Page 7 of One Last Rodeo
I make my usual silly comment to get him off my back. "Your eyesight's just getting bad, old man."
Dawson’s only in his early forties, not much older than me, which means I just earned myself a generous eye roll from him.
“Guess you get to be comfortable when you’re the best,” my buddy Joel snarks from across the table.
I shrug. “Gotta train harder if you want to get to that level. Then maybe you can take the buckle from me.”
“No one’s taking that title from Jensen until he retires,” Micah adds, like it’s just an accepted fact.
The sun rises in the east, Jensen wins damn near everything that our team enters, or that I ride solo. That’s the way it’s always been since I first mounted a bull in my early twenties, unless you count that brief period when Hayes Walker swept the circuit before retiring to become a small-town doctor.
I smirk. “Ain’t that the truth.”
The conversation swirls around me. Twin brothers Micah and Joel start fighting about points they lost on their last ride and who looked better doing it. I shut it all out.
My gaze flicks, uninvited, down the table to where Doctor Alba sits stiff as a fence post among some of the medical staff and other circuit workers we carry from city to city.Technicallyshe’s chatting with them, but she looks like she’d rather be getting a root canal.
She’s out of her all-black scrubs and the series T-shirt she had on earlier today, but she hasn’t branched out from the color scheme. Black fitted tee, black bell-bottom jeans that cling to her wide hips like sin. And I'd know because I was watching her when she entered the restaurant an hour ago.
Her hair is down now, not cinched in that severe bun she wore during surgery or in any clips. Just down. Long, dark waves that reach past her shoulders. Pretty as hell. Softer than I expectedfrom someone who looks like she's got nothing but sharp and bite to her.
“Hey guys, can I get a quick photo of you eating for the social media page?” June Harper, the series media manager and team photographer asks as she rounds our table.
June's been with the Broken Spurs team for the last two years but has hung around rodeos and circuits for even longer. Craig hired her after he caught wind of the photos she'd been posting at each event and saw she had an eye for capturing our good angles, which brought in more traffic to the rodeos. I'm thinking it's partly because of her skills that she got hired, and heavily because Craig knew she wouldn’t mind putting up with our shit and being paid terribly unlike the last photographer we had on staff.
A few of the guys and I lean in automatically. Joel lifts a chicken wing like it’s a trophy, Micah gives him bunny ears, and Rafael exhales like we’re all ruining the picture.
June snaps a photo and flashes us a thumbs up. “Thank you. I'll tag you in it so you can repost on your pages.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be getting shots of us riding too?” I tease.
She rolls her eyes. “I am, dumbass. Check out the team social media page. The only one who's active on there is Joel. Maybe you three should show some support if you want fans to keep paying to watch you cowboys ride.”
“She’s right. Merchandise isn’t moving as fast as it should be,” Noa, our team manager and brand lead, cuts into the conversation. She points at Joel and Micah, her twin brothers. “When you’re done eating, meet me in the hallway. I have some new T-shirts I’m trying to push, and I need you to model them.”
“Noa,” Micah groans, but before he can say anything more Dawson smacks the back of his head.
“Listen to your damn sister, asshole.”
I hide a laugh. Noa’s younger than Joel and Micah, but she’s been managing their riding schedule for the better part of the last decade. Practically since before she was old enough to drive to a rodeo.
Micah sighs. “Yes, Uncle Dawson.”
“And leave June alone,” Rafael growls once the women have both walked back to their end of the table.
“Oh, right—forgot Raf doesn’t like us teasing hisgirlfriend," Micah jokes.
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“No, just the woman you’re secretly in love with,” Joel chimes, unbothered, mouth full of chicken.
“Fuck off.” Raf pushes away from the table and stalks toward the bar like someone lit a fuse.
I watch him go. “Whoa, what’s his deal?”
Micah shrugs. “You didn’t know he’s been crushing on June since they hired her? Thinks she’s gonna be his wife someday.”
I choke on my drink because I knew he had a crush on her, but not the part about him wanting to marry her.
