A Wild Ride (2 page)

Harvey appeared at the base of the fence. “Come on. They aren’t going to announce anything until you leave the arena and the crowd settles down.” Dante climbed down and took his rope when the wrangler handed it to him, then walked back toward the tunnel.

Dante made his way to the locker room. This was the last event and his last ride, so most of the other cowboys had already left to watch the action. Gently, Dante lowered himself onto a bench and sighed.

“The score should be up soon,” Harvey said.

Dante nodded slowly. Damn, he hurt all over. Dante opened the locker he’d been using and fished in his bag, popping a couple of Tylenol before taking the cup Harvey offered. “We need to get out there. If you win, they’ll want to see you, and if you don’t, everyone will be watching for that too.” Harvey’s voice held a note of warning.

Dante hoisted himself back to his feet. “That was a long time ago.” He’d learned a hell of a lot about how to act, win or lose, since he first started.

“You know that and I know that, but the fans have a long memory in this sport, and half of them wait just to see if you’re going to lose it.”

“Well, fuck them,” Dante said as he followed Harvey back out of the locker area. As he approached the arena again, though he’d only been gone a few minutes, the crowd was getting restless. Then a cheer went up, and Dante knew the results had been posted. The cheers muted somewhat, and as Dante stepped into the arena, he turned up to the scoreboard and felt his heart plummet to his feet. He’d gotten second place by two one-hundredths of a point. Two fucking one-hundredths of a point. No wonder it had taken so long to put the scores up. The judges had to make sure they were spot on. Maddox, the winner, walked into the arena, waving his hat above his head as he took his victory walk. Dante knew he was expected to as well, so he climbed up and sat on the edge of the rail, then took off his own hat to wave it at the crowd. His arm hurt like billy hell, but he smiled and waved, tamping down the roiling cauldron of frustration that simmered in his gut. Once he figured he’d made nice and played the fucking game, he climbed down gingerly and shuffled back to the locker room, where he collapsed onto a bench.

“You’ll get ’em next year,” Harvey said. “That was one hell of a ride you had, and people aren’t going to forget it. Neither is….” Harvey stopped mid-sentence as Maddox strode into the locker room with a smile as big as the Texas range.

“That was a real nail-biter,” he said with a cocky smile that Dante wanted to slap off the fucker’s face. Asshole was probably counting the sponsorships and endorsements he’d get off this win. Maddox pulled out his phone. “Did you see it?” he asked into the phone. Everyone knew Maddox was dating a New York fashion model. He’d flashed pictures of her rack barely encased in Lycra to everyone he could. “Yes, I won like we both knew I would,” Maddox said into his phone, flashing another cocky smile at Dante.
Two one-hundredths of a point.
“Yes, I’ll be there for your
Vogue
shoot, and then we can go on to Paris together.”

A few of the other cowboys wandered in. They greeted Dante with nods, and a couple of the guys he knew lightly touched his shoulder.

Maddox grinned like a Cheshire cat as he continued his conversation. “Of course we can stop at Louis Vuitton.” The men snickered softly, but Dante swore Maddox had raised his voice to make sure they all knew it. “I have the hotel on the Left Bank, and we’ll celebrate….” Maddox continued, but Dante had heard more than enough of this crap. He stood up and strode in Maddox’s general direction and then quickly turned toward the other guys. “Hey, Elton, are you going out?” Dante gestured, hitting Maddox’s arm none too softly. He knew he had to be hurting as badly as he was. A second later, the satisfying sound of a cell phone smashing on concrete reached his ears. Most satisfying sound he’d heard in years.

“Jesus Christ, that was my iPhone,” Maddox said as though the damned thing had been made of solid gold.

“Sorry,” Dante said before turning around. “Didn’t see you there.” The other men did their best to hide their smiles. Some succeeded; some didn’t. “You going to sign autographs for the fans?” Dante asked as a distraction.

“No, goddammit,” Maddox swore, steeling him with a hard glare, and for a second, Dante thought he was going to punch him. Now that would be sweet, but Maddox didn’t rise to the bait. He had too much to lose. Maddox instead gathered up his stuff and brushed by Dante, giving him a jab in the ribs that hurt like hell, but Dante didn’t let it show. After grabbing some water, he left the locker room and headed out into the arena. The die-hard fans would be waiting by the rail for autographs and maybe a chance to talk. All the riders were supposed to show up for autographs; it was part of what was expected, and they were fined if they didn’t show. But guys like Maddox, and him, now that he thought about it, often paid the fine and skipped it.

Dante stepped out onto the arena floor, the sand crunching lightly beneath his boots. A murmur went through the small crowd gathered at the rail, and a bit of the excitement that had begun to slip away returned. He eyed the crowd and saw a group of kids—looked like a scout troop or something. He walked in their direction and was greeted by young, awed faces and even a few jumps.

“Did you like it?” Dante asked, and they answered yes as he took their programs and signed each one. “Hello, sweetheart,” Dante said as he crouched carefully in front of a little girl next to the boys. She had on a little cowgirl outfit and was holding her daddy’s hand. She looked at him shyly and then up at her daddy.

“She can’t talk,” he said, and Dante smiled at the little girl, taking the program from her hand.

“What’s her name?” Dante asked.

“Gabrielle,” her father answered. Dante usually just signed programs, but he signed Gabrielle’s to his “favorite little cowgirl” and handed it back, saying good-bye and getting a smile from the little girl before moving on.

Dante signed a number of programs and then stepped back, waving to everyone before turning to leave the arena floor. Some of the other riders were still signing, but he’d had more than enough. Just before he reached the tunnel, he saw the scoreboard, the numbers still displayed.
Two one-hundredths of a point.
The numbers seemed to mock him. Anger welled inside as the fatigue that had begun to take over subsided. Dante turned away and marched back toward the locker room.

“I’ve got to take off,” Harvey said outside the locker-room door. “Are you okay to drive?”

Was he?
Dante took stock of his injuries. “I’m fine,” he answered. “I’ll see you soon.” Harvey nodded and then hurried away toward the exit, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he went. Dante went back into the locker room. He took off his vest with a sigh and set it aside before stripping off the chaps and the rest of the gear, packing it away before heading toward the exit.

“Tough luck about the score,” Bobby Varton said as they passed. Dante paused for a split second, trying to figure out if the sentiment was genuine or a rib. Knowing Bobby, it could go either way.

Dante shrugged lightly, hoping like hell to avoid more pain. “What can you do?”

Bobby nodded. “Best ride I’ve seen in a long time, though.”

Dante nodded before moving on. He left the arena carrying his bag and walked to his truck, parked in the designated area. The lot was largely empty, most everyone already gone. Dante unlocked the door and threw his gear behind the seat before climbing in. He started the engine and willed the air-conditioning to cool the damned sauna down. When the cold air began to blow, Dante closed the door, but he didn’t pull out. Not yet.

His leg shook with excess energy. Tired as he was, he couldn’t stop his heart from pounding. “Two hundredths of a goddamned point,” Dante yelled, pounding his fist against the steering wheel. “I was that fucking close!” His entire body thrummed with energy that wasn’t going to go away. Adrenaline still coursed through him, and it would for a long time yet. As hyped up as he was, from his jittery legs to his cock throbbing in his jeans, it wasn’t going to dissipate soon.

He threw the truck in gear and tore out of the parking lot and onto the access road before getting on the freeway and heading toward the north end of Houston. There was no way he was going to waste all this energy. What he wanted, no,
needed,
was a hard, down-and-dirty fuck. And he knew just where to get it.

“C
OME
on, Jacky,” Ryan Abbott said with more impatience than he intended. “They’re done signing autographs.”

“Okay,” Jacky, Ryan’s best friend and the world’s biggest rodeo fan, agreed after taking a final look around the nearly empty arena. “I was hoping Maddox would come out and sign.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “I think we can safely leave now, and I want to remind you that since I came with you to the rodeo, you promised we could go out for a while.” He liked rodeo well enough, and it was fun to see all the guys doing what they did. He could admit there was something unbelievably and indescribably sexy about them. But he’d had enough bull-riding for one day, and now he was hoping for some fun and food—definitely food.

“I know,” Jacky said after looking around one last time. “I remember what I said, and I know you have to be starving about now. It’s been”—Jacky checked his watch—“two hours since you ate those two hotdogs.” Jacky raised his eyebrows.

“It’s been almost three hours,” Ryan corrected with a grin. His need to eat every few hours had been a source of jealousy for Jacky for as long as they had been friends. Ryan could eat anything he wanted, but Jacky had to watch every bite of food.

“Let’s go before you waste away to nothing,” Jacky said, leading the way out of the arena to the truck. Jacky unlocked the doors, and they stood outside for a few seconds, letting the heat wash out. Then Jacky got in and started the engine. Ryan got in as well, and they pulled out of the lot, almost getting hit by a dually truck tearing out ahead of them. Jacky slammed on the brakes and Ryan flew forward, the seat belt catching him. “Asshole!” Jacky cried. “You had the whole damned parking lot.” Jacky flipped the bird as the other vehicle sped past without even slowing. “Did you see that guy?”

“Yeah,” Ryan said, getting his heart back where it belonged as Jacky got the truck moving again. “Where are you taking me?” He knew he had to change the subject or Jacky would rant about the guy in the truck until they got where they were going.

“A bar just outside town—they have great food and music,” Jacky said, turning on the radio so country music could fill the cab.

“Let me guess: there’s more than food at this place.”

“It’s where the bull riders hang out,” Jacky said.

Ryan had, of course, already figured they were going to a place like that. Where else would Jacky take him than a rodeo bar? The man lived, ate, and breathed cowboys. For as long as Ryan had known him, Jacky had almost exclusively worn western shirts, cowboy hats, and boots, and on more than one occasion, chaps, although Ryan was pretty sure that when Jacky wore those, there wasn’t much, if anything, on beneath them.

“It’ll be fun, and who knows, you may catch the eye of one of those guys.”

Ryan nearly snorted, but kept his protests to himself. He was hardly the kind of guy they were going to go for, even if they were gay. And if they were, he wasn’t about to be the plaything of some guy so deeply in the closet he only came out when his dick was about to explode and his balls turned blue.

“Come on. You’re gorgeous and you know it,” Jacky said. “I’d give anything to be tall, have your perma-tan, and that long, black hair. God.” Jacky shook his head. “You turn heads everywhere you go and you have no idea you’re doing it.”

“Yeah, but guys talk to you,” Ryan protested.

“Only because I talk to them first, and if I didn’t, not one of them would look at me. You, however, are the first person anyone notices when they enter a room. Don’t take my word for it, just watch at the bar. Men and women will notice you.”

“But no one ever talks to me,” Ryan said.

“It’s the beauty curse. Everyone thinks you’re already attached or they’re not up to your standards, so they stay away.” Jacky exited the freeway. “So tonight, talk to someone who seems interested and see what happens. I bet you’ll find you’re the belle of the ball.”

“Or get my ass kicked by some homophobic prick,” Ryan countered. He’d never been good at picking people out of a mixed crowd. Jacky, on the other hand, had gaydar off the charts, and he could pick out another gay man at a hundred yards.

“Don’t worry, I won’t steer you wrong,” Jacky promised as they pulled into the parking lot of an old bar with definite rustic charm. The whole place looked like something out of an old movie. The place hadn’t been updated in quite a while, and Ryan instantly saw the charm in the old, scarred wood that covered the walls. Country music played throughout the building. Toward the back was a dance floor, and behind that a pair of pool tables.

“This is great,” Ryan said as he turned toward Jacky. They found a table, and Jacky hurried off to get beer while Ryan listened to the music, his body swaying almost without him knowing. Jacky returned and set the glasses down before sliding into the opposite chair. “The only sad thing,” Ryan began as he reached for his beer, “is that we can’t dance here.”