Beau nodded, not really listening, but needing his jabber to keep from thinking. That was his job, too. If Beau had too much time to sink into himself, he’d override.
“Okay, now. Mind in the middle. Best score of the night buys the beer.” He climbed back over the chute, hopped down to grab Beau’s vest.
Beau grinned at him for a split second before wiggling and settling, nodding his head before the bull could get out of position. The gate opened and the bull shot out and spun to the right, just like he’d known it would. He watched, just willing the fine son of a bitch to stick. Come on. Come on, Boug. You got it. Don’t you fucking let go.
That compact body stayed straight up until seven seconds, which was when Beau started to slide. The last second happened from the side of the bull, Beau stubbornly clinging, the rope staying true.
The buzzer went off and the crowd went wild. Hell, yeah. Just like that.
His Boug was born to ride.
‘Course, the man seemed destined to get off in the worst place when he did make a big ride like that. Beau went down right in front of the horns, Nate the only thing keeping him from getting stomped like a grape.
Beau was up and running, though, just like that, hat flying through the air.
Sam clapped as hard as anyone else, smiling and high-fiving with Raul and Joa.
Joa nodded at him, grinning wide. “You want help wit’ your rope, man?”
“Yeah. Yeah, thanks.” Beau’d be heading to talk to that Alison girl.
The safety man, Adam, had caught Beau’s hat, and the man leaned down out of the saddle to shake Beau’s hand. Beau took the hat, laughing at something Adam said, patting the man right on his chap-covered thigh.
Oh, bastard.
Adam Taggart had been, well, everyone knew the Taggart boys were trouble and that pretty motherfucker could still make Beau all stupid and…
Fucker.
He snarled and headed to his chute, Joa waiting on him, staring a little. “Let’s go.”
He was fixin’ to ride this motherfucking bull, then he was going to beat Adam Taggart to death and then remind Beau who thefuckwas with who.
In that order.
Chapter Eleven
Beau put his head down, hands in his pockets, walking what Sam would call his bulldog walk. If Sam was talking to him, which he wasn’t. The ride back to the hotel from the venue had been icy quiet, Sam just staring over at him every so often, lip curled.
Now, he just had to figure out what he’d done, so he could either apologize or tell Sam to kiss his shiny white ass.
They got to their room, Sam slamming the door back on its hinges when he went in, tossing his heavy duffle against the chair hard enough that something cracked.
Beau took his hat off and set it aside, raising a brow, going for cool and collected. “You got a problem, Poot?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I got a problem. You going to start feeling up Adam Fucking Taggart in the middle of the arena during every round or only when you’re in the money?”
Blinking, Beau almost nodded, but then realized what Sam had said. “Uh. Did I?”
“Jesus. Yeah. Yeah, you did. Old habits die hard and shit, huh? I’m going to take a shower.” The bathroom door slammed open hard, the tension in Sam’s shoulders stretching the sponsor’s name all out of whack on the man’s shirt.
“Sam. That was a damned long time ago. He was just being nice, telling me good ride, huh?” Jesus, some kinda bug had crawled up Sam’s ass, and he didn’t think it was really Adam.
“Yeah. Right. Like any of the Taggart boys do nice. Whatever. You just. Shit.”
Sam was stripping off clothes, his compact, fuzzy body appearing, and Beau couldn’t figure why they was fighting when he was faced with that. “Damn, Poot. Who did I leave with?”
“Somebody who didn’t make a fucking dime at another event.”
