Page 59 of Eight Seconds to Fly

I smiled as Frankie grabbed the bag. I hooked my hand in each of their arms and walked out of there like I knew the secret to happiness and it came from having two dicks at my disposal.

“I’d forgotten how sharp your tongue is Tessa May Everett, and god it makes me hard as hell,” Beau groaned and I laughed.

“Pretty sure that was my boobs, Beau.”

Things hadn’t exactly beenawkward between Branch and I, but rather in a weird holding pattern. He asked for time, and that’s what I was giving him, but it meant that the more physical part of our relationship had stalled too. I found myself wanting to kiss him when he smiled, or run my hands across his smooth skin when he splashed around in the hotel pool in Lexington. It halted my progress with Beau as well. I knew that Beau would choose Branch if it went that way. Maybe not happily, and not without a lot of ill feelings, but what Beau and Branch had was more than friendship. It was brotherhood. They were hetero-lifemates. I would never, ever come between that. I didn’t delude myself that a one-third share of me could fill the hole in Beau’s life that Branch would leave.

So while I still snuck kisses from Beau, gave him all the affection he desired, we held off going past second base.

The one place that we all came together seamlessly was at events. One of them was always with me, usually Dylan while he was off on his concussion hiatus and Frankie was filling in for an injured bullfighter. But if for some reason Dylan wasn’t with me, either Beau or Branch was. They never left me alone and vulnerable. While I didn’t want to let what happened with Junior affect me like that, I could admit to myself that having them with me helped. On top of that, they’d decided that Davi was a safe enough option too. Which, I guess he was. But still, he couldn’t look at me with anything but guilt in his eyes, so he was definitely a last resort. One day I would be strong enough that I didn’t need a goddamn babysitter, but today wasn’t that day. I could be weak for a little longer.

I was sitting beside Dylan now on the second day of the Lexington Dirt Eating Challenge and so far the event had lived up to its name. I’d eaten dirt hard the previous day, though Branch had ridden well, getting a good score. I shifted to the left and got stuck in the well, the term for slipping down on the inside of a bull that was twisting.

“I’ve riddenMothmanbefore, he’s pretty rank but he usually throws his head in the direction he’s going to spin just as the gate opens. So you are gonna want to adjust quick and on the fly. He’ll only do the one twist though, because he’s a kicker but gets good air, so if you keep your seat early, you should ride him well.” I nodded, slathering my rope with rosin, massaging it into the rope. I was wearing my new vest; the guys had picked me up one of those state of the art ones while we were in Kansas.

When I’d tried to protest, Dylan had knocked his knuckles on his new helmet. “You want me to wear one of these to keep me safe, and I respect that. I want to buy you this for the very same reason, and I’d appreciate it if you’d give me the same courtesy.”

It was hard to argue with that kind of logic.

The vest was nice though, lighter, less bulky beneath my arms and across my chest. It was reassuring that I wasn’t going to have my vital organs crushed beneath the hooves of an enraged bull today. I nodded as I listened, lost in imagining the ride, how I’d react.

“You giving her lessons now, Montaigne?” Someone snarked, and I looked over to one of Junior’s cronies. Maybe not cronies. Hanger-ons would be better. He’d been one of the ones that looked pissed when Junior had been booted. He had a greedy look on his face, and he eyed me with disdain. “If I sleep with you, do I get riding tips too?”

Dylan’s jaw flexed, and he looked at the guy. Fuck, I should know his name but it was something like Mark or Michael or Mitchell. Some M name that I could never keep straight. “Dunno. I heard from Junior that your cocksucking skills are subpar. I think I’ll pass.”

There were sniggers from around the room. M stood, his face red. “Fuck you, Montaigne. She shouldn’t be here. This is what having women in a man’s sport does. Divides us and makes a mockery. If she deserves to be here, she shouldn’t need help.”

Someone spat into a tin on the floor. “I don’t know, Mitch. It’s just tips. Not like he’s riding the bull for her. And from what I remember, she’s higher in the rankings than you are right now, so why don’t you sit down and do us all a favor by shutting your fucking flapping jaws?”

I didn’t know that guy's name either, I think it was Ian. I nodded and gave the guy a small nod. He touched the brim of his hat and went back to dozing in his chair. I turned back to my ropes, trusting Dylan to have my back. But I wouldn’t be alone with Mitch. I didn’t think all men had it in them to be rapists; that was ridiculous. But all men had the ability to feel anger, and I wouldn’t be caught in the trap of someone else's rage ever again.

Branch strolled back in, riding early today. His grin told me everything I needed to know. He was on a streak. I grinned back. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and kiss him, but I’d wait til later for that. Or maybe not.

I didn’t want to rush him, but this stasis was killing me a little on the inside. “Rode an 88!”

“Yes!” I jumped and wrapped my arms around his neck, and he caught me, hugging me tight.

Someone muttered that no one got that excited when they rode a high score, and I laughed. Branch dropped me gently back to my feet, talking excitedly about his ride. It made feelings flutter in my chest as I watched his face talk animatedly, his eyes sparkling until I got lost in them.

I wanted him to pick me. I’d beg him if I had to, because while I said I’d let him go, he’d take a piece of me with him, and I wasn’t giving it up without a fight.

25

Beau and Frankie helped me get dressed the following night for the gala. They’d sent Dylan over to Branch and Beau’s hotel room, wanting that rom-com moment when they see me for the first time and realize I’m just not the nerdy art geek, but really a beautiful woman.

It would help if I had any damn idea how to do makeup, but I Youtubed a tutorial for easy makeup, bought everything the girl suggested and then applied it as per her direction.

Except eyeliner. Fuck that shit. I’d poked myself in the eye twice and realized that I shook like a recovering alcoholic. It just did not work. But luckily nature had blessed me with thick, long eyelashes and with a bit of mascara applied twice, you wouldn’t even know.

I put leave in conditioner in my hair and loosely braided it diagonally down my head, pulling out some wispy bits so it looked something like a professional hair do.

Honestly, I envied men. Like, what did they have to do? They both would be wearing hats, so they didn’t have to do more than comb their hair and spray on some cologne. Voila. Done. Total bullshit. I put on lip liner and then some bright red lipstick as per the Youtubers instructions. Apparently red lipstick was like armor for women. I needed all the armor I could get tonight.

I put on my strapless bra to keep the girls contained, and a gstring which wasn’t much more than gossamer floss. Couldn’t have visible panty lines apparently.

So many damn rules. I stepped out into the room in my underwear and Frankie groaned. Beau whispered, “Fuck me.”

He walked toward me in two big steps, but when he went to grab me, I slapped away his hands and pointed to my face. “No, this took me a stupidly long time to put on. I refuse to let you smear it off, Beau Larkin.”

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