“Looks like she’s got you all twisted up in knots.” Trace sits down beside me.
“Damn, you just won’t give it a fucking break, will you?” I ask him. He’s like a dog with a bone.
“Nope, but you know that about me, huh?” He’s not wrong, been that way all his life.
“Sure, you want to help me get ready, or did you come here to get out of work?” I reply.
“Nope, I’m here in official capacity today.” He stretches out as if he really is.
“Yeah, right,” I grunt.
“What? I am. I’ll be your very own rodeo clown today.” I do a double take when he says that. Shit, if our mom finds out, she won’t only have his hide, she’ll have mine too.
“The fuck you are.” It’s one thing for me to ride bulls. If I get bucked off the bull, it’s rodeo staff that tries to get their attention off the rider.
“Yep, someone called out. They knew I would come and help out on the road with you when the ranch would allow it. So, they reached out when one of their usuals came down with some kind of stomach bug.” My eyes move from his back to looking for Blakely. She’s long gone though.
“Mom know about this?” I ask.
“Yep. I got stern warnings that both her bull-headed boys better come home to her in one piece, and not so much a speck of blood better come from us. So, do me a favor and don’t fuck up.” So much for relaxing before it’s time to get this show on the road.
“Great, you staying the night?” I bring my own camper, something I’ve kept from my rodeoing days.
“I got a hotel room in case they need me for tomorrow.” Looks like I’ll at least get some peace and quiet tonight, hopefully.
“Let me know if you need anything. The camper’s here if you need to take a breath in between events.” Trace will more than likely have to work the bull and bronc riding events tonight.
“I appreciate it. Now, what are you gonna do about Blake?” I shake my head, not answering him and his brand of crazy. It’s time I get ready, center my fucking head, and keep it off Blakely even if all I want to do is feel her soft lips against mine again. Fuck, that thought isn’t doing me a lick of good. I have a sneaking suspicion nothing will take my thoughts off her.
Ten
Blakely
I’m still on an adrenaline rush from taking first place in my event. That wasn’t what I was expecting at all. I mean, sure, I wanted to have good standings, but I wasn’t expecting first place. I walk around the rodeo, grabbing a drink and a tater twister and chicken on a stick, carbs in the form of potatoes that are deep fried and spiraled, drizzled with extra salt, and fried chicken that is easy to eat with the way they have it on a wooden rod. It’s so good and the reason I’ll definitely be working out, because after this, fried cookie dough balls will be calling my name. The downside of barrel racing and the way my mind and body works is, I refuse to eat until after I’m finished. My stomach absolutely protests, and it doesn’t matter if I have an event like I did today, late in the afternoon. I won’t eat until it’s all said and done.
“Fancy seeing you here.” I’m taking another bite of my food when Trace’s voice is right beside me. I turn to look at him and almost scream like a little girl.
“Jesus, what the hell, Trace?”
“What, you didn’t know I’d be here? Where there’s smoke, there’s always a fire.” He’s got makeup on his face and is wearing oversized overalls, crazy socks, shoes too, and then it hits me.
“Did you volunteer for this? I swear you’re trying to be cupid, but it’s not going to work. Your brother is too much of a sissy to even wave at me, let alone talk.” I take another bite of my chicken, not even enjoying it now that I’m thinking about Knox and his dumb self.
“Maybe, maybe not.” Trace and his damn maybes are going to make everyone throttle him. I roll my eyes at him. “I see you couldn’t stay away for long though, could you?” Yep, leave it to Trace to call me out.
“Nope, you caught me. Now, will you shut up? Knox is about to ride, and he’s not fooling me either. I know he was watching me too.” I return my eyes to the arena.
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing they’re giving me a break. Though, I’d rather be down there with him. Just because he’s older doesn’t mean he’s wiser,” Trace mutters.
“Pot, meet kettle.” The announcer calls out Knox’s name, his number, and what bull he’s riding on. Trace and I look at each other knowing that Mr. Killarny is one of the meanest, roughest, and toughest bulls out there. His attitude is everything they look for in a rodeo bull. “Shit,” I murmur.