In the Pocket
That motherfucking bull was fixin' to rip Kynan's head off and shit down his neck if that cocky asshole didn't nod and get out of the chute.
Of course, the way Coke Pharris was glaring, Kynan wouldn't have to wait for the bull to do it.
Sterling made sure not to look too long -- mostly because he was working and you didn't screw around if you wanted to work with Pharris and Mr. Nate.
Not at all. There was a part that wasn't looking because the clown had threatened to nut him if he laid eyes on Coke again. Like he had. Because he hadn't.
Much.
Really.
The chute swung open and time stopped, just like always.
Pharris was working lead, but Nate was back at the fence on this one, which meant Sterling had to be ready to step in from the right if Coke got out of position the least little bit. All depended on which way the bull turned, which side Kynan came down on.
Sterling dug his cleats into the dirt, muscles twitching.
He went counterclockwise to the bull, letting Coke run the other way. Nate watched, eyes on the whole game like an eagle.
Kynan clung to the rope, leg kicking out to spur. It was a damned good ride.
"You got it, man. You got it." He was right in his spot, and Coke was too, moving with the bull. Damn, it felt good. He grinned, trying not to bounce, not to get distracted by the rush.
The horns came his way as the buzzer sounded and he grabbed and tugged the huge head away from Kynan's falling body. "Hey! Hey bull! Over here!"
The bull snorted, hot air blowing across Sterling's cheek. Then the big old beast turned and headed right for the gate. Sterling headed for Pharris, popping a little, flying on it. "Good one, boss."
Pharris nodded, clapping him on the back. "It was. Any time we all get out safe, it's a good deal. You and Nate take this one."
"Yes, sir." He was back at it, working a monstrous Brahma that seemed hell bent on jerking Joa down over his head.
That Brazilian landed head first at least half of the time, and damned if he didn't come off that way this time, right at Sterling.
Fuck a duck sideways. He braced himself to catch and throw, Nate screaming his head off to get the bull's attention.
Joa landed, but luckily the Brazilian was ready, and they sort of strong-armed each other.
"Gotcha." He flung Joa toward Pharris and put himself between the cowboy and Merry-Go-Round.
He heard Coke grunt, but then he and Nate were busy playing a game of slap the bull on the nose, trading off as it went round and round. This was his favorite part, the fun part. They did their little dance, and he pulled his butt in, hearing the whoosh as two thousand pounds went by.
"Woohoo!" He grinned at the gate shut, jogging over to Pharris, who clapped him on the back.
He loved his life.
Loved it.
Coke and Nate understood. They wore identical grins. Even Joa was pumping his arms and hooting.
Fuck, this was fun.
"You ready to go again?" Coke Pharris had amazing goddamn eyes.
"Yessir. I'm ready." He bounced, getting his calves warmed up.
"Good boy."
David started yammering, the music started playing and they were off for round three.
If he ignored how the professional clown, Dillon Walsh, was glaring at him, he'd have a damned good night.
Dillon leaned against the gate, glaring.
He hated being unreasonable, and he knew he was right now, but damn it, that Sterling kid needed to stop touching Coke.
Like now.
It wasn't perverse or anything, but Christ. A touch to the shoulder, pat on the leg, playful punch to the arm. It was driving him batshit crazy.
That arm and shoulder and all were his. Only his.
"Your mic off, Dillweed?" Colby Tyburn leaned on the rail behind him, that slow, southern drawl familiar to a lot of ears. Colby might be a stock contractor now, but he'd been a favorite of the fans as a rider.
"It is, Tybee. S'up?"
"You look fierce. Clown's not supposed to frown."
Dillon stared, then rolled his eyes. "He's touching my bullfighter, Tybee. A lot."
"The new kid?" Tybee glanced over, nodding slowly. "He's hot."
"He's touching Coke." Someone wasn't listening.
"So, did you warn him off?" Tybee leaned closer, whispering right in his ear. "I heard he didn't swing our way."
"Oh, honey, that kid doesn't know whether to scratch his watch or wind his butt." Warned him off? Shit, Dillon had snarled.
"No? That could be fun." Tybee patted his butt, just in time for his mic to come back on, making him squeak into the mic.
David was teasing him in the earpiece, giving him shit while he was trying to make with the funny. Asshole.
Dillon finally cued some music and just danced, killing time while the bullfighters worked a board between the bull and the gate.
Wait. Wait. Had Sterling touched Coke's butt?
He was going to cut the kid's hand off at the wrist.
Tybee waved him back over when he got a breath. "Introduce me officially?" he asked, and Dillon had to grin.
"After the show."
Tybee's face was pure wickedness, sexual evil. Dillon almost felt sorry for Sterling. But not really.
In fact, not at all.
Maybe if Tybee distracted Sterling, the kid could keep both his hands.
Dillon had to grit his teeth for almost another hour, but the show was finally over, the guys had all gone to the showers, and everyone was deciding who to have beers with. Tybee showed up just before Dillon had to kill someone.
"Hey, fellers. Good save tonight on my bull Bongo. That could have been ugly."
Coke grinned over, waved. "Colby. When are you going to start raising bulls that are easier on my boys?"
Now Dillon had been watching Coke's boys all night. No bullhorns had come too close to them. Tybee took the bait, though, hooting loud. "Heck, the way breeding is going, y'all need to start working on cowboy bloodlines."
"Talk to AJ. Not my job." Coke winked, fist bumped Tybee playfully. "You met our new bullfighter, buddy? Sterling's gonna be famous someday, mark my words."
"Hey." Tybee reached out to shake Sterling's hands, and honestly, Dillon expected to see sparks. Hoo, yeah.
"Pleased to meet you."
Lord. Even Mr. Oblivious Pharris' eyebrow went up. Dillon wanted to do a little dance. Instead, he jerked his chin at Sterling. "Hey, kid, I promised Tybee a beer, but I think I pulled something in that bad ankle of mine. You mind taking over for me?"
"You don't mind? I mean, you don't know me from Job."
Tybee grinned wider, looking like a big, bad wolf. "I been wanting to pick your brain since I saw you work Sacramento. I asked Dillweed here to introduce us."
"Oh, yeah? Well, then, sure. You staying at the event hotel?" The kid was damn near fluttering, cheeks flagged with color.
"I am. You need a ride?"
"If you don't mind. I usually just catch a lift with someone."
"Sure." Tybee clapped Sterling on the back and steered him off. Neither of them looked back.
Dillon bounced and wiggled. Score.
"You're wagging your tail like a new puppy. Everything okay?"
"It is more than okay. I was matchmaking!" He was actually more excited about how much chemistry those two had than about ditching Sterling for the night.
"Matchmaking? Is Sterling Colby's type?" Coke's fingers cupped his ass, the touch gentle as hell.
Dillon's whole body lit up with pleasure. "I think so. Tybee says he's hot, so why not try?"
"Is he? I hadn't noticed."
No. No, Coke wouldn't have. Coke only noticed Sterling's work.
"You ready, cowboy? Hotel's waiting on us."
"I am. I want that room service carrot cake we talked about." He bumped hips with Coke, wishing he could lean right on him. That would wait for the hotel.
"I want more than dessert."
Oh, hell yeah. Dillon's cheeks heated, and he did another little dance. He waited until they were in the truck to squeeze Coke's leg. "Yep. I want it all."
He could only hope Sterling and Tybee were gonna have half as good a night as he was about to.
Colby tugged Sterling along to his truck, not wanting to give the kid time to change his mind. Thank God for jealous clowns. Colby had been trying to meet the new bullfighter for months with no luck.
Lean and quick with bright eyes and a naughty smile -- the man made him want to do wicked things. The whole flustered thing was adorable, too. Colby fought the urge to pat that tight ass. Just barely, though. What he wanted was to squeeze, hard.
"Here you go." He unlocked the truck and opened the passenger door for Sterling.
"Thanks. Nice truck."
"It works hard." Colby could remember back when he'd been broke dick, before he'd been on the big circuit. He'd had an old Chevy half-ton. Now he had a fancy-assed Dodge dualie.
"So do you. You got some great bulls."
"Thanks." He waited for Sterling to settle, then got them going, just tickled as a pig in shit.
He could smell Sterling -- Old Spice and soap and peppermint. It was a good smell, solidly cowboy, which made Colby happy. The man was in Wranglers and the tightest t-shirt known to man, short, heavily muscled legs spread.
Colby wanted to lick the man. All over. He cleared his throat. "So, you in for Coop for a while?"
"Yes, sir. He's needing to recoup and I love the work. I been wantin' to be in the big leagues forever."
"I bet. Nice to work with Coke and Nate, huh?"
"Coke is the best ever and Nate's taught me a shitload. He's a real pro."
"They're good guys. Don't step on the clown's toes, though."
He got a wide-eyed look that shot directly to his balls. "Huh?"
"Don't jump his cues, don't cut into his sound bites and don't touch his bullfighter."
Sterling's cheeks went a bright, dark red and he dropped his eyes. Poor kid. Dillon was right. Sterling was confused.
"Hey, it happens, right? He's your hero. At least he didn't clean your clock like Ace Porter did mine."
"I didn't mean to piss no one off, man. Just a mistake."
"No worries, man." He grinned over, trying to lighten the mood. Had he ever been that young?
Oh, yeah. Yeah, he had, and he'd been able to come, over and over again. Hopefully he was going to have him some fun.