Trey has a black and white spotted bull I rode last year in San Antonio. He’s just a good bull, should be one or two jumps out, then go in either direction. About 83-85 points.
Trey slides up and nods. The bull kicks out two jumps, turns back to the right, into his hand. He rides him like it’s just another day in the office. Pulling his tail, Trey steps off, stickingthe dismount before walking to the fence, and waits for the bull to leave the arena. Once the bull has left, he gives the crowd a dramatic bow. Always one to show off.
“86 points for the cowboy!” the announcer calls over the mic as Trey walks behind the chutes.
“Look who got loaded now.” I laugh in response to his glare.
“Oh, fuck off. Go do your interview so we can get out of here.”
“On the plus side, we’re the only two qualified rides. It’s going to be a good payday.”
Trey perks up like a little kid getting offered a cookie at that news. “Really? Hell yeah. To the bar we go!”
“Nah, man, I’m good.” I outgrew the bar scene years ago. I’ve never been a big drinker, and I’d rather get some sleep or hit the gym. Trey knows this but still tries anyway.
“Oh, come on, old man. Live a little. You can go to the gym tomorrow.”
“Fine, but you’re coming with me,” I tell him.
“Deal!”
I do a quick TV interview as the winner of the event, then we pack our bags and head to the after party.
Trey orders a bucket of beer and I order a Pendleton Whiskey and Coke. The bar is packed, but we manage to snag a spot at a standing table between the pool tables and the dance floor. A live band is playing an old George Strait song, and the dance floor is full of couples swing dancing.
I grab a pool cue and crack my neck as I make my way to the table.
Man, I’m going to feel those hits on the bucking chute tomorrow. I’m not as young as I used to be.
Trey grabs a cue as I rack them and break. When I stand, there’s a dark-haired woman in a miniskirt next to me, her tits hanging all but out.
“I hear you won the bull riding?” she purrs.
“Yes, ma’am, I did.” I try to walk around her.
“And I took second.” Trey puffs his chest and smiles at her from across the table.
Good, he can have her.I have zero interest.
I move away, but she clearly isn’t taking the hint. “You should buy me a drink, and we can hit the dance floor. Maybe later you can show me if you can go for longer than 8 seconds.” She giggles.
Yeah, pass.“I’m good, thank you. I’ll be leaving after this drink anyhow.” My tone is friendly but firm—I’m not interested.
“He thinks he’s a hardass. He doesn’t like fun;I’mthe fun one. I’m also the one with all the dance moves.” Trey flips his cowboy hat to impress the girl as he moves to step around me toward her.
I lean over to him. “Dude, she’s just a buckle bunny.”
He looks at her, then back at me. “Well, I used to show bunnies in FFA, and I was great at it. I wouldn’t mind showing this one some of my winning moves, if you know what I mean.” He winks at me, then walks up to the girl and introduces himself.
I see him wrap his arm around her shoulders as they head for the bar.
I chuckle. Damn kids these days.
Without a pool competitor, I decide to make a lap to see if there are any familiar faces at the bar. That’s when I see a man on crutches trying to hold his beer and crutch his way around.
Jack Lockwood. What on earth is he doing here?
Jack is an old family friend and last I heard, lived in Colorado.
