32 - Johnny
32
Johnny
Would she want to have a threesome with us?
Eli’s casual offer was the last thing I thought about when I said goodnight to Dusty in my trailer, and it was the first thing to pop into my mind when I took him for a walk the next morning. I’d known Eli for a few years. He joked about a lot of things. That was his nature.
But something told me he wasn’t joking about this.
I had never had a threesome before. Not the two-women variety, and certainly not the kind with two men and one woman. I wasn’t against it, I just had never been presented with the opportunity. It had never been a real enough possibility for me to give it a good think.
Was that what this was, though? A real possibility?
I pushed it out of my mind as I prepared for the second big rodeo event, the Steer Wrestling competition. My horse was saddled in the stalls underneath the arena, but I kept compulsively checking and rechecking the leather straps. I couldn’t let anything go wrong today. Not after I had fallen on my ass in the first event. Tonight I needed to score some real points if I wanted to stay in the competition. This was more than just the rodeo—my job depended on my performance.
Above me came the muted roar of the crowd, followed by another muffled groan of disappointment. I wondered which cowboy that was, and what they had done to earn that reaction. Hopefully they weren’t injured.
Steer Wrestling was a relatively quick event, lasting anywhere between three and ten seconds. A steer was released into the arena, followed immediately by a cowboy on horseback. The competitor had to leap from horseback onto the steer, then wrestle it into submission. They were only allowed to grab onto the steer’s horns, and scoring was based on how quickly you could make it submit.
Nine cowboys had already performed, and the current best time was 4.13 seconds. That was a solid time, but definitely beatable.
“Come on, Buttercup,” came a voice in the hall outside the stalls. “We’re up next.”
I patted my own horse and stepped out of the stall. Eli held his horse by the reins and was walking it toward the ramp that led up into the arena. When he saw me, he flashed a smile.
“You still waitin’ for your turn?” he asked.
“I’m after you and Sawyer,” I replied. “Hope you’ve got your hundred bucks ready.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded bill. “Got it right here. Honestly, I’m kinda hopin’ you crush it tonight.”
I blinked at him. “Now, why’s that?”
“Because you’re the best chance of keeping Christina Applefuck from winning first place,” he replied bluntly. “I don’t mind you beating me, as long as you beat him, too.”
“What if I beat you,” I said, “but lose to Appleton?”
“That’s what we call a lose-lose situation,” Eli replied, reaching up to scratch his horse behind the ear. “Knock ‘em dead, cowboy.”
He started to walk away.
“Wait!” I said. “Were you serious about what you said last night?”
“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” he grinned. “I said a lot of things last night, and I wasn’t exactly sober .”
“Joining forces,” I replied, finding it difficult to actually say the word. “Sharing, uh, Sophie.”
“Oh! You mean was I serious about havin’ a threesome with her?”
I glanced around us. “You don’t have to say it so loud.”
“Don’t know why you’re embarrassed,” Eli replied with a warm smile. “And of course I was serious. I bet Sophie’d be into that, and it’s not like she has a lot of days off. If I had to choose between sharing her with you whenever she’s free, or not gettin’ with her at all, well, that decision’s as easy as vanilla ice cream on apple pie.”
He gently tugged the reins and led Buttercup toward the arena entrance.
A minute later, the loudspeaker crackled to life and called four numbers—including mine—to the starting blocks. I opened the gate and led my own horse after Eli.
The roar of the arena grew louder as we walked up the concrete ramp into the temporary stalls that were adjacent to the starting block. There were two riders ahead of me in the queue: Eli was first atop Buttercup, followed by Sawyer sitting astride his black Mustang. Eli was too busy being led into the starting block to see me, but Sawyer gave me a slow nod of respect before returning his focused gaze to the arena.
Once Eli and his horse were in the starting block, everything happened quickly. His name was announced over the arena loudspeaker, and then one second later the chute flew open.
From my spot in the waiting stall, I didn’t have a great view of the action. But I could tell what was happening based on the crowd cheers. It was over in just a few heartbeats, and I gazed up at the massive scoreboard in the center of the arena along with Sawyer and everyone else.
HAWKSHAW: 5.09s
I grimaced. That wasn’t a bad time, but it wasn’t enough to put him in the top three.
“You’d better beat that time,” Eli told me as he exited the arena with his horse.
“That’s the idea,” I replied as Sawyer moved into the starting block.
Once again, I couldn’t see the action, but the excited cheers told me everything I needed to know before the score flashed above:
EASTON: 4.26s
That was good enough to put Sawyer in second place. He didn’t smile as he left the arena, but he was breathing heavily like he wanted to let out a shout of excitement.
“Hell yeah,” I told him as he passed by. “Nice job.”
I extended a fist toward him, for a moment forgetting that Sawyer never showed any camaraderie toward his fellow competitors. Then, to my surprise, he reached up and bumped it with his own fist. His lip even curled in a sneer that was almost a smile.
I blinked in surprise as he disappeared underneath the arena. If he was willing to fist-bump me, he was pleased with his score indeed. Or he was softening with age.
Nah. I doubted it was that.
Then the gate before me opened and a rodeo assistant was guiding my horse into the starting block. I scratched him behind the ear, hoping it would keep him calm. My heart quickened as the announcer boomed my name across the whole arena, and I wondered where Sophie was tonight. I hoped she was serving beer and would watch my performance.
Or maybe I didn’t want her to be there. She had seen my first failure, after all.
I quickly pushed the thought down. No. She had already seen one failure, and tonight I was determined to show her a triumph.
I took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and found some semblance of peace.
Then the peace was gone as the gate flew open. My horse exploded forward into the arena like he was trained to do, veering to the right slightly to chase the steer. I stood up in the stirrups and leaped, soaring weightlessly for a fraction of a second above the horned animal. Then I landed on its back, my fingers automatically wrapping around the horns as I threw my weight sideways, pulling the animal to the ground with every bit of strength I possessed.
A horn sounded. I let go of the animal, who was quickly ushered away by two more rodeo assistants, but I barely noticed as I leaped to my feet and stared up at the arena scoreboard. It felt like I had done well enough to move into first place, but time had a way of slowing down when you were wrestling an animal to the ground. My heart pounded as I waited. The judges had to confirm that I hadn’t broken any rules before they showed the time, but it seemed to be lasting an eternity.
When the number did appear, I could hardly believe my eyes.
ARMSTRONG: 3.82s
I let out a cry of victory, but it was drowned out by the crowd’s deafening roar when they saw the winning score. I was now firmly in first place, bumping Sawyer down to third.
I retrieved my horse, whispering, “Good boy. Good boy. You did good,” as I walked him back to the starting area. Another gate opened to allow us to depart, but then I gazed up and saw one man sneering down at me.
“Not bad,” Chris Appleton said from atop his Chestnut Appaloosa. “Good enough for second place, I reckon.”
I didn’t rise to the bait; I was in too good of a mood. “Yours to beat, Appleton. Hope you don’t fuck it up in front of all those people.”
Leading my horse down underneath the arena, I stopped when I passed a TV mounted to the wall showing the rodeo from a better angle. I shouldn’t watch, it was only going to drive me crazy. But I couldn’t help it. Appleton was the final rider of the event, and he was the only thing standing between me and a first place medal.
The gate swung open, and Appleton’s horse lunged into the arena. As quick as lightning, he flew from the saddle and landed across the back of the steer, arms gripping the horns like the handlebars of a bike.
But Appleton’s legs kicked underneath the steer, knocking its back leg out and allowing him to subdue it quickly.
“He tripped the steer!” I shouted at the TV. “Tripping!”
There was a commotion among the crowd in the arena, which I heard through the TV speakers and directly above me through the layers of concrete. The camera panned over to the table of judges, who had put their heads together as they reviewed a small computer screen. One of them pointed at the screen, and another nodded.
There must have been a delay on the TV, because the in-person noise from the arena erupted before the TV showed the verdict.
APPLETON: DQ (ILLEGAL HOLD)
“YES!” I shouted. He was disqualified for tripping the steer.
Which means I had won first place.
On the TV, Appleton sprinted over to the judges table and gesticulated angrily. “He’s not a happy camper,” the television broadcaster said, “but that was clearly an illegal hold.”
“THERE HE IS!” Eli shouted when I returned my horse to his stall. “Atta boy!” He threw his arms around me in a genuine hug.
“You seem happier than I am,” I said with a grin.
“Ah hah.” He braced me by the shoulders. “I’m mostly happy Appleshit was disqualified. But I’m glad you won, too. We’re eskimo brothers, after all.”
I blinked at him. “Eskimo brothers?”
“You know. Two Eskimos sticking their fishing poles in the same hole.” He raised his eyebrows. “It’s a metaphor about sex, with the—”
“I got it,” I said with a laugh. “And thanks.”
Sawyer emerged from his stall a few doors down. “I’m less happy than Elijah,” he said. “You knocked me from second place to third. But I’m happy he didn’t win.”
“Look at us,” Eli said, wrapping an arm around each of our shoulders. “We’re practically friends now.”
Sawyer removed Eli’s arm and growled, “Let’s not get carried away.”
“Speaking of sore losers…” Eli muttered.
Chris Appleton came storming down the ramp from the arena, shouting into a cell phone. “I don’t care what it looked like. I didn’t touch its fucking leg. Yeah, well how about you make them fucking see it. A DQ hurts my chances of winning the entire thing.”
“Who are you whining to?” Eli taunted. “The judges’ wives?”
“Fuck you,” Appleton sneered.
“Aw, don’t be upset,” I called out. “We’re going to Billy Bob’s after this. I’ll buy you a consolation drink. You look like you need one.”
Appleton stopped and whirled toward us. “I wouldn’t share a drink with you if I was dying of thirst. But I especially wouldn’t do so at Billy Bob’s. My ex works there.”
“Aw, don’t be afraid of Whiplash Willie,” Eli teased. “Even if you two have a history, I’m sure he’s moved on. Seen plenty of other cowboys givin’ him a ride lately.”
Appleton’s face twisted into a sneer. “Fuck you.”
“Love you too!” Eli replied, waggling his fingers.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go celebrate with Sophie. I hope she saw that performance.”
“I’m in, but you’re buying,” he replied. “Maybe we can get her to admit I’m the better lover.”
“Doubtful.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because,” I said with a smirk, “she doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who lies.”
Eli barked a laugh.
I dipped back into the stall to retrieve my belongings, and Eli quickly did the same thing.
Neither of us noticed that Appleton had overheard the last exchange.