Page 20 of Titus

A hush fills the giant arena as we all try to process what the hell just happened. Destry Callahan, the favored bull rider and newest member of my Jaxson Boots team, isn’t advancing to the finals. It’s Thursday and the final day of semifinals. Wild card is tomorrow and the finals for all events start Monday. We were allconfident Destry would make it to the championship round, but we were dead ass wrong.

He didn’t make it and I can only imagine how he’s feeling. I’m a few feet from him and a beautiful woman with two long braids. She’s embracing him. I want to turn and head back to my seat but he sees me.Shit!After taking a deep breath, I continue toward him with a wry smile plastered on my face. Before I can utter a word, he snaps.

“If you want your money back too?—”

As angry as he sounds, I can’t hide my slight amusement at his obviously incorrect assumption. “I don’t want my money back. I just want to know you’ll be in Dallas after this,” I tell him and his expression shifts and some of the tension in his shoulders loosens. “This is only one rodeo, Callahan. I assume you’re not calling it quits?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’ll be back.”

Pleased with his answer, I smile. “Good to know.” Then I turn to the sista with him. I can’t help but admire her pretty face. After winking at her, I say, “Take care of our guy. We have a lot of money riding on a championship from him.”

She lifts her chin and stares at me before cutting a glance at Destry. “I will,” she assures.

He shakes my hand then I walk out, leaving her to take care of him. I have another hour and a half before Titus competes for his finalist spot and it makes no sense to leave the fairgrounds and try to make it back in time. So Rini and I are going to stay in the arena. I was checking on my new team recruits while she went out to get us lunch.

When I make it back to my seat in the dirt deck, she’s back too with two bourbon slushies, a smoked turkey leg covered with Cajun rice, and another of those larger-than-life funnel cakes with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. I can’t lie, these funnel cakes are sinful.

“Why did you bring another funnel cake? These things are the devil?” I ask as I grab one of the slushes.

“Because it’s good as hell.”

She opens the pack of sanitizing wipes from her purse and pulls out a wipe. Then she hands it to me. I grab two and we both thoroughly wipe our hands. At the same time, we reach for the funnel cake and break off a piece. The moment the deliciousness hits my stomach, I grin.

“I swear I’m going to leave this rodeo fifteen pounds heavier,” I say before breaking off another piece.

“Not me. Whatever pounds I gain, Lab’s fine ass is going to work them right off. When I tell you he breaks my back, he breaks my damn back. You hear me. Hands down the best sex I have ever had. I don’t know why I waited this long to fuck around with a cowboy. I’ve been missing out. He’s going to have my ass moving to Millers Pointe,” she says while cracking up.

I laugh too because my sentiments are the exact same. My mind flashes to after the bonfire the other night. Titus kept his word and took my body to heights I’ve never experienced. We probably should have stayed out by the lake that night because I probably woke up the entire lodge with my moans. I finally understand addiction because I’ve developed one for him.

“You better not hurt that man. His back is not one hundred,” I remind her.

“I can’t damn tell. He does everything but pick my thick ass up.”

We laugh together this time. She’s a trip but I can tell she’s really feeling Lab. Her constant conversations about him are a dead giveaway. Rini talks a lot of shit but she doesn’t speak about her men or relationships this much and she definitely doesn’t smile like this. My bestie looks genuinely happy and I love all of this for her.

While we wait for the afternoon competitions to begin, the little kids are on the dirt, mutton bustin’. It’s the cutest thing. Four-to seven-year-old boys and girls who weigh under fifty-five pounds are riding sheep. With their helmets and cowboy gear, they straddle the sheep and hope to hang on to the finish line. As they race, two rodeo clowns run behind them for their safety. Watching them struggle to stay on the sheep and make it to the end of the race is adorable. More fall off than make it though.

When the mutton bustin’ ends, the clowns work to clear the dirt and get it ready for the adults. About fifteen minutes before the semifinals, I get a text from Titus. Since I was by the box during his first ride when he broke his record, he’s convinced I’m his good luck charm. He wants me there now for this round too.

“Duty calls,” I tell Rini before getting up.

“I’ll be screaming for him.”

Since I have a few minutes, I bypass hopping the fence and take the official route to the back area. It’s crowded today so I have to squeeze through a few pods of people to reach his box. Phoenix is already inside but he’s standing in front, wide legged with his head slightly bowed. His hands are clasped in front of his face and he’s rocking. For a minute, I stand back, assuming he’s praying but when his head rocks from side to side, I step to him. He removes an earbud from his ear.

“What are you listening to?” I ask and he places the bud in my ear. A deep, commanding voice is speaking. “Who is this?”

“Dr. Trey Evans. I listen to him sometimes. He’s a Black man, speaking to Black men about being a man. He hypes me sometimes before I ride.”

I swear Titus amazes me more every day.

I remove the earbud and hand it back to him. He removes his other one. Lab walks over and takes Titus’s earbuds and phone. Then he hands Titus a carrot.

“Good luck, bruh,” he says.

“It’s good now that she’s here,” Titus says, then hooks his arm around me and pulls me into him. He places his hand under my chin then tilts my head. For a moment, he just stares into my eyes and I try not to blink. Missing one second of his intense stare would be a shame. Then he kisses my lips passionately. “Stay here until I’m done.”

“I’m not going anywhere. See you in nine seconds,” I tell him.

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