Diamond blinks, shocked that I’m not happy or maybe because I sound like an asshole, before his easy personality slides back in place. “Of course not, sug. It’s still black coffee, just with a kick.”
It’s not black coffee. It’s foamy and has a goddamn heart sprinkled on it with dark brown powder. Again…does he make hearts for everyone? Hearts on coffee foam shouldn’t be your default. It messes with people. Probably just me, but still. “It’s not what I wanted. Get me a black coffee without the foamy shit.” A beat of heavy silence settles among the group. “Please,” I add, and Diamond’s smile doesn’t reappear.
“As you wish. My apologies.”
He swipes up the mug with his too-perfect hands and swishes away on his too fucking sexy legs, but the silence around me remains. Hunter’s glare could cut glass, and Jackson’s lips press into a thin line.
I’ve fucked up. Big time.
“You didn’t have to be so rude, Rhett. He left you a fucking cupcake outside your bedroom door and was trying to be nice,” Hunter grates, and my heart sinks.
“He didn’t bring what I ordered.”
“You could have asked a little nicer than that,” Jackson says and clears his throat. “Diamond is a friend, Rhett. You don’t seem to like him, and there’s nothing about him worth disliking. I promise he’s a sweet soul you’ll grow fond of in no time.”
No shit. Not sure if fond is the right word to go with here, but telling his friend he makes my dick hard likely isn’t the best route here.
The silence is still awkward as fuck. Hunter won’t tolerate me disrespecting his close friends, and I didn’t mean to come off as an asshole. I’m really not.
“I’m sorry,” I offer, and both men nod, but Hunter still peers through me like he knows exactly where my thoughts are.
“We aren’t the ones you should apologize to,” Hunter says, then lets it drop, switching back to talking about the inspection and what’s on the checklist.
“I think the bronc riding students should have the week before bulls. We can keep more space open for the ropers and bull riders together that way. What do you think, Rhett?” Hunter clicks his pen and checks something off on his list.
“Yeah, I think that’s a great idea. I can do both saddle and bareback riders, too. They bring their own saddles, and we wouldn’t need to book horse stock twice if we lump them together. It’s just learning, so the type of horse they practice ride won’t matter at this point. It would be a sound business choice, I think.”
Hunter hums in agreement. “I think so too. I just want to confirm you could handle that, though. We have 12 riders interested in broncs, and you’re only one guy. Is that too many to coach at once?”
I tilt my head and run it over in my mind. I’d prefer a smaller group, but usually other rodeo cowboys can be called upon to help when needed, especially if I have a lot of rookie riders. I could even break them into smaller sessions. We can definitely make this work.
“I just have to deal with the rider stuff though for broncs, right? I can plan the days and coaching, but if the caterer is late or something, I’m not sure I’d provide the best experience if I have to be doing that too.”
Jackson shakes his head. “No. When you’re coaching, that’s your only job. My husband will handle the meal arrangements for you those weeks and—”
“One black coffee, sug.” Diamond places the mug in front of me with a little less sparkle than before. If I didn’t feel like a ball of shit before, I sure do now.
“I’m sorry for being so rude earlier. I was out of line.”
Diamond’s gaze meets mine, and for that one moment, I think all is well…until he nods and murmurs that it’s fine and walks away. No smiling or flirting with anyone. Not even a touch of Hunter’s shoulder. He just…leaves.
And I’m relieved. I think.
Clearing my throat, I pick up the conversation and push the way Diamond dismissed me out of my mind. “If the other duties are covered when I’m coaching, then twelve riders will be fine.”
“Good.” Hunter checks off another box on his list. “I’ll do the ropers, and I might ask a friend to come out and help for that time. We have a lot of interest in roping. Jamieson does bull riders and Jackson does steer wrestling. I might need to find another helper for the bulls, too. We have so many bull riders interested, I’m afraid we might have to say no to some before the circuit starts and have them come in the fall.”
We continue working out the schedule of when the sessions will start, and Hunter hands me an envelope with all the current applicants’ info to book now that the facility is set to open and staffing is in place. Apparently, he doesn’t trust emails, so he printed every application. I don’t have the heart to tell him I’ll just input it all into a program, and his printing is a waste.
“How much of this year’s tour are you planning to go on, Rhett?” Jackson asks as we finally end the business discussions and talk about what we all love—rodeo.
“As many as I can around this job. Kissing Ridge Rodeo, obviously, but this job comes first.”
“If it’s too much, make sure you say something.” Hunter raises an eyebrow. “Don’t be a hero. If you’re overwhelmed, I’m not gonna fire you. I want you to still compete. You’re a champion. Jackson and I asked you to coach because it will draw riders and make me successful, too.” He laughs and smirks. “I’m not completely selfless here. I’m using your name for my benefit.”
I know I have a lot to offer, but these men are legends to me. Sometimes it’s surreal to be included in their circle, even with the accolades I’ve earned.
Jackson’s phone chimes with an alarm, and his face brightens. “That’s my cue to get out of here. Riley and I have a date after I pick up the dogs at the groomer.” He drains his mug and stands. “I’ll be at the inspection. Relax. It’ll be fine.”
