24. Indie
Chapter 24
Indie
I t isn’t often I realize I’m in a dangerous situation outside of a war zone. Sure, as a woman, I’ve dealt with men following me down the street, men not accepting no for an answer. But I’ve long since learned to take care of myself in that aspect.
This? I’m not prepared for this.
I’ve spent a significant part of my life being around attractive men, interviewing them, spending intimate moments with them. Hell, I’ve had to pee in front of military dudes while they kept a look out. But there’s something about the three men I find as my current subjects that keeps getting under my skin.
And I don’t know what to do about it.
It’s unprofessional. It’s not technically against any rules, not really. I’m sure Frank would tell me to get the story at any cost. But. . .at some point, I’m less concerned with getting the story than I am thinking about the way they kiss. And for fuck’s sake, I’ve kissed two out of three of them. What the hell am I thinking?
At some point, Beau and Ram carry Tripp back to the truck and we head back to the hotel. Bilbo thumps his tail happily when we return, but doesn’t bother getting up until they dump Tripp on the bed. Only then does he get up and cuddle next to his human. Tripp doesn’t wake up during the entire trip, snoring away.
The next morning, Ram is the one who sets a bottle of pills on the table and throws the sheets off of Tripp. He’s a little worse for wear, but then again, so am I.
“You look like you didn’t get enough sleep,” Ram comments as I scrub at my face. “You sure you’re gonna be okay today?”
I study my reflection. “I think my dark undereye circles are adding to the aesthetic actually,” I muse. I don’t bother putting on any makeup. I’m not trying to win any beauty pageants, and honestly, I’m too tired to bother with it.
We make our way to Tía Josie’s restaurant where she immediately brings Tripp out a large plate of greasy food with an instruction to eat. He sits on the other side of the table, his head in his hands, his sunglasses his best attempt at blocking out the light. I don’t remember the last time I was hungover—I have an aversion to it now—but I don’t envy him the way he feels. I wonder how often this happens, if it’s common enough that I’ll witness it again.
Beau and Ram both seem perfectly fine this morning. Ram is dressed in his normal outfit, his little red sun bolo tie done up neat and ready for a day of bronc riding. I don’t know how Tripp is gonna handle it, but if anyone can get him in shape before it’s time, it’s Ram. Ram sips his coffee and cleans his plate, smiling brightly at Tía Josie when she comes out to check on everyone.
As for Beau, you wouldn’t even know he’d stayed up late last night. His face is bright and chipper. He jokes with the waiter and Tía Josie, always the life of the party. His heart-shaped sunglasses sit on top of his head, pushing back his messy dirty blond hair. He’s not wearing his hot pink jacket right now, but he is wearing a cropped white t-shirt that’s so thin, you can see all the details of his tattoos underneath.
“You know, I can see your nipples through your shirt,” I tell him, my eyes crinkled. Never in my life would I think I’d meet a character like Beau. He’s so confident in his own masculinity that he doesn’t even question if he should wear a crop top with his cowboy jeans. I should have expected it considering his rhinestone hot pink leather crop jacket, but here we are with me surprised.
He points his fork at me. “First of all, don’t be ungrateful,” he says with a grin. “Second, you’re welcome.”
I snort. Right now, he also has his signature cigarette tucked behind his ear while he eats. I think it’s the same one that he’s had since yesterday. “So, tell me the story about the cigarette. Are you ever going to light it?”
“Only when I’m on the dirt,” he says around his bite of food. Somehow, he doesn’t make it look rude. After he swallows, he adds, “I don’t smoke unless my life is in danger.”
“Why is that?” I ask. “Why not smoke all the time?”
He shrugs. “I reckon if it’s my time to meet the devil, I might as well have one last cigarette. Just in case. Otherwise, I don’t see any point in smoking. I don’t have any plans on dying.” He gestures to Tripp and Ram. “I can’t leave these two fuckers to fend for themselves. They wouldn’t know what to do without me.”
Tripp doesn’t respond. He just sits and picks at his food, slumped in his seat. Ram, on the other hand, chuckles at Beau. “Yeah, because it’s you keepin’ this gang together.”
“Of course. I’m the glue,” Beau says, but he looks at me and whispers, “it’s really Ram, but don’t tell him that.” As if Ram can’t hear what he says.
By the time we get in the truck to head to the fairgrounds, Tripp is significantly more perky, and that’s saying something. Because his perky is just him standing taller and taking the sunglasses off. Tripp Savage isn’t someone I would call perky on the regular, but he’s come a long way since Ram dragged him out of bed this morning.
The fairgrounds are as bright as ever as we step inside, the dirt lit up red and ready. There are only two days left of this rodeo before everyone heads out to the next one. From my list I made prior to chasing the circuit, I see that we’ll be heading to Nebraska. I don’t think I’ve ever been to Nebraska, so it’ll be interesting to visit a new place at least.
Before any audience is allowed inside the arena, it feels more like a worksite, the tractor milling around the dirt, smoothing things out, people making sure the fencing is good, competitors preparing for another day in an otherwise long week. I don’t know how these people do this day in and day out, go to another location, and do it all over again.
When the stands fill up with people and the arena comes alive, it becomes a whole different beast. The sounds of the tractor are drowned out by the sounds of the audience looking for their seats, getting refreshments, and screaming when they think they see one of the cowboys they’ve been looking for. When the lights turn down and the spotlights come on, the crowd goes wild. Especially when the announcer starts his routine.
I’m in the press box with the others today, mostly because I’d like to get more pictures and also because Frank is expecting another article centered around the rodeo circuit, so I need some good pictures and content for that. It’s the least I can do, since I’m getting nowhere with the interview. I’m not even stressing about the interview at this point. Which is bad. That should be my primary focus.
Not the men who perform out on the red dirt.
When Beau comes out halfway through the event, the crowd goes wild as usual. I can’t help but smile at him as he struts around and puts on a show. He looks over to the press box and grins at me, making a few of the other women standing with me gush and think he’s looking at them. When he starts running toward me, I straighten in confusion.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he leaps onto the small railing. “Beau! They’re about to release the bull!”
He grabs my arm and tugs me to the rail. I drop my pen and notebook. “Do you trust me, little outsider?”
“Yes, but?—”
“Then get your ass over this railing,” he growls and pulls harder until I’m forced to climb onto the railing.
“What the fuck are we doing?” I growl, but I climb the railing. I’m not really sure what’s happening, but I wasn’t lying. I do trust Beau.
Someone shouts at us as I drop to the dirt on the other side. “Get her off the dirt!”
“What the hell are you doin’, Rogers?”
“Stop the gates!”
My adrenaline skyrockets as more people shout at us, as the crowd goes wild with excitement as they try to figure out what’s going on. Beau Rogers doesn’t bring people onto his stage. He doesn’t perform with others. I don’t blame them for their confusion. I don’t know what the hell is going on either.
“Beau!” I say, breathing roughly. “What the hell are we doing?”
He drags me to the middle of the dirt where he usually performs and turns me to face him. “You said you trust me.”
“I do,” I nod. “But they’re telling us to get off the dirt! They’re gonna send security out here after me.”
He grips my chin and plants a kiss right on my lips, right there for the entire arena to see. “Don’t worry, little outsider,” he purrs. “I won’t let them or the bull touch you.”
My eyes widen. “What do you mean?” He doesn’t answer. “Beau Rogers! What the fuck do you mean?” My voice is shrill, panicked, but I don’t get time to really settle into that panic.
He turns me so that my back is plastered to his front. His arms wrap around me, holding me tightly, comfortingly, as I stare at the gates in front of us.
Oh god. I’m going to throw up.
Put me in a war zone, and I can figure things out. Put me in the ring with a bull, and I don’t know what the fuck to do. Surely, they won’t open the gate. Surely, all the screaming is them trying to stop it.
When one of the gates fly open, I tense, grabbing onto Beau’s arms.
“Don’t hold me,” Beau says. “Let me hold you.”
I immediately do as he says, letting him go, trying my hardest to keep my arms at my sides despite the massive black bull that rushes out of the chute. He’s angry, as all rodeo bulls are. He’s damn near steaming from his nose as he paws at the dirt and trots in a circle, looking for a target, before spotting Beau and me in the middle.
“Someone get her fucking out of there!”
“Rogers! You’re gonna get her killed!”
The bull kicks at the dirt and lowers its horns.
“You feel that?” Beau whispers in my ear. “That adrenaline pumping through your veins right now?” His chin slides along my shoulder. “Doesn’t it make you feel alive?”
I focus on it, on the feeling, and I realize he’s right. The scar in my arm tingles, a reminder of the bullet wound that once was there. If this goes wrong, I’ll have more scars to add to my collection.
“Yes,” I answer. My voice doesn’t shake. My body doesn’t either. I fall into the same eerie calm I used to feel in the middle of battle, guns going off around me while I took pictures, while I recorded what I could.
“That’a girl,” Beau coos in my ear. “You’re doin’ so good for me.”
The bull charges. He’s a thousand pounds of angry beef, and he thinks we’re the ones he needs to take out to assert his dominance.
I trust the clown. I trust the clown. I trust the clown. I repeat the words over and over again in my head, as if I’ll somehow convince myself that he’ll never let me get hurt despite the massive animal coming at us.
“Beau,” I whisper as he closes in, and we still don’t move.
“Easy,” he says, pressing against my backside.
The bull gets closer, too close. “Beau,” I repeat, a strangled whisper.
He presses a kiss against my neck as the horns close in. I don’t close my eyes. I refuse to not see it, to not witness my end if this is it. At the last second, just when I think I’m going to die, Beau moves.
I’ve watched him move around the dirt like a ballerina, as if this is all some choreographed dance. He’s pulled me into the dance this time, and when he slings me to the side, literally twirling me out like we’re merely dancing, I go with it, trusting him.
The horns glance right past us, missing any vital parts, rushing by with his momentum.
The crowd roars louder than I’ve ever heard it even despite the roaring in my ears.
Beau pulls me back in and grins as the bull grinds to a stop and turns, determined to fuck us up. Beau’s hand trails up my side, sliding beneath my t-shirt to touch skin.
“Dance with me, Indie bird,” he purrs in my ear before we’re moving again.
We spin, like we’re waltzing around the dirt. The bull charges, but Beau is already moving, sharp, short bursts of movement that keep the bull from hitting us. The crowd doesn’t stop screaming as we move. I keep my eyes trained on Beau as we move, letting him lead me around, not sure what it is about this clown that has me in knots. Maybe it’s the absolute unpredictability of him. Beau Rogers is a war zone of his own making. Being with him is wondering where the next bullet is going to come from.
He spins me out, and for the first time, his fingers separate from mine, leaving me standing in the dirt alone as the bull charges between us. He winks at me and claps his hands, drawing the bull’s attention as it spins and focuses on him. Beau rushes toward me, the bull giving chase, and I watch him reach into his pouch while he runs. Blue chalk spills out of it, covering his hand, trailing in the dirt. He reaches me first, grabs me, and we both jerk to the side, away from the angry bull. As he holds me against him, his hand trails along the side of the bull while it passes, leaving behind a large blue streak.
He grins down at me and touches his hand to my back where I know he’s leaving a blue handprint on my black shirt. “You belong out here with the danger, little outsider,” he murmurs. His hand falls down to my ass and squeezes. “Now let’s give them the show they really want.”
He kisses me. Out there on the red dirt, in front of an entire stadium full of people shouting his name. His kisses the living daylight out of me, so much so that I lose all focus of what’s going on around us. Everything fades away and I find myself leaning into the kiss. I close my eyes despite the angry bull pacing, waiting for the best chance to attack. We’re moving without me even being aware of it, Beau moving us despite the kiss, still completely in control.
And fuck if this isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life.
My body hums with arousal, with excitement. My adrenaline is so fucking high, my brain itches with it. I’m so wet, I wonder if I’m soaking through my jeans. In this moment, Beau could sacrifice me to the bull and I wouldn’t even react. He could ask me for anything and I’d give it to him.
He breaks the kiss and steps back, a grin on his face. He grabs my hand and throws our fists in the air, and the roaring of the crowd comes back tenfold, reminding me that we’re in the middle of an arena and not somewhere I can jump his bones. He twirls me, showing me off as the bull rushes back toward the chute, tired of our shit. The blue handprints down his hide are bright against the black, and I don’t even know when they were placed there. I glance down at my clothing and the blue handprints on me.
Security steps out on the dirt, three men with intense looking expressions.
“I think they want me off the dirt,” I rasp, my voice breathy and rough. Yeah, that really did it for me. I’m not sure what that says about me, but now isn’t the time to look that deep.
“That they do,” Beau says. He takes off his heart-shaped sunglasses and settles them on my face instead. “Come on, Indie bird.”
He drags me off the dirt, toward the prep area. People are saying things as we pass them but there are too many voices to make out all of the words. All I catch are snippets.
“Risky.”
“Fucked up. Someone should?—”
“Tell that clown to?—”
“Don’t worry about them,” Beau says. “They know what they’re getting when they let me out on that dirt. My contract is tight.”
We get to the large curtained off area that’s for contestants to change or get ready. Each cowboy has their own section, but clearly the Crimson Three all use the single larger one. Beau throws back the curtain and pushes me inside, cutting of the sounds of the people trying to talk to him outside. He faces me, his eyes bright with mischief.
“What now?” I ask breathily. I’m panting. When the fuck did I start panting?
“Well, that depends,” he replies, before slowly shrugging off his hot pink jacket and hanging it on a hook.
“On what?” I watch him turn back toward me, not sure what I’m expecting his answer to be.
He runs his hand down his chest and my eyes follow its movement, hungry to chase the same path with my tongue. “On how bad you want me.”
My eyes flick back up to his face to take in his teasing expression. Even now it’s a game. What do I expect from a rodeo clown?
“Shut up and kiss me already,” I command.
He flashes his teeth at me. “Yes, ma’am.”
And then he closes the distance between us.