10. Indie
Chapter 10
Indie
T he next two days, I’m not able to get any traction with the three men at all. The other reporters clamor for their attention ineffectively, so I choose to hold back instead of being front and center. There’s no reason to fight for attention when they’re already very aware of me. If anything, it helps me see more by standing a bit back from the crowd, like the fact that Tripp seems to be getting less sleep than normal. Dark circles mar his pretty face, but I don’t blame him. My nights of shitty sleep have done the same to me, and I imagine being beaten up by a bull is far more brutal than just a hard mattress.
I end up writing an article about the unfair judging of Ramiro Mondragon and the clearly biased score. I’d gone back and researched his other events and found a pattern for certain rodeos, so my theory is that there’s systemic racism in the rodeo circuit. Frank, of course, refuses the article. It didn’t surprise me to get the text message telling me to stick to getting the Crimson Three interview rather than worrying about make believe bias, but it does piss me off.
No matter where I go in this world, people disappoint me.
I’d been successful at avoiding Kim and Zander, making sure I’m never in the same area as them, but eventually my luck runs out. I’m in line for a super unhealthy rodeo corndog—sometimes, I can’t resist—when the Regina George of journalists finds me.
“You ain’t gone home yet. Pity,” she says from behind me.
I sigh before I even turn around, knowing I’m not going to enjoy whatever it is that she feels like she has to say to me.
“Pity, indeed,” I mock and roll my eyes. What I wouldn’t give for her to just disappear.
“You ain’t gonna get that story, Stringer. Not looking like that,” she continues. I turn and look at her over my shoulder and realize that we’re not alone. Behind her, his hat pulled down low to hide most of his face, is Tripp Savage himself. As I look, he tilts up his head and mees my eyes.
“Yeah, maybe,” I respond.
“You don’t belong here,” Kim sneers. “You should go back to your war zones and bomb squads. That’s where someone like you belongs, rice eater.”
Anger slams into me, but I’ve learned a long time ago, it’s best not to fight racism with anger. It only gives them more fuel. Still, the urge to punch her straight in the fucking nose is strong. Instead of doing that, I turn back around, ignoring her, knowing I’ll be forced to be in the same space as her for the foreseeable future. Fucking bitch.
“Nothing to say to that, huh?” she laughs. “Suit yourself.”
Finally, she fucking leaves, clearly only in the line to stir up shit. My anger doesn’t dissipate, so I’m forced to stew in it. What I wouldn’t give for a job I didn’t have to be professional for right now.
“You always let people talk to you like that?” a deep voice asks behind me.
I glance over my shoulder at Tripp. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of saying whatever we want and getting away with it, Savage.”
It doesn’t matter what clothing I wear here. I’ll always be the outsider. I understand that, but maybe I just haven’t acknowledged it before now.
He hums under his breath. “You’re the one that’s been following us around.”
I turn fully and brace my hands on my hips. “That makes me sound like a stalker.”
“You said it. Not me,” he says, his voice low. He smells a bit like whiskey, and I wrinkle my nose up at how strong it is now that I’m facing him fully. He doesn’t look drunk, but he’s clearly had a few drinks.
“Yeah, well. . . it’s just part of my job.” I tilt my head. “I don’t suppose you’d like to give me a bit of your time so I can get the fuck out of here.”
He raises his brow at me. “Nope.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” I grumble, turning back around. “Fucking cowboys.”
When it’s my turn to order, I get two corndogs, because why the fuck not? I deserve it.
The final day of the rodeo comes with a larger crowd and so much cheering, it makes my head hurt. Tripp ends up winning the top pot for bull riding. Unsurprising. It seems everywhere Tripp goes, his legacy precedes him, but that doesn’t mean he’s not an expert at what he does. It seems to almost come easily to him, as if it really is in his blood.
Ramiro Mondragon takes third, and I suspect he only gets that position because they have to admit he doesn’t deserve not to win any prize money at all. Still, it’s far too fucking low. He deserved first. Everyone could see that.
Beau’s accomplishments include putting blue chalk handprints on damn near every bull he could get his hands on and convincing a whole crowd of women to rip their shirts off and reveal the blue paint hands on their bare titties. They’d been covered up and escorted out quick, but not before everyone got an eyeful.
All the contestants and staff start packing up right after the rodeo finishes, and I know I’m about to be in the position of needing a ride again. I can suck it up and buy another outrageous plane ticket or I can beg a ride. I decide I’ll at least see if anyone will give me a ride this time first before I drop money on a plane ticket again.
“Don’t even ask us,” Kim sneers when I step into the parking lot.
I roll my eyes. “Wasn’t going to.”
Seriously. At this point, I’d rather chop off my right arm than be trapped in a car for twenty hours with Kim. We’re headed to Tucson, Arizona from here, and I know for a fact I’d murder the woman if we were trapped in a car together. Her mean girl shit is starting to really get on my nerves, but that last racist comment. . . I know I’d knock out a few of her teeth.
She watches me with a smirk as I go up to some of the other journalists and photographers. Each of them gives me some sort of excuse.
“Sorry, we’re full up.”
“Sorry, we filled the car with gear.”
“Sorry, we don’t ride with strangers.”
The list goes on and on until I’m standing in the parking lot with little to no options. Fuck. I’m going to have to fly, aren’t I? These plane tickets are starting to get out of hand, but I’m not ready to give up just yet. I gotta get that story.
My eyes trail around the parking lot and lock on Ramiro as he tosses a crate in the back of a large blue Chevy truck. I shouldn’t. They’re clearly going to say no. But fuck, it’s my last option.
And honestly, I’m tired of Kim standing over there smirking as she watches me ask everyone I can for a ride. Bitch.
“Hey,” I say when I get close enough for them to hear me. “I know it’s probably ridiculous, but you think I could ride with you guys to the next circuit?” I ask, hoping my voice sounds confident.
Trip turns toward me, and I know this was stupid before he speaks. He clearly doesn’t like me, but I had no one else to ask. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.
“No,” he says immediately.
Before I can even sigh, Beau scoffs. “Come on, Tripp. I like her.”
“No,” Tripp repeats, turning away to load another crate in the back.
“It’s definitely not a good idea,” Ramiro agrees. “Sorry, Indie.”
They turn away and I panic. The plane tickets are six hundred dollars this last minute. I really don’t want to have to pay for that shit.
“I’ll pay for your gas the whole way there,” I spit, half panicked, half desperate.
They stop and the three men turn to look at me.
“We’re heading back to Tucson,” Ram points out.
“I know that,” I say, nodding.
Tripp hesitates and looks from me to the truck. “This is a diesel dually with a sixty-gallon tank.”
“I’ll pay for the whole trip,” I repeat, hoping that it’s enough to get me in that truck.
Ram raises his brows and glances at Tripp. “She’ll pay for the whole trip,” he repeats, as if Tripp didn’t hear me.
Beau wiggles his eyebrows. “I’d be fine with you paying in other ways, personally.”
Tripp scowls. “You pay for the whole trip to Tucson,” he says, pointing at me.
“Yes, sir,” I reply, breathing a sigh of relief and grabbing my duffel bag from the ground. I move over to the back door.
“And anything we say is off the record,” he adds.
I scowl back at him. “Fine,” I agree. “Off the record.”
He nods and gesture for me to get in. “Then come on. We’ve got a schedule to keep.” I open the door and get an eyeful of the happy wagging chocolate lab in the back seat. “That’s Bilbo. You’ve gotta ride with him.”
“I like dogs,” I say, petting the excited lab while pushing him back so I can climb up in the truck. He’s cute, and I really do like dogs. Honestly, this just makes the road trip even better.
Beau climbs into the backseat on the other side and grins over at me. “Looks like we’re gonna get nice and comfy after all, little outsider.”
Somehow, those words sound a little bit like a threat.