party,” I muttered.

  “Ha!” Joann chortled. “In college, you’d always say you were ‘too busy’ for this kind of party. Now you’re ‘too old.’ You’re twenty-eight. And look around.”

  There were people of all ages here. “Do me a favor? Don’t do air quotes. You look ridiculous.”

  “Says the woman wearing a pair of ballet flats, a twin set and pearl earrings.” She gestured to my wardrobe. “I told you to change.”

  “This is just like everything else I brought. Maybe if I had known that a barn dance was on the agenda for the week, I would have packed differently.”

  “You look like a lawyer.” She reached for my cardigan, fumbling to unbutton the top button.

  “Stop that.” I swatted her away, redoing the button and righting my cardigan. “And I am a lawyer. Part of the reason I’m here this week, remember?”

  “I remember.” Sadness washed over her face and Joann lifted the beer cup to her mouth, chugging until it was empty.

  “Jo—”

  “I’m good!” She smiled.

  No, she wasn’t. But when she needed to cry later, I’d be there. And if this party was her chance to confront Riley, then I’d stick it out too.

  A man passed us, a red-and-white-checked paper boat in his hand holding a steaming fried hunk of meat. Was a testicle considered meat?

  “Are you really going to eat one of those?” I saw food poisoning in her future.

  “They’re actually good.”

  I gagged. “Pass.”

  Joann giggled and looped her arm with mine, resting her head on my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.” I held her arm tighter.

  She’d called me a month ago to tell me that she and Riley had separated. Until that call, I hadn’t had the faintest clue that they were having problems. Certainly not the kind of problems that had led him into the company of another woman.

  According to Riley, he hadn’t cheated on Joann. I was inclined to believe it was true. Riley didn’t seem to be that sort of man. And I think Joann believed him too, which was why she was calling it an emotional affair.

  So I was here to act as moral support—and to make sure the lawyer she’d hired wasn’t a complete pushover—as she and Riley negotiated the terms of their divorce.

  A divorce she didn’t want. Because although he’d hurt her, Joann was wildly in love with the man walking our way.

  “Oh shit,” I muttered.

  “What?” She stood straight.

  “Smile.” I forced one of my own. “You’re having the best time ever.”

  “What are you—” The words died on her tongue when she spotted him.

  Joann had come here tonight to see Riley, but I suspected she’d underestimated how it would make her feel. Her entire body stiffened, but my girl wasn’t going to admit defeat. She put on a beaming smile, swished a lock of her long, brown hair and laughed.

  Riley flinched when he heard it, hesitating a step, but then he came over, his hands tucked into his jeans. Thankfully, he was alone, or his testicles might have been the next to land in the frying pan. “Hey, Jo.”

  “Hey,” she said, feigning indifference.

  “Didn’t think you’d be here tonight.”

  “I come every year. Why would this year be any different?”

  “I, uh . . . guess it’s not.” He rubbed the nape of his neck, then looked to me. “Hi, Lola. When did you get to town?”

  “Earlier today.”

  He nodded, his gaze darting between me and his wife. “That’s good.”

  The line shifted forward and Joann took a step, hauling me with her as she raised her chin and dismissed Riley.

  He stood there, rooted as he stared at her profile. Agony was etched across his features and the urge to hug him was so overpowering that I almost caved, but then he disappeared into the crowd.

  “Is he gone?” she whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  “Phew.” Her body sagged.

  “Maybe we should skip the, er . . . food? And get you another beer.”

  “Maybe that’s a good idea.”

  We left the line just as the live band ended their blaring, country rendition of “You Shook Me All Night Long.”

  “All right! All right! Who’s ready for some fun?” the lead singer and emcee drawled into the microphone. His voice had a rough edge that lent itself to the country and rock covers he’d been performing all night.

  Joann and I were swallowed up in the noise as the crowd screamed, our journey to the beer garden halted as all eyes focused on the stage.

  “On behalf of the Calamity Food Bank, we want to thank you for coming out tonight. This has become a notorious fundraiser in the past three years, and because of your support, we’ll be able to feed hundreds of people in need around the county.”

  Applause bounced off the walls. I’d never heard so many whistles and catcalls over a charity.

  Okay, so maybe it was clever. The food bank was offering food that was definitely . . . unique. And with the twenty-five-dollar cover charge and the bodies packed into this place, they had to be bringing in some cash.

  “Now this year’s a special year. We got lucky and the event fell on Valentine’s Day. So to all you lovers out there, let’s see you give your Valentine a little kiss.”

  “Ugh.” Joann and I groaned in unison as couples around us kissed and hugged.

  The singer put his fingers to his lips and let out an ear-piercing whistle. “That’s a lot of love. But in honor of Valentine’s Day, we’ve come up with a little something special for the single ladies in the room.”

  I swear, that man picked me out of the crowd and his gaze locked on me.

  “I can’t be the only single woman in the room,” I muttered as the color flushed my cheeks.

  The singer clapped his hands together, rubbing them as an evil grin spread across his face. “Folks, let me explain to you how this is going to work. This is what we’re calling the Wrangle
r Butt Contest.”

  “The what?” I was the only one confused.

  Everyone else started whooping and cheering. Even Joann had a genuine smile on her face.

  The singer looked stage left and waved up a group of men, some more eager than others, to shuffle onto the stage. The man at the back of the line was practically being shoved up the stairs by his buddies.

  “These fine gentlemen, many of whom you recognize and love, are gonna put on a little show for you single ladies. Rules are simple. Cheer for the guy with the best Wrangler butt.”

  If the noise earlier had been deafening, this was explosive. The walls rattled and the floor shook as the ten men took their place in a line across the front of the stage.

  The singer picked up his guitar and backed away, giving the men space as the band began playing an upbeat rhythm. Was this really happening?

  “This is—”

  “Awesome!” Joann cheered with her arms raised in the air.

  “Barbaric. I was going to say barbaric.”

  “Would you stop?” She clapped, her let’s have fun mood back after the encounter with Riley. “When did you get so serious?”

  “Law school.”

  She threw her arms around me, laughing as the music picked up tempo. “How can you not think this is hilarious?”

  “It’s mildly entertaining, in a meat-market sort of way.” The first man started dancing, though dancing was a generous term. “Is that supposed to be twerking?”

  Joann was laughing so hard she had to dab away tears. “That’s Hal Miller. He’s a fireman in town. His wife is right over there.”

  “The pregnant one?” I asked as my gaze followed her pointing finger to the woman holding her belly with one hand as the other was cupped to her mouth while she shouted. “So much for a show for the single ladies. Seems like false advertising.”