Page 21 of Titus

A smile spreads on his handsome face then he asks, “Nine?”

“Yeah. I feel it. You are going to beat your new record. Nine. Now, go, cowboy.”

He tilts his hat at me then releases me. All I can do is smile because that hat tilt is sexy as hell. When he’s in the box, I walk over and stand by Lab. From where he is, I have an unobstructed view of the floor. With my hands gripping the gate, I prepare myself for him to go out.

In a flash, there’s a loud thud. The chute opens and the calf comes barreling out. When it reaches the yellow line, Titus and Phoenix fly out of the box. My eyes jet from him to the seconds on the jumbotron. One. Two. Three. He’s off Phoenix. Five. Six. He’s flipping the calf over. Seven. Eight. His hands are up. Eight point seven six! Eight point seven six! The numbers aren’t changing and my heart is about to burst through my chest. I start jumping and screaming along with the rest of the arena. It’s an explosion.

“Three, four, five, six,” I hear Lab yell. The clown unties the calf and Phoenix and Titus ride back into the box. “Muthafuck! He did it!” Lab screams.

“And once again, Titus Cole broke his own record today. He’s starting the semifinals off strong. Quite possibly securing his spot. Eight point seven six is the time to beat. Great job, Titus,” the announcer says as I watch Titus climb off Phoenix.

I run to him and practically jump in his arms and he catches me. “8Eight point seven six,” he utters in my ear.

“You did it,” I squeal.

“You really are my lucky charm,” he says before lifting me off the ground.

CHAPTER

NINE

Titus

“I want to play some of the games. You see that,” Quinn says with too much excitement. A woman holding a big ass stuffed black panther passes by. “I want a panther like that.”

“And where would you put that shit?”

“I don’t know. I’ll figure that out after you win one for me. We are at the fair. That’s what happens. The man wins his lady a big stuffed animal so she can walk around flaunting it, causing other ladies to want one. It’s a vicious cycle but it’s traditional. Plus, this is my first carnival and I’m with a big man I know can win for me. I’m having fun this week. Let me enjoy myself and get my animal.”

After pulling her closer to my side, I kiss the top of her head. “You’re a hustler. You know that?”

“I’m a businesswoman who negotiates. Everything can be resolved with a little negotiation. It worked, didn’t it?” She smirks.

I stop walking then step in front of her. My arms snake around her waist and I invade all of her space. “It worked when you climbed yo’ fine ass on top of me and told me to bring you to this Midnight Madness shit.”

She raises her hand and thumbs the brim of my hat. “Told? Um, I’m pretty sure I asked you.”

“Asked, told. Same difference. You were naked. I would have agreed to anything.”

“Then let’s go get my panther. Which game?”

Her whole face is smiling as she looks up at me and she’s so damn pretty. In this short amount of time, she has me locked all the way in. If she wants a stupid ass panther, I’ll win it for her. I’ll do whatever she asks, real shit.

Since I made it to the finals and didn’t have to fight for a spot in the wild card competitions this evening, my next few days are open. The finals for tie-down roping are Monday and I’m this much closer to the sixty-five bands. After my morning practices and runs with Phoenix, I plan to spend as much time as I can with Quinn. So when she wanted to come here, I caved. After flipping her over and fucking again, we eased out of bed, showered and dressed, and came here.

After stopping a few women with the large panthers, Quinn finds out that the game is called The King’s Court. There are three of them on the grounds but the closest one is down by the livestock bidding tents. When we find it, there’s a crowd. The game set up is actually a vibe. It’s basically a basketball shooting game. They are playing music. A young man dressed like a referee is on the mic inviting people to play and talking shit when players miss.

There are five goals side by side. The four outer goals earn small prizes and the one in the middle is the money shot. Anyone that makes it wins the black panther she wants. The goals have to be rigged because more people are missing than making the shot. The tall brotha shooting now has the height of a baller and his form looks tight but he ain’t hitting shit. Finally, after five attempts, he aims and scores in an outer one. His girl isn’t happy with that little ass rabbit.

“Can you shoot?” Quinn asks.

“I’m no baller but I can shoot. It’s rigged though; it has to be. They kept missing them shits.”

“Well, maybe we should both try. It can’t hurt.”

“Can you shoot?” I ask.

“I can do a little something. My brother played so I used to shoot sometimes with him.”

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