“Sounds great, Boug.” One hand wrapped around his hip, squeezed.
“It does.” It did. He hummed, hugging on his Sammy for a moment.
“One day, it’ll be like this all the time, huh?”
“Yeah.” Beau used to dread that, the day that he retired. Now he thought about it more and more often.
“I can’t wait.”
“You sure? You wouldn’t miss the ride?”
Sammy shrugged, stiffened, moved away from him a little. “These days, it’s more about not missing the hitting the dirt.”
“Oh, Poot.” Hell, he’d been there. Four years ago, Beau had broken just about all a man could break.
“Yeah, yeah. I heard it all, Boug. It’s just a slump, just a thing. Fact is, I ain’t the rider I was.”
What could he say? It was true. Sammy was the car-wreck cowboy. He’d been beat up so much that he couldn’t ride like the natural he was. “Well, you know I’m giving it my best shot this season, but then I’m re-thinking.”
“You’re gonna take the championship.” There was no doubt there. None.
“Knock on wood, babe.” Beau just shrugged it off, but he sure as hell hoped so. If Sammy decided to retire, he’d have three buckles and more than five million in earnings and enough to keep them in style for twenty years. Not that Sammy was broke-dick, not really. Shit, the man still ran good money on the roping circuit, when he wanted to.
Sammy winked, tapped his own head. “You got it.”
“What were we doing? Porch? Bedroom?” He had the sudden urge to touch, to taste.
“You comin’ onto me, Boug?” Sammy wasn’t complaining.
“Am I? Hell, yes.” Beau reached around and squeezed that fine ass. “If you have to ask, I’m doing something wrong.”
That laugh made him happy as all fuck. “Just making sure.”
“Come on, babe. Let’s go make the springs sing.” That couldn’t be mistaken.
Those callused fingers twined with his, squeezed him. “Yes, sir. I’m with you.”
That was all that really mattered. Hell, that was why he’d told Ace to take a flying leap.
Not too many people got to do that.
Chapter Ten
Bump.
Bump.
Bump.
Goddamn it, he needed a ride. Just one. Just tonight, because the guys were talking and shit and he wasn’t ready to be a wash up, not yet. He wasn’t ready to be a fucking wash up and he hated the way that folks assumed he was just some sidekick.
God knew he’d made his own money.
Sam’s hip bumped into Beau’s again, the quarters too damned close to warm up for real and, fuck, what was a guy supposed to do? Just stand there and watch Dillon bounce around like a motherfucking looney on a…
…was that a pogo stick on the camera cage?
Jesus. Willie was gonna kill him. That man hated it when Dillon messed with the camera equipment that way.
