Page 39 of Ace of Spades
“Whatever, just keep lying to yourself,” he sighs. “How’s the fam? Have you spoken to your mom lately?”
“They’re doing good. Dakota’s still up at the bunkhouse, I think she decided to go ahead and stay at the ranch until her internship starts next year.”
“She did?” Chance asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “I keep trying to convince her to move into my spare bedroom instead of staying in the bunks. I don’t like the idea of her staying in the same building as all of the hands.”
“You’re not wrong,” Chance responds. “I wouldn’t trust ‘em as far as I could throw ‘em when it comes to her.”
“Agreed. I’ll have to start thinking of something when we get back.”
“You know,” Chance starts, hesitating in the slightest. “I’ve got a spare bedroom, too. I understand her not wanting to live under her brother’s roof, so I’m just saying—I mean, I figured I would offer.”
I ponder over the idea for a moment.
“I guess it wouldn’t be the worst idea ever,” I admit. “As long as Kota’s okay with it.”
“Yeah, for sure. I’ll talk to her about it,” he says.
“She probably won’t love the idea of running into half-naked girls at all hours, so you might need to start traveling to your conquests rather than having them over. At the end of the day, I have to admit that I’d feel better having her stay under your roof than with twenty horny ranch hands. That is, if you swear you’ll keep your hands off of her.”
“Definitely,” he agrees. “So what about your mom, how’s she doing?”
“She’s doing fine, she’s been working crazy hours lately to try to catch up on bills. She’s actually found somebody to rent the trailer hookups too, so that should definitely help out once they start splitting rent.”
“Wow, really? That’s not a bad deal at all, good for her.”
“Apparently it’s some girl from out of town who’s also in the circuit. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was trying to set us up,” I tell him.
“Oh yeah? What makes you say that?”
“The fact that she won’t stop talking about how pretty she is, how similar we are, and how well we would get along,” I laugh.
“Geez,” Chance chuckles. “Your mom is trying to be a wingwoman for you. What’d you say?”
“I told her I wasn’t interested,” I tell him.
“And why, exactly, are you not interested?” Chance asks, turning in his seat to face me.
“Because I’m not looking for anything serious right now.”
“Mhm,” he says. “Is it because you’re not looking for anything
serious, or because you have your eyes on someone else? Maybe a five-foot-two barrel racer with an attitude?”
I roll my eyes.
“You’re impossible.”
“Just let me know when you’re ready to quit lying to yourself,” he
says, throwing his hands behind his head. “I’m taking a nap, wake me up when we get to New Mexico.
I step into the chute, my draw—Zipline Whiskey—stirring under me as I get to riggin’. I wrap my hand around the rein and kick my legs out, the fringe from my chaps rubbing against the metal walls as I get myself situated.
I grab onto the side of the chute as the bronc bucks underneath me, readjusting myself in the seat and making sure I have a good grip. I can feel the thumping bass in my veins as it fills the large indoor arena, the crowd fading into background noise as I harness my focus.
I hadn’t placed in the last two rodeos, not since that fucker Bradley had shredded my Ace of Spades. I needed this win, and I could feel it in my bones that I had it in me to do so tonight. Something felt right, like I was meant to be here.
