Chapter 24 #2
The first thing you’re hit with when you walk in is the smell of animals.
I have no idea how they get the smell out for the other fifty weekends a year.
The next thing you’re hit with is how insane it is to get full-size hot tubs, mattresses, and trucks in here.
There’re also booths boasting custom hats, belt buckles, dog treats, cowhide rugs, and new and used lassos.
This isn’t even the stadium. This is the secondary building on the premise.
That’s how big this place is. I never really appreciated it until now.
“I didn’t realize there was a market for used rope,” I say, bemused, and Nash laughs and grabs me by the hand to drag me to a sweet-smelling booth two stalls over. This one offers a truly exceptional variety of roasted and candied nuts.
“We’ll take one of the créme br?lée pecans, please.” The man hands Nash a bag of nuts, still warm from the pan. I get my wallet from my back pocket and hand a card to the gentleman.
Nash glances at me. “Why are you paying?”
“My girlfriend doesn’t pay when we go out.” I obviously haven’t been laying down the law enough with her. She should know I’d never let a lady pay unless we agreed to splitting the bill in some way that’s even. But this is a date.
The man gives her the nuts and she hands them right to me. I immediately open them and pop one in my mouth. “We just had dessert,” she scoffs.
“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’.
” I dip my hand into the bag and grab a few.
“You know I’ve got a sweet-tooth, sugar.
” I smirk as I lick the stickiness off my fingers.
I know we’re faking it, but I can’t help it when I know it will turn the tip of her nose pink like that.
Her eyes drop to my lips where I’m licking off the sugar left behind, and then quickly back up to my eyes.
That’s the first time I’ve called her a pet name. I think she likes it…
Being out and about is the perfect excuse to be like this around her.
The playing and teasing that old Wyatt never thought would be possible is within present Wyatt’s grasp.
It’s the way I would be with her if this were real, and it’s the best way to make it believable to anyone watching our interactions.
If this happens to make our friendship go tits up, I may as well enjoy every second of it.
This place must be the size of ten football fields because behind all the shopping stalls are rows upon rows of cattle waiting to be shown. There’s also two mini arenas complete with bleachers for onlookers.
“Why are there cows here?” Jaden asks as we walk perpendicular to the first row of cows and their handlers.
“These are FFA students. They raise a cow all year and bring it here to show. The hope is to win a title and/or sell the cow at a high price at auction,” Nash explains.
“The kid gets the money?”
“No, it goes toward scholarships and education programming. They didn’t have FFA where you grew up?”
“They did, but nothing like this.” He gestures around us at the hundreds of steers waiting to be judged.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.”
“Guys,” Chrissy whines, “cows are boring. And sad.” She looks at Nash. “They’re all going to get eaten. I want to go see the cute bunnies.”
Nash hooks her arms through Chrissy’s, and they lead us toward the front corner. The only place we haven’t been.
The girls ooh and ahh over the show bunnies of all different breeds, petting the soft pelts of any who will let them.
I hear gagging, and when I turn to see what’s going on, I find Colin staring at the birthing pen in the southeast corner.
They’re live-streaming a cow giving birth by using a huge projector to cast it on the wall.
I pretend to cover his eyes and the girls dissolve into giggles. “That’s so gross,” Colin exclaims.
“I grew up on a farm. I’ve seen it all.” I put my arm around his shoulders and steer him away from the miracle of life.
Once we get back to the entrance where they display the kids’ art competition, Chrissy asks, “Okay, is there anything else we want to see? If not, we should start heading to our seats for the show.”
Nash perks up. “Oh, I almost forgot! We have to get Wyatt a new hat.”
Chrissy picks my ‘gross’ hat off my head and my hands immediately move to smooth down my hair. “This one is covered in sweat marks.”
I snatch it back from her. “It’s from working.” I gesture at the crowd of overdressed people around us. “Not like these people would know anything about that.” Maybe some of them do know. Maybe they work on a farm and are just here to enjoy the food and the music, but I highly doubt that.
Nash takes my hand. “Come on, I saw a stand over by the hot tubs that had nice ones.” She looks at Chrissy and Colin. “Do you guys want to come?”
They look at each other, then shake their heads. Chrissy says, “No, we’re going to check out the wine garden. We’ll meet you at the gates to get in?”
“Sounds good.”
The hat booth Nash was talking about is literally a wall of hats behind a folding table. A man with a curled mustache greets us as we walk up. “What’re ya’ll lookin’ for?”
“I need a new hat, apparently.” I’m still holding my old hat in my hands. Why does it feel like replacing it is a betrayal? To Wisconsin? To my hometown? The Vandergriff family farm? I don’t know.
Nash points to a hat on the wall. “Can we see that one?”
It’s out of his reach, so the gentleman moves to take it down with a little pole. It’s stiff and golden. The folds at the top crisp. “Here you go, Miss.”
She hands it to me, and I plop it on my head. “What do you think?”
“Let’s try one more.” She points at another hat. This one is more of a bone color, but similar in shape to the first one.
I take the first one off in my right hand and set it on the table.
Then put the second one on with my left.
Nash taps her chin with her finger, thinking.
I flex my muscles to really give her an idea of just how good I can make this hat look.
I watch her eyes dart from the hat to my biceps as they strain against the material of my button down, then back to the hat again.
She has to clear her throat before she says, “I like the second one better. The color brings out the blue in your eyes.”
The man selling it looks at me, silently asking me what I think. “We’ll take the one she likes.”
“Need a box?”
“No, sir. I’ll wear it out.” I hand Nash my old hat and pay.
When I turn around, new hat in hand, I almost choke.
She’s wearing my old hat. It’s so big it’s barely above her eyes, but I can’t help the way my cock stiffens just slightly at the sight of it.
That’s the only explanation I have for my next sentence.
“You know what they say? Wear the hat, ride the cowboy.” I wink at her.
She stares dumbly back at me. Just like when we bought the nuts, the tip of her nose turns pink.
I need that little spot of color like an addict needs their next hit.
It’s the only thing telling me there might be something more than fake dating friendship going on between us. It’s all I have to hang on to.
We stand close as she fixes the band of my new hat.
Our breath mingling between us. I love how easy it is to look her in the eyes.
My high school sweetheart was average height for a woman, and it was a pain having to get to her level all the time.
I never have that problem with Nash. She’s the perfect size for me.
I bet she’d fit me like a glove in bed, too.
The moment between us seems to last forever. For all I know, we could have already missed the rodeo and concert while we stood here.
“Sir?” We both jump ten feet in the air. “Your receipt?”
I turn to take it from him, using the split second to hide the blush coloring my cheeks before turning back to Nash. “You good?” For a second, I can see she thinks I’m talking about the cowboy cliché I was spewing, but she quickly realizes I meant to catch up with Colin and Chrissy.
“I’m good.”
“Lead the way.”
She nods, and we head toward the main stadium.
To get to your seats, there’s a six-story concrete ramp on the side of the building.
If you were in the nosebleeds you’d have to walk around and around and around.
Luckily, we don’t have to go all the way up.
When we walk through the opening from the concessions area to our seats, my jaw drops.
I have never seen the field like this. Gone is the green AstroTurf.
The entire thing is covered in dirt. Tons and tons of it.
Not the kind of dirt you find in the garden, either; instead, it’s finely ground stuff that’s almost dust. The whole arena is buzzing, the energy palpable.
This is a different kind of action than football, and the feeling in the air reflects that.
“The HLSR has eight rodeo events,” Nash informs me as we scoot down the aisle to take our seats. This rodeo has way more stuff than the ones I attended in little towns around Wisconsin. “My favorite is barrel racing, but I think bull riding is the most well-known.”
“And the most dangerous,” supplies Chrissy.