20. Indie
Chapter 20
Indie
I decide it’s better to spend the day in the stands like I’m part of the crowd rather than standing in the press box with the rest of the gossipers. Plenty of eyes cut my way as I bypass the area and instead climb the stands to sit and watch the rodeo. From further up, it gives me a better vantage point to see the contestants, and also to feel the atmosphere created. Nothing quite prepares me for the women I find myself in the middle of.
Decked out in clothing with blue handprints all of them, the four women are clearly here to have a good time while watching one person. And when Beau Rogers gets out on the dirt, they lose their senses entirely.
“We love you, Beau Rogers!”
“Forget the rodeo! Come lasso my heart, Beau!”
“Don’t handle bulls! Handle me!”
I can’t help laughing along with the women as they try their best to gain Beau’s attention. I cheer right along with them, their excitement infectious. It isn’t until Beau gets out on the dirt for his tricks that he realizes where I am. Up until that point, he’d been looking for me in the press box.
I realize the moment he notices me. He’s laughing as he dodges the bull, as he leapfrogs over it, pandering to the crowd. His eyes scan the group of women around me, find me in their ranks, and hold. The women on either side of me go wild, screaming for him. When he reaches into his pouch for the chalk, the tone changes to some desperate yearning I’ve never known. Not until he keeps his eyes on me, slaps the bull on the ass, and flips over it. Then I’m screaming right there alongside the women, shouting his name.
He grins at my shouts and starts running toward us, toward the stands. I’m up high enough that he’d have to climb the fencing and then up to the stands, so I just assume that he’s going to stop at the edge and do a hip thrust or something. I’m surprised when he scales the fencing like it’s nothing, and then literally throws himself onto the metal stands, climbing up until he’s right in front of me leaning over the railing.
The women start freaking out, hyperventilating as he hangs over and winks at them. “Ladies,” he says, tipping his hat, and I think at least one of them faints.
When he reaches out a hand for me, I raise my brow. “You tryin’ to start a riot?” I ask, stepping forward.
The moment I’m within reach, his hand snaps out and grabs my wrist, dragging me to the railing to press against his sweaty body before I can get my footing. His lips trace the shell of my ear, and I shiver.
“I’m here to protect the cowboys,” he breathes. “But no one’s here to protect me from you, little outsider.”
His other hand wraps around me, pulling me in tight, but he doesn’t kiss me like I sense he wants to. The women behind me are crying, gushing about how much they love him, severely wishing they could be in my place right now.
“Guess I’ll have to stick to your side all night,” I murmur. “For safety reasons, of course.”
“Of course,” he breathes. His hand falls to my ass and squeezes. “Back to work, little outsider.”
He presses a chaste kiss against my cheek and literally backflips off the railing, surprising me enough to stumble backwards. I catch myself before I can trip, watching as he runs backwards onto the dirt, winking at me as he goes.
“He left his mark!” one of the women screams, and the others follow suit.
I turn, trying to figure out what they mean, only to realize they’re all looking at my ass. I glance down and scowl. Right there where he’d squeezed is a bright blue chalk handprint.
Like this is fucking Blue’s Clues.
I smack my hand over the print, trying to wipe it away.
“No!” the closest woman to me screams. “Don’t wipe it away!”
I sigh. Yeah. Maybe the stands weren’t the best place to sit, after all.
After day five ends and Tripp and Ram collect their stats, I find myself standing awkwardly against the wall, not knowing what to do with myself. Normally, I’d call a rideshare right about now, but my stuff is in Tripp’s truck, and I don’t know where I’m supposed to be staying.
I’m still not even sure it’s a good idea to stay with them.
The three men come striding out of the prep area, each of them with a bag slung over their shoulders that holds their gear. Beau, at some point, had removed his face makeup, leaving him fresh and clean. When he sees me, he grins, his eyes dropping to the blue chalk stain still on my ass. It hadn’t come off and I wasn’t willing to go in and wet the spot to remove it fully.
“That wasn’t funny,” I tell him with a raised brow.
“It was a little funny,” he replies, immediately wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “Come on, little outsider. Time to go.”
“Are you guys sure this is a good idea?” I ask, uncertainty in my every word. “I can just go back to the one I?—”
“Stop,” Ram says, his eyes narrowed on me. “If you think I won’t throw you over my shoulder, then go ahead and keep protesting.”
I scowl at him. “You’re not the boss of me, Ramiro Mondragon.”
He steps close, his chest bumping against mine. He’s not much taller than I am, but he still looks down on me. It makes it more menacing with his cowboy hat tipped down. “You’re right, Indie,” he rasps, his voice low enough to tickle my. . . well. . . “Go ahead and argue, and we’ll just see what happens.”
I stare up at him, tempted to fight him on it anyways out of spite. “This is kidnapping.”
“Call it what you want,” he says before booping me on the nose with his finger. “Either way, get in the truck.”
Part of me wants to see what will happen if I don’t do as he says. Ram is far from cruel. In fact, I’d argue he’s the most caring of the three, but clearly that care can come with some bossiness that I’m only now seeing.
“And if I say no?” I ask, watching him carefully.
The corner of his lips quirks up. “Say no, periodista ,” he purrs. “I dare you.”
Beau whistles. “I think you should say no, little outsider. Don’t let him talk to you like that.”
And Beau, I know, is the shit stirrer. He’s definitely trying to get me to fight him. Hell, I’m tempted to fight him.
“Your shoulder is probably still sore,” I point out. “And if I run, I doubt you could catch me, old man.”
His hand touches my face, his fingers cupping my chin as he laughs. “Go head and test it. Let’s see how old I am.”
I have no doubt that Ram is in better shape than me. He may be older, but to do what he does takes strength and power that I’ll never be capable of. To be thirty-nine and still going strong on bareback broncs, there’s no doubt in my mind he works out to stay in shape, to keep doing what he loves. I’m a fast runner, but I’m also out of practice thanks to this fucking hip pain. I’ll only end up hurting myself trying to outrun him.
Still, I’m nothing if not defiant.
I say no words. I give no warning. One moment, we’re toe to toe. The next, I’m sprinting in the direction of the parking lot. I get five steps, maybe six, before strong arms wrap around me and lift. My viewpoint changes and flips, before I find myself on Ram’s shoulder, thrown over it like I weigh nothing at all. His hand runs up my thigh, holding on so I don’t fall, but those fingers dig into my flesh there, burning hot.
“Naughty, naughty, little outsider,” Beau chuckles as he walks beside us.
I cross my arms, but I’m not mad. I can’t hide the smile that splits my lips.
“Naughty indeed,” Beau murmurs with a giggle.
When Ram’s hand squeezes my thigh, I give in and reach down to his ass. I’m faced with it so might as well. He’s manhandling me so I can do it right back.
“ Ten Cuidado, periodista ,” Ram warns. “I’m not nearly as nice as you think I am.”
“Understood,” I reply. And then I squeeze his ass again. Pure muscle. It’s a very nice ass.
His warm chuckle goes right through me, and when we get to the truck, I’m almost sad when he lifts me back off his shoulder and sets me in the backseat. He grabs my chin, his fingers a little more forceful as he looks me in the eyes, searching them.
“You have a very nice ass,” I tell him. “In case you didn’t know.”
He grins. “Likewise, periodista .” And then he presses a kiss to my lips I’m not prepared for. It’s quick, barely worthy writing home about, but. . .that brief touch of lips is all it takes for the fireworks in my chest to go off. Like Beau, the kiss is electric, and it was barely anything at all.
What would happen if we actually kissed? That question runs through my mind as he settles me more firmly in the seat and closes my door. I sit there, wondering what the hell I’m getting myself into by going to these men’s hotel room. Hell, I’ve kissed two of them, and the third, I’m pretty sure he hates me.
They all climb in and the truck roars to life, reminding me that I’m indeed going to their hotel rather than my shitty hole-in-the-wall murder motel. But fuck, what better way to convince them to give me an interview?
That’s why I’m here after all, I remind myself.
I have to remind myself the entire ride there.
Unlike my motel, the place Tripp drives us to is in a nicer part of town, but still only fifteen minutes away from the arena. It’s a hotel rather than a motel, and it’s at least six stories where mine was two. This place features a lobby and boasts an area where they serve continental breakfast. It’s clean and free of graffiti, which means it probably costs five times as much as my room. I could have sprung for something like this, but it would have been painful to drop so much money in a single week on a hotel.
Ram opens my door and helps me out, and then like the true gentlemen he is, he doesn’t let me get my bags. “Come on,” he says. “We can order in some pizza while we get cleaned up.”
I’m going to be in a single hotel room with these men. I’m literally going to be in the same room. Holy shit. What am I doing?
I stop, staring up at the building with wide eyes. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“The good ideas are rarely the fun ones,” Beau quips. “But this one seems both good and fun to me.”
Ram meets my eyes. “It would look mighty awkward if I were to carry you into this place with you over my shoulder, periodista .”
I force my feet to keep moving because he’s right. While it’s not crazy enough at the arena to warrant too much attention –I’ve watched cowboys carry their spouses often enough—here, someone’s likely to take a picture or worse, report it. I really don’t need to be in the news again, and thrown over the shoulder of a member of the Crimson Three? Hell, that could make the news.
No one pays us any mind as we head to the elevators and go up to the sixth floor. The hotel is relatively quiet despite the time of day, and we barely run into anyone at all. Room six twenty-one is where Ram stops, fishes a card from his wallet, and opens the door. He pushes it open and gestures for me to precede him. I’m proud of myself for only hesitating a few seconds before I push though. I’m a strong independent woman. I’ve slept out in the desert in full military gear. This is nothing. It’s just a hotel room.
A hotel room I’ll be sharing with three men I’m clearly attracted to.
Men I’m supposed to write a fucking newspaper article about.
“Make yourself at home,” Ram declares as he comes in behind me. “Bed by the window will be yours. Don’t worry. I already called ahead early to have them change out the sheets so they’re clean.”
“The three of you sleeping in the other bed?” I ask, staring at the perfectly white beds.
“I’ll be taking the couch,” Ram replies. “Tripp gets the other bed.”
“And Beau?”
“I’m sleeping on the floor,” he says, flashing a grin at me. “Unless you’d like me to sleep in your bed with you.”
Bilbo immediately leaps to his feet from where he’s lying on the other bed and starts to whine, wagging his tail frantically when he sees us. Tripp rubs his ears and the lab prances around happily, clearly relieved to see his dad.
“He stays here all day alone?” I ask, frowning. “Oh, no. You said he goes to. . . doggy day care?”
Tripp nods. “Every city, I have someone set up who picks him up from the day care and drops him back off in the room.” He glances at me. “They feed him, too. He gets to play all day with friends just like we do.”
Somehow, the fact that Tripp pays someone to make sure Bilbo is perfectly taken care of makes him more. . . endearing. He may be a grumpy asshole, but he clearly loves this dog, and a man who loves his dog is a good man. Dogs know when they aren’t.
Tripp tosses his bag in the corner before he kicks off his boots. He doesn’t bother straightening them up before he disappears into the bathroom. A minute later, the sounds of the shower come on, letting me know that he’s in there washing the day’s dirt away.
And also, that he’s naked.
Shit. This is going to be a problem.
“I don’t know if this is going to work—” I start.
“Sit on the bed,” Ram interrupts, ushering me toward it. “Just sit down.”
I do as he says, mostly because I don’t know what else to do. The moment I sit, I sink into the plush mattress and sigh. “It’s comfortable,” I grumble.
“ Yo se ,” he nods. “Tempur-Pedic. Like you, we don’t like uncomfortable beds. We don’t stay anywhere that’ll mess up our backs.”
“Which makes sense for athletes,” I reply.
“And now it makes sense for you, too,” he answers, setting my bags on the bed. “You can get the shower after Tripp.”
“I’ll wait until you three are done. You rolled in the dirt today. I’m hardly as dirty.”
He nods. “Then order us some pizza, periodista . Make sure at least one has pineapples on it, and another is a meat lovers. Get whatever you want.”
I nod and settle in to search for pizza places nearby. We’re surrounded by them. I’m just finishing up the order when the bathroom door opens, and Tripp walks out.
Shirtless.
The bull rider is shirtless, and holy shit, has he earned his titles with those abs alone. He doesn’t quite dry himself all the way, water droplets still dripping down his chest across the light smattering of hair, some of them glittering in his short beard. A towel is wrapped around his waist, slung low. The only tattoo I see is the roman numeral three on his hand normally hidden beneath his leather gloves. There are no other tattoos on him.
My mouth must go slack, and I know I’m openly staring, but I can’t seem to help myself. Tripp glances at me but doesn’t acknowledge my looks while he grabs clothing from a small suitcase and disappears back into the bathroom.
Beau appears in front of me with a grin. “You’re practically drooling,” he purrs.
“No. I’m not,” I deny, but it’s a lie. We both know that.
“You can ogle me anytime you’d like,” he whispers in my ear. “None of us mind it. In fact, if you ogle just right, maybe we’ll bend you over and?—”
“Alright,” I say, blushing. “Thanks. I got the picture. But it ain’t gonna happen.”
Beau grins, clearly not believing a word I say. “Oh, this is going to be fun,” he chuckles, and damn if it doesn’t make my toes curl.
Asshole.