Chapter 34
No more thanhalf an hour after Ty left, a new car pulled into the drive. This one was some cheap compact with a sticker on the front from a rental place, which meant it could only be one person. J.D. saw it through the front window and hopped up, hurrying to the door like he lived here. Dad looked up from the game he was watching, his brow furrowed, then he turned off the TV.
"Max!" J.D. yelled as he stepped onto the front porch. "Glad to see you found it."
I hurried to catch up, but what I saw was not at all what I'd expected. The guy, whose name was clearly Max, had on a brand-new pair of jeans and boots. He wore a white button down with the Tillman logo on the chest. Under all that was a slightly pudgy, definitely balding guy who screamed geek. From his thick glasses to his almost childlike smile, Max did not look at all like what I'd imagined a PBR rep to be.
"Come in," I offered, waving them both in. "Couch or table, your call."
"Table," Max decided, but he paused inside to offer his hand. "Cody Jennings, I assume? I'm Max Wasserman with Tillman International. J.D. said that this was a good time?"
"It is," I promised, gesturing toward my father. "And this is my dad, Dean Jennings."
"Mr. Jennings," Max greeted him.
"Just Dean," Dad told him. "She may be a legal adult, but she's still my little girl, so I hope you don't mind me sitting in?"
"No, sir," Max said as we herded him toward the kitchen table. "And I'm going to be upfront with all of you. Tillman's very interested in this opportunity, and being the only woman in the PBR means you have us over a barrel. I'm sure J.D.'s already made that clear."
"I was good," J.D. told him. "But you see her jeans, Max? Cody, turn around."
I sighed, but obeyed, lifting my shirt to show off the Fierce Denim patch. "It's pretty much the only brand cut for bull riding," I explained.
"Well, rodeo," Max agreed. "Looks like you're in the 1700 series, which were designed for barrel racing. Do they work well for you?"
I just shrugged. "As compared to what?"
"Oh, I just mean binding, pinching, or flexibility. If you find you have any issues, let me know." He quickly put his soft-sided briefcase on the table and pulled out a card. "Fierce Denim can make custom jeans for you. We'll have to send someone to get your measurements, but to make sure you'll stay in our brand, we're more than happy to be accommodating." Then his eyes widened. "I'm so sorry. I'm jumping ahead as if this is a done deal!"
"You're fine, Max," J.D. promised. "Sit. Beer?"
"No," Max said, waving him off. "Gives me heartburn."
"Sweet tea?" I offered instead.
And Max smiled at me like a little boy. "That would be excellent. Thank you. I have a fondness for good Southern tea, but we only get the bottled stuff up in Michigan."
I went to pour him a glass, and my father took over. "Ok, so what are the stipulations on her agreement?"
"Sounds like you've done this before," Max said, shuffling through his papers. "Well, first off, she has to wear pink. That's been our hold up with the other riders."
"Already in pink," I told him. "Chaps and helmet. My shirt's black with pink and lime trim."
"That works." He smiled when I set the tea in front of him. "We'll want to put the logo on the back of your vest, reserving the whole space."
"No deal," Dad said. "Minor sponsors go across the shoulders. You can have the back panel."
"I can work with that. And we'd like the left front shoulder, too. I can add a little something if we can buy space on your chaps." Max looked at me for the answer.
"I'm currently sponsorless, so if you make the deal sweet enough," I assured him.
He nodded. "So what's your starting point?"
"Fifty per event," I said, "with bonuses for ranking in both the top ten, top five, and first place."
His eyes went wide and he looked over at J.D. The punk just lifted both hands and shook his head. "Promised I wouldn't undermine your deal, man. That wasn't me."
"Ty McBride," I admitted. "But let's be honest. We both know that you don't have a choice. I mean, I could wear Stanley Tools, Red Bull, or Budweiser. I ranked in the top five my first time out. I'll be getting your brand plenty of attention, and you don't have any other riders who can get the women's market the same way. I promise, Max, we girls aren't looking at J.D. for ideas on what to wear."
He chuckled, but nodded. "You're right, Ms. Jennings. You're also busting my..." He paused, then cleared his throat. "Sorry. Most of the people I represent are men."
"Balls," my dad finished for him. "It's ok. My girl rides in the PBR, so I think she can take it."
"Yeah," Max breathed. "Anyways..." He glanced over at J.D. "You rat me out on this, and I'm trading your contract in the fall."
"Not ratting," J.D. promised.
So Max looked back to me. "I'm authorized to make a very good deal, Cody. How about we just go with that fifty grand per event, plus ten thousand for top ten, twenty-five for top five, and I'll say an even fifty for first place, with the option to renegotiate next year?"
My mouth was hanging open. "And what's the catch?" I asked.
It was J.D. who answered. "For getting you to sign under a hundred, I get a two hundred grand referral bonus."
"And," Max added, "we've got a stipulation that you cannot sign with any other clothing company. Well, casual wear. Means Carhart and other outerwear companies aren't restricted. But, if you aren't at an event, you make nothing. Doesn't matter if it's medical, by choice, or what. You don't ride, you aren't advertising, so you don't get paid."
"Checks come how often?" Dean asked.
"One week after the event," Max told him. "We'll need banking information for the transfer, but we always pay out the Friday after each event. Most of our riders say it works out, because if you're laid up on medical leave, you still know a check is coming."
"And I'll cover you for St. Louis," J.D. told me. "I mean, half my bonus is yours, I figure. I can't just cut you a check, because it'd take forever to clear, but I'll cover your entry and such."
Max looked over at him. "Want me to just send part of it to her account?"
"Yeah," J.D. said. "Fifty-fifty."
"But -" I tried, since he'd just offered to pay for my entry.
J.D. just lifted a hand. "Quiet, woman. I already got a plan." Then he grinned.
Which meant I'd grill him later. Too bad for him, I had a very long memory, and I would pay him back. Although, while the three guys continued to go over all the details, I couldn't quite get over the idea of making fifty grand in a single weekend. Considering the PBR typically had multiple events each month, that was a lot of money to send home for Dad. Even if I kept some for myself - and how would I ever spend that much? - it still meant I really could meet that goal that Dad and I had talked about. All total, what with the breaks in the PBR, that was about thirty-two events each year. In other words, I could easily earn over a million bucks!
Well, next year. This year, I was starting in the middle of the tour, but still! In one weekend, I could get enough money to buy my dad a new truck. In a month, I could be set. It was so shocking that all I could do was sit there, staring at the table in shock.
Eventually, Max handed me a stack of papers, with a copy for my father as well. He told me to read it over at my leisure, and if I was interested, he'd be in St. Louis and I could hand it back then. As soon as we got the patches on my gear, I would start making money. I was still in a daze when I showed him out, but my dad handled all the polite bits.
The moment his car left our drive, I turned on J.D. "What do you mean you're going to pay my way in, and then split the bonus with me?" I demanded.
"It's a hundred grand," he told me. "Cody, I've been riding long enough that I earn more than that just for showing up. I'm not worried about it, but you are. I figure that if I get you in, riding, and set up with a sponsor, then that means when I need a hand, you'll be willing to give one. You know, because I've had to miss a few events before. Breaking a leg takes months to heal, and when you don't have a team to fall back on? Yeah, it's a lot harder."
"So we're a team?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Yeah, I think so. I mean, we both ride for Tillman now - or will as soon as you turn in that contract - so why not? Having someone with backup gear, waiting at the rail to offer a hand up, and I dunno, tug a rope, sounds pretty nice to me."
"I'm so in for that," I promised. "Thank you, J.D. For taking care of me, getting me a sponsor, and everything."
He chuckled, but turned to my father. "Mr. Jennings, it was a pleasure."
Dad actually slapped his palm into J.D.'s. "Surprisingly, I can say the same. I take it you're heading out?"
"Yeah, gotta pack up my hotel room and move to the next." Then he looked at me and tilted his head to the door. "Can I borrow you for a second?"
Dad groaned and headed back toward the kitchen. "Just remember that we have neighbors!"
I rolled my eyes, but followed J.D. outside, down the stairs, and over to his truck. There, he flopped against the side, tapping the space next to him for me. I ignored it and reached over to open his door, knowing that an afternoon in the sun would make it miserable. Then I moved to stand before him.
"So," I said, "I guess this means I'm in your debt, huh?"
"Nah," he said. "Just don't forget how nice it is to get a little help, and pass it on to the next rookie. And so you know, Max is a good guy. Not a cowboy, but he tries really hard. I get the impression he wishes he could be one."
"And, um..." I looked down at the dirt, dragging a line in it with my boot. "So, about Ty leaving earlier..."
"Finding the highway's a pretty lame excuse," J.D. admitted. "But it's cool. You kinda like him, huh?"
"I don't..." I sighed. "I mean..." This time, I just flopped my arms. "Maybe?"
"Don't overthink it," he said. "I mean, he's really into you."
"But that's the thing. So, he kissed me, and then he told me to make sure that you do the same, and I don't know what the hell is going on, J.D., but at least with you, I feel like I can ask."
His eyes had gotten a little wider. "Ty said that?"
"Yeah," I said sheepishly.
J.D. pushed himself off the side of his truck and right up to my chest. Then he caught the side of my face and forced me to look up at him. "Cody, I think you're my friend, right?"
"Of course I am!"
He smiled, but this time it looked almost sad. "Honey, you know how many friends I have?"
"No..."
"You." His thumb swept across my cheek. "I make people do what I need, and I try to look out for all the others, but friends? I just got you. That's why I want us to be a team. That's why I've been riding Ty's ass about him going stupid over you. And yes, he's fucking stupid for you, but I think it's actually for the right reasons. Thing is, I don't wanna fuck this up. Whatever thing this is that we have between us."
"Oh," I breathed. "So you're not going to kiss me, then." Because it sure as hell looked like he had no intention of it.
But he ducked his head. "I am not your friend because you're a girl, Cody. I'm not helping you because I think you're some trinket to call mine and show off. I'm your friend because the first time I saw you ride, you were all in. All fuckin' in. Honey, I didn't mean to like you as anything other than a bull rider, and I wanna make sure that's real clear between us, but every time you smile at me?"
And then his mouth crashed down on mine. That hand on my face pulled me closer, his hips pressed in, turning me, and before I knew it, my back was against his truck. I could feel the heat of the metal through my shirt, and it matched the fire of the man devouring my mouth.
This was the definition of passion. Nothing about J.D. was subtle, and he sure didn't kiss like it. He kissed me like we were making love, like I should beg for a little more. I grabbed a fistful of his t-shirt and pulled his chest up against mine, hoping that would ease the ache that had sprung up in my breasts, but it only pushed my pulse a little lower.
Then he pushed a hand beside my hip, holding his body above mine. "Think we can be this kind of friends?" he asked, breathing hard enough he was almost panting.
I bit my lip and shrugged. "Pretty sure my panties are wet."
"Oh, my dick's definitely hard. Don't care about none of that. Me and you, Cody. Can we do this and still be friends? The kind that never gets old?"
All I could do was nod. "Yeah. I think so."
"Good." He leaned in and kissed me again, this time softly. "Because I'm all about blurring lines, honey, and I think we both are gonna need someone willing to listen to our secrets." Then he smiled. "But you are fucking beautiful."
Never in my life had a compliment felt so damned honest. Those words sounded like a prayer, not like a pickup line. The only problem was that I didn't have a clue what to say back, and before I knew it, J.D. was in his truck and backing out of my drive, leaving me a little too much time to think about it.