Natty shrugged. “He’s always on there.”
“Mmm. I need to go yell. Be right back.”
“Have fun!” Nate winked at him as he headed back off, jogging toward Coke.
He’d wait for his bullfighter, but Coke had a way of soothing his savage beast, and he didn’t want soothing. He wanted to beat someone half to death with their own fuckingtongue, and he was going to start with David fucking Donaldson.
It wasn’t hard to find him. There was a VIP area for people who didn’t actually work for a living which included the camera people, the announcer, Ace, Troy— for fuck’s sake.
Okay, well, the camera people wouldn’t be up there because they did work the event. He was just being a bitch. But that guy, that one that was like their suit, he was probably up there.
He jogged up the stairs and opened the door without so much as a by or leave. He heard, “Hey!” and “Wait a minute!” but he just did it, he didn’t even listen.
He pointed at David and said, “Don’t you tell my sound guy what to do or what not to do.”
“What?”
“And not only that, you motherfucker, but you don’t tell somebody else that you know about something about this network shit and before you talk to me about it when I’m the one who matters?”
“Hold on!” Ace glared at him. “That’s not up to David.”
Dillon arched an eyebrow. “Do you think for a second that I answer to you, man? For one fucking second? Have I not been incredibly clear about this?”
“Now, Dillon.” That was right. Ace knew better. “We didn’t find out about the whole network bringing their own music situation until just a few minutes ago. You were already down on the floor.”
“Ace, lying is wrong. Also, I have this neat little thing right here in my ear, and it wasn’t off.” He tapped his earpiece. “If you could get hold of the sound guy, you could get hold of me. Do y’all even know the sound guy’s name?”
Ace’s cheeks turned red, and David wouldn’t even look at him.
“That’s what I thought. Ricky, his name is Ricky. Now explain to Ricky that there will be a sound check before the show starts, and there will be a sound check by the time that I get all the way down these stairs because your fans are going to know if they can’t hear the jokes, your fans — you know the ones who paid for tickets to see the bull riding and to see me — they’re going to know if they can’t hear the music and they’re going to know if I can’t hear it. This is my job, let me do my job.”
“Fine. Have your sound check.” Ace rolled his eyes. “I don’t suppose you want to do the TV spot for me?”
Did he want to? Fuck yes he wanted to. Had Ace had a brain tumor for breakfast?
He lived for this shit. His entire existence was being on display.
Still, he had to play it a little close to the vest.
“What is it you need me to do?”
“Talk for thirty seconds about the best bull that’s going to be in the short go. No big deal.”
“I can do that. I won’t even dance.” Much.
Ace raised an eyebrow. “Lying is wrong, Dillon.”
He cracked up. “Oh, fuck off, cowboy. No more bypassing me and the floor show in favor of the network. Deal?”
“Deal.” Ace shook on it.
He knew Ace — the man was as good as his word. “All right. I’m going to go down and bother cowboys. It’s a perfect day for it.”
Troy rolled his eyes. “Don’t tease the bulls into apoplexy, now.”
“No stroking out the bulls. Got it.”
He headed out, and sure enough, halfway down the stairs, Ricky started up a sound check. Woo. And also hoo.
