Page 14 of Eight Second Hearts

“Yeah, maybe,” I respond.

“You don’t belong here,” Kim sneers. “You should go back to your war zones and bomb squads. That’s where someone like you belongs, rice eater.”

Anger slams into me, but I’ve learned a long time ago, it’s best not to fight racism with anger. It only gives them more fuel. Still, the urge to punch her straight in the fucking nose is strong. Instead of doing that, I turn back around, ignoring her, knowing I’ll be forced to be in the same space as her for the foreseeable future. Fucking bitch.

“Nothing to say to that, huh?” she laughs. “Suit yourself.”

Finally, she fucking leaves, clearly only in the line to stir up shit. My anger doesn’t dissipate, so I’m forced to stew in it. What I wouldn’t give for a job I didn’t have to be professional for right now.

“You always let people talk to you like that?” a deep voice asks behind me.

I glance over my shoulder at Tripp. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of saying whatever we want and getting away with it, Savage.”

It doesn’t matter what clothing I wear here. I’ll always be the outsider. I understand that, but maybe I just haven’t acknowledged it before now.

He hums under his breath. “You’re the one that’s been following us around.”

I turn fully and brace my hands on my hips. “That makes me sound like a stalker.”

“You said it. Not me,” he says, his voice low. He smells a bit like whiskey, and I wrinkle my nose up at how strong it is now that I’m facing him fully. He doesn’t look drunk, but he’s clearly had a few drinks.

“Yeah, well. . . it’s just part of my job.” I tilt my head. “I don’t suppose you’d like to give me a bit of your time so I can get the fuck out of here.”

He raises his brow at me. “Nope.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” I grumble, turning back around. “Fucking cowboys.”

When it’s my turn to order, I get two corndogs, because why the fuck not? I deserve it.

The final day of the rodeo comes with a larger crowd and so much cheering, it makes my head hurt. Tripp ends up winning the top pot for bull riding. Unsurprising. It seems everywhere Tripp goes, his legacy precedes him, but that doesn’t mean he’s not an expert at what he does. It seems to almost come easily to him, as if it really is in his blood.

Ramiro Mondragon takes third, and I suspect he only gets that position because they have to admit he doesn’t deserve not to win any prize money at all. Still, it’s far too fucking low. He deserved first. Everyone could see that.

Beau’s accomplishments include putting blue chalk handprints on damn near every bull he could get his hands on and convincing a whole crowd of women to rip their shirts off and reveal the blue paint hands on their bare titties. They’d been covered up and escorted out quick, but not before everyone got an eyeful.

All the contestants and staff start packing up right after the rodeo finishes, and I know I’m about to be in the position of needing a ride again. I can suck it up and buy another outrageous plane ticket or I can beg a ride. I decide I’ll at least see if anyone will give me a ride this time first before I drop money on a plane ticket again.

“Don’t even ask us,” Kim sneers when I step into the parking lot.

I roll my eyes. “Wasn’t going to.”

Seriously. At this point, I’d rather chop off my right arm than be trapped in a car for twenty hours with Kim. We’re headed to Tucson, Arizona from here, and I know for a fact I’d murder the woman if we were trapped in a car together. Her mean girl shit is starting to really get on my nerves, but that last racist comment. . . I know I’d knock out a few of her teeth.

She watches me with a smirk as I go up to some of the other journalists and photographers. Each of them gives me some sort of excuse.

“Sorry, we’re full up.”

“Sorry, we filled the car with gear.”

“Sorry, we don’t ride with strangers.”

The list goes on and on until I’m standing in the parking lot with little to no options. Fuck. I’m going to have to fly, aren’t I?These plane tickets are starting to get out of hand, but I’m not ready to give up just yet. I gotta get that story.

My eyes trail around the parking lot and lock on Ramiro as he tosses a crate in the back of a large blue Chevy truck. I shouldn’t. They’re clearly going to say no. But fuck, it’s my last option.

And honestly, I’m tired of Kim standing over there smirking as she watches me ask everyone I can for a ride. Bitch.

“Hey,” I say when I get close enough for them to hear me. “I know it’s probably ridiculous, but you think I could ride with you guys to the next circuit?” I ask, hoping my voice sounds confident.

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