Page 8 of Eight Second Hearts

“No interviews,” Tripp growls, immediately turning away.

Ramiro looks at me apologetically. “Sorry about him, ma’am. We appreciate you being interested in us, but he’s right. We don’t do interviews.”

Beau wiggles his brows at me. “I saw you out there, little outsider. If you like what you see, I’m willing to tell you anything you want if you put those pretty lips to the tip of my guns.”

He presses his hands against his pelvis where the tattooed revolvers are inked to make sure I get his meaning.

“Chingada madre,” Ramiro curses and smacks Beau upside the head. “Leave her alone,pendejo. She’s trying to work.”

“So am I,” Beau teases with a wink to me. “Gotta get my cardio in and these buckle bunnies here just don’t cut it.” He leans closer. “You look like you’d make me beg for it, little outsider. I like that.”

I snort. I can’t help it. The laughter comes bubbling out before I can stop it. Beau’s eyes light up at my laughter. “As tempting as that sounds, I’ll have to pass,” I say. “I am indeed working.”

“Another time then,” he says with a grin.

Ramiro looks at me curiously, but he doesn’t comment on my words. “Vamos,” he says to Beau.

“Why don’t you guys do interviews?” I ask, trying to get anything I can out of them. “What are you trying to hide?”

Beau is the one who laughs. He’s also the one who answers.

“Demons, silly goose,” he says. “Like everyone else.”

And then they leave, and I miss out on getting the interview at this stop. Fuck. I’m going to really have to chase the circuit then, aren’t I?

I turn away once they disappear and search for Kim and Zander, knowing I’m going to have to suck it up and play nice if I’m going to catch a ride with the two.

Chapter 5

Indie

The end of the event comes fast, and it becomes a completely different atmosphere within the arena. Once the crowds find their drunken way out, the crew jump into gear, the contestants collect their prize money and leave, and the press readies to do the same. From the schedule I’d pulled up, the next circuit the Crimson Three is registered for is in Jackson, Mississippi, a damn near twenty-hour drive from here. I either catch a ride with someone already going that direction or I’m going to have to pay for another flight.

I look around for Kim and Zander and finally find them out at the parking lot leaning against Zander’s black Suburban. Zander is smoking a cigarette while Kim scrolls through her phone, both of them bundled up tight against the cold. They don’t notice me until I stop right in front of them, and even then, they barely spare me any attention.

“Hey, guys,” I say, trying to keep my tone chipper. “Frank said you’d be working the same circuit as I am. Would you mind if I ride with you to the next stop?”

Kim’s eyes flick up from her phone. Like many of the other women journalists, she has no problem fitting in. Dressed inbedazzled bootcut jeans and a plaid button-down shirt that’s unbuttoned enough to show her abundant cleavage, Kim looks every inch the cowgirl. She’s not wearing her hat right now, so her blonde, perfectly curled hair hangs around her shoulders. Her lipstick is even perfectly mauve, her makeup expertly done. I’ve never seen someone so well put together that they blend in and stand out at the exact same time.

“And why would you think we’d be the ones to give you a ride?” she asks as she stares at me with pretty blue eyes.

My smile tenses, but I keep it firmly in place. “We’re going to the same circuit, aren’t we?”

“And?” Zander asks, flicking his cigarette butt away.

I realize what’s happening immediately. I’m no stranger to the mean girl energy or the standoffish behavior of people who are supposed to be on your team, but I haven’t encountered it since being overseas. It makes sense for a sergeant to be that way toward a journalist. It doesn’t really make sense for the rodeo circuit.

“Come on, guys,” I say, sucking up my pride. “We’re on the same team here.”

Kim straightens and steps closer, her stupid rhinestone boots shining in the low light. She gets in my face, and this close, I can see her makeup isn’t quite as perfect as I thought. Her lip line is shaky, her right eyeliner doesn’t match the left, and she hadn’t blended her foundation properly.

“We’re not on the same team,” she hisses through her teeth. “Find someone else to ride with,Stringer.”

I don’t show any emotion to the nickname. It’s a common term for freelance reporters who report from war zones, and while it doesn’t always come with negative connotations, the way Kim says it makes it feel like the most distasteful thing I could be. It doesn’t bother me though. I’ve been called much worsebefore. A beach bottle blonde wannabe cowgirl can’t hurt my feelings if she wanted to.

I smile at her, showing more teeth than necessary. “If you’re jealous of my assignment, just say that.”

Kim laughs so loud, I know it’s fake. “Me? Jealous of you?” She narrows her eyes. “We’ve all tried to get the story you’re going after, and just like the rest of us, you’re going to fail.” She tips up her chin. “You’re not even a blip on our radar,Stringer.”

---