Bull Riders Don’t Swoon (Kissing Ridge Cowboys #2)

1. Griff

one

Griff

E ight Years Ago

January—second year of University

“That one with the white splotch. Have you been on him? Cauliflower is his name.”

The bull rider standing next to me, Jordan, shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. I’d remember a name like that.”

Well, that’s the truth, isn’t it? Who was mean enough to name a fierce bull after a vegetable? If I was a bull rider, I’d remember it.

“I think he’ll be a re-ride for whoever draws him.”

Jordan scoffs. “How can you possibly know that?”

His lips quirk, not with a telltale, I’m better than you smirk , but more like the kind that says he’ll humour me and go along with the joke. Both annoy me, but just once I’d like one of these guys to take me seriously.

“I just know. I can tell.”

Okay, maybe that sounds lame, but there’s nothing I can describe in words how I just seem to know what a bull might do. I just…know.

My dad used to call it a sixth sense, like the dog whisperer. I’ve learned I have the skill of rapidly analyzing behavioural clues and making predictions. Sadly, it seems not to work with humans. I still don’t understand those cues.

“Ya gotta give me more than that if you think I’m gonna listen to a rookie bull fighter.” He struts off to join his group of cool guys. The rodeo cowboys who have been here for a few years and established their names. I know there’s a pecking order, and that’s fine. But if he draws Cauliflower, I will gloat so hard when that bull lies down on the job.

“Do you really have a way to know that?”

The tallest of all the bull riders here and the one who is definitely the best cocks his head as he waits for my answer. I’ve paid attention, and he’s an anomaly for the bull rider group. He’s all legs and twig thin, but I bet he’s the strongest guy here. He shouldn’t be as good as he is, but he carries himself with a confidence I both envy and admire. It’s almost like he knows he has a hidden talent and doesn’t understand it either. With some extra muscle and more practice, he’ll be at the top of the sport. Not that I’m an expert or anything. It’s just the vibe he gives off. Like he knows he’s destined for something great, but doesn’t know how to get there.

“It’s a gut feeling. I can’t explain it, but after watching a bull a few times, sometimes for just a few minutes, I can pick up on little things and make a good guess.”

It’s only my second year at Red Deer College, and I’m here on a scholarship, but not for rodeo. Rodeo, I just sort of fell into. While I’m not about to climb onto the back of a two-thousand-pound bull for fun, I learned that my sixth sense with bulls had value in other ways. Not one to miss an opportunity to earn extra money, I jumped at the chance to be a bullfighter at the rodeo team practices .

“So, what about this one?” The guy asks me as he points down the chutes to the bull staring right at us.

“Black Knight. He’s gonna throw his rider off in less than two seconds.”

The guy’s eyes widen, and he leans in closer. “How?”

“Well…he’s going to burst from the chute, one spin, buck…” I swirl my finger in the air, “and then on the second spin, which he’ll take to the left, the poor rider is gonna eat dirt.”

Silently, we watch the next rider take his time to settle on the back of the bull. At the bull rider’s signal, the bull bursts from the chutes and does exactly what I predicted. Almost. He made the second spin to the right, but close enough.

“Holy shit.” The guy next to me breathes, awe lacing his voice. “Are you like telepathic or something?”

Laughing, I shake my head. “Nah, dude. I told you, I just notice things fast and have a crazy memory. Then I get a feeling.”

“I have to ride the black one with the bent horn, Pothole. Any tips?”

“I don’t remember that one. Show me?”

I know it’s supposed to be my turn to sub in for one bullfighter shortly, but this guy is the first bull rider who hasn’t just brushed off my statements. I want to hang around him a little longer. Plus, he’s kinda cute.

He points to the bull in question in the chutes, and I remember it from an earlier rodeo. “I haven’t paid too much attention to that one today, but last week he was right ornery, so I’d just hold on for the ride. ”

He holds out his hand with a booming laugh. “I’m Jamieson, by the way, and while I’ll let that answer slide as a no-brainer, I’d like to talk to you more about your bull watching.”

“Griff,” I say as I take his hand with a smile. “Nice to meet you, and yeah, I’d be happy to.”

“I need to get in position, though, so I guess I’ll see you out there?”

My name is called, and I wave back in acknowledgement. “Yep. It’s my turn to get out there, too. Good luck.”

We head in our opposite directions, and I enter the practice ring, switching out one of the other bullfighters. Something about limiting our time in the ring for injury and insurance purposes since we’re students and not part of the rodeo team, but whatever. It’s easy money, and sometimes it’s kind of fun.

Jamieson can ride a bull so well, he makes it look effortless. Some of the older riders give him lip or talk down to him, but they’re just afraid of losing their top-dog status. He has a unique form of bull riding, and while it seems awkward, it sure works for him.

When it’s his turn, I pay more attention to how the bull behaves in the chute, but it’s not a bull I’m overly familiar with, and I have no gut feelings about it either. I smile, though, when I recall how Jamieson’s face fell when I told him to hang on before a friendly smile graced his handsome face again and he laughed.

If I’m honest with myself, I probably noticed him more than the other bull riders because he was attractive in a way that I liked. A smile on his face all the time and an air of confidence, but not cocky. He just gave off vibes of an all-around good guy, and I liked that .

The gate opens, and the bull exits the chute, bucking and spinning with Jamieson on top in his unique form. The entire time, I’m watching every muscle twitch and head shake of the bull and filing it away for later.

When the buzzer sounds, I ready myself to distract the bull if he needs it. Jamieson usually dismounts in a controlled manner. I remember that about him, too, because it’s hard to pull off when unpredictable animals are beneath you and again, he makes it look like my grandmother could do it.

But something is off today, and he’s still on the bull, his calm exterior crumbling as panic grips him while he fights to free his hand from the rope. The other bullfighter in the ring stands slack-jawed and I’ll allow myself to feel anger for his inaction later.

“Hey! Hey bully! Over here!”

In the fraction of time it takes the bull to swing its head towards me, Jamieson has the tension release from his bull rope and dismounts. With the bull too close for comfort, he heads straight towards me.

Jamieson stumbles through the sand past me and I step behind him to push the bull’s head away. Pothole notices the open gate at the end of the arena at the same time he registers the rider is off his back. With one snotty bull snort, he turns and jogs down the chute out of the ring.

That was a little too close.

“Hey, you okay?” I call to Jamieson, who climbed up the railing to safety behind me.

“Um, yeah. I got my hand stuck and…” he drops to the ground and stares at me. “You distracted that bull just long enough for me to get free. ”

I shrug. It’s my job after all, but I also know some luck was involved and we’re both lucky to escape unharmed.

“It’s what I’m here for.”

Jamieson shakes his head as he walks backward to the exit. “True, but you saved my ass and I’m buying you a beer after this.” He points a finger at me. “I’ll find you, Griff, but you’re not leaving here without me!”

“Okay!”

He disappears behind the gate and I shake my head with a smile before refocusing on the next bull rider.

Maybe being involved with rodeo isn’t so bad after all.

“So, where are you from?”

Jamieson tops up my glass of draft beer from the pitcher before grabbing another chicken wing from the platter. He waited for me like he said he would and now we’re in a pub a few blocks from campus.

“A shitty town you’ve probably never heard of. Fox Grove, Alberta.”

The town is so small, the guy who operates the garbage truck also notarizes your government documents. He can also marry you if you’re not picky about the time of day for your ceremony. It’s a spit of a town, consisting entirely of mobile homes not fit for Canadian winters. The only decent place to shop is a mom-and-pop store that’s like a Dr. Frankenstein version of Walmart and Canadian Tire with a burger joint on the side. The burgers only get served if the staff show up to work and most days it’s a crap shoot.

Oh, and a Pizza Hut that definitely has no business being there, but it’s still operating, despite the odds.

Let’s just say I’m in no rush to go back.

Jamieson’s jaw drops. “You’re kidding. I know it well. I’m from Kissing Ridge. We always had to drive through when we went up north to rodeos.”

“Kissing Ridge is a heck of a lot better than Fox Grove. At least you have your own high school. I had to take a bus for forty-five minutes on the highway every day, and staying after school for anything was never an option.”

Jamieson nods as he swallows, his mouth full, and it’s not just a nod to acknowledge your sentence. That nod is of understanding because he’s been there. It’s a powerful thing when someone can just know what you mean without saying much more.

“Okay, you got me there. But Kissing Ridge is so small the town knows what I’m doing before I do.”

We both laugh and I hold up my glass for a toast. “Here’s to small-town boys making it big one day.”

“Cheers to that! It’s always been my dream to be a bull rider. I’m on a rodeo scholarship and I don’t intend to fuck it up and let my grades slip. Some of the rodeo team don’t really care. They’re all about the parties and rodeo and don’t care if they flunk. What about you?”

After swallowing some of my burger, I nod in agreement .

“I’m on an academic scholarship. Taking my bachelor’s in psychology. I want to be a social worker when I grow up.” We both laugh, and Jamieson frowns into his glass of beer.

“I’m in education. Teaching kids has always been something I like. My dad wanted me to take over the family business, but he’s a pharmacist. No way do I want to take that on. Not to diss my dad or anything, but I’d rather wipe kids’ noses than recommend hemorrhoid creams to seniors and count pills all day.”

I laugh when Jamieson makes a gagging noise as he reaches for another chicken wing.

“Pharmacy is cool, though. A family business would be something. How come you’re not interested? Other than the counting and creams.”

We both chuckle, and he shrugs as he licks off a finger.

“I guess I like bull riding too much.”

“I mean…why can’t you do both?”

“Probably because I don’t want to spend all my time counting pills for people when bull riding is over. It’s fucking boring.” He laughs and takes a swallow of beer. “Seriously, though? I’m not that smart. It’s only my second year here, and I barely got through my first year of education. Like…it was almost-kicked-off-the-rodeo-team bad. If I tried a pharmacist program, I’d flunk for sure.”

“I can help you. We probably have some classes in common, or if it’s something I understand, I can help. I’m the academic scholarship, remember?”

His lips turn up in a giant smile. “Really? I’d fucking love that! I had a tutor last year, but they weren’t very patient with me. You seem like a guy with infinite patience. I’ll pay you in beer and chicken wings.”

“I won’t turn down free food, but I’d do it for free. I mean, teaching someone is a great way to reinforce your own knowledge. And since you actually want to teach someday…”

I let my words hang as he nods in thought, and I hope I don’t come across too nerdy.

“You sound like a professor.”

My cheeks burn, and I raise my beer to my lips. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like you, Griff. I think we’re going to be great friends.”

Jamieson and I trade stories of our first year here, what it’s like back home, and what our goals for the future are. I love how we just flow together, and being friends with him is easy. He was right when he said we had a vibe, and I like it.

I kept to myself in high school. Most of the kids in my town had the sole ambition of getting high as often as possible. I steered clear of that because I wanted a better life than what I had.

Not to mention, there weren’t a lot of gay guys around. If I ever wanted to discover that side of myself, leaving town was the only option. After spending what I like to call my formative years alone in our double-wide trailer with my dad passed out drunk on the couch most nights, I wanted better and I wasn’t about to hide who I was.

Before I get far more attached to Jamieson, I need to know where he stands with having a gay friend. No sense waiting. That would just suck more, and I’d hate to have him brush me off because he doesn’t want to hang out with a gay dude or protect some kind of macho bull rider image .

“Have you ever gone to the themed nights the LGBTQ+ club hosts here?”

My voice doesn’t waver, and I hold his gaze while I wait for his answer.

Jamieson smiles, and my shoulders relax. “Once. It was rodeo themed, and they brought in a mechanical bull. How could I say no?”

“Ha, I suppose that would be hard to turn down. I was at that one.” Swallowing, I lay it on the table. “I wasn’t about to miss sexy cowboy wannabes in cut-off shorts. Even went home with one.”

Sort of. We kissed outside before he told me his mom was picking him up soon, and that sort of killed the entire mood for me.

Jamieson nods and studies me for a beat. “So, is this you telling me you’re not straight?”

Swallowing at the directness of the question, I nod. “Will that be a problem? I like your company, so if you end up being an asshole about it, I’d be largely disappointed.”

Jamieson, to my surprise, laughs a full-on laugh and holds a fist out for a bump. “Dude. Not a problem at all. I like a taste of the same sex once in a while myself. Trust me. If you’re gay, it’s not an issue.”

Thank god. We may only have just met, but I feel like Jamieson is someone who will be my best friend until one of us dies. Maybe even after that.

“I think we just became best friends.” I joke.

He raises his glass in a toast. “Here’s to a new rodeo partnership and new best friends. Oh, and hometown heroes!”

“I’ll drink to that! ”

We finish our food and beer before finally leaving the pub together, chatting away like we’ve known each other forever.

“Hey, before I forget, let me give you my number. I have a stats assignment due soon and if you could explain some shit to me, I’d be eternally grateful.”

“Oh, are you planning to be a math teacher?”

Jamieson shrugs with a smile. “Maybe? It’s the subject I’m better at, so I picked that.”

After passing him my phone, he enters his info and sends himself a text before returning it to me.

“I have an exam soon too, so that works out. We can study together. I’ll be in touch.” I pocket my phone as we fall into step next to each other.

We both live on campus, but in different dorms, and after the short walk, we stop outside of mine. Jamieson waves goodbye as I enter my building, and I watch him for a beat as he trudges along the path towards his.

Once in my room, I collapse on my bed and laugh the best laugh I’ve had in several years. It’s pure joy, and it feels good.

Something tells me Jamieson will change my life.

And I like that.