Page 9 of Cowboy Seeks Husband
“Mom!” Roan sputtered.
“I’m just saying!”
He curled up next to her and laughed, hiding his face in her neck and letting her hold him like when he was a little boy. He breathed in her scent and hoped all of this time away from her wouldn’t be for nothing.
“Get on to bed,” she finally whispered. “I’m going too.”
He helped her to her room and then went to his own where he climbed into the twin bed he’d abandoned six years ago as a stupid kid with no idea of what the future would bring. He missed being that kid now.
After a long night of tossing and turning, a ride in a stinky taxi, and a five-hour flight from Ohio to Lafayette, Roan stepped out onto the tarmac and into a thick wall of wet air. He gasped for breath amidst the worst humidity he’d ever experienced. He immediately regretted his choice to wear skinny jeans, and not just for the five hours of crotch squashing thanks to an overly heterosexual dude’s need to man-spread. No, the humid air made every place his clothes touched his skin feel damp and gross. He hustled up into the blissfully air-conditioned main terminal.
Roan was grateful he had one night in a hotel before the meet and greet with the cowboy bachelor because disheveled did not look good on him. And if thisQueer Seeks Spouseprogram was anything like those other ‘catch a rich husband’ shows he’d obsessively watched over the past few months, the competition would be stiff. And good looking. But hopefully not all that smart.
He’d noticed that despite all the drama and ridiculousness that went on during these reality shows, the people who made it to the end were usually the ones with some measure of intelligence and who managed to keep their cool throughout. He did wonder what kind of people he’d be up against and how many really wanted to marry a cowboy and live on a ranch in Louisiana. Surely most were like him, in it for the money, right? Falling in love during a televised competition was a ridiculous objective for any sane person. But, man, if he could make it to the end, that would be phenomenal. The money would stretch so far.
Not that he needed to win to make this worth his while. He’d get paid five thousand dollars a week, so even if he lost out on the grand prize, twenty or thirty grand would be an amazing help toward getting his mom into an expensive, experimental drug trial that could be her only chance at extending her life. Not to mention making a dent in the pile of medical bills stuffed into his mother’s kitchen filing cabinet.
And if he did win, well. That’d solve all of their financial problems. And it’s not like he’d signed a contract to actuallymarrythe cowboy. Not even Hollywood could compel that outcome. So, if he won, he’d politely thank Hot Stuff for his hospitality, explain that the relationship wasn’t working out for him after all, goodbye and good luck. And if there was a smooch or two before that happened? He wouldn’t moan about that either. It’d been a year since he’d gotten laid andhoo-boy. It was time.
Someone in a badly put together suit was waiting for him at the gate, holding up a sign that said Roan Carmichael.
“Hi. That’s me. I’m Roan.”
The guy gave him a nod, eyed Roan’s two suitcases, and picked up the smallest one.
Ha. Joke was on him, because it was the heaviest.
“It’s this way.”
Roan had to hurry to keep up with him, and as soon as the automatic doors opened, the heat hit him again like a sledgehammer. “Jesus Christ. I can’t believe how hot it is. Aren’t you melting in that suit?”
The guy gave him a sour look.
Oh. Well that was probably why the suit looked a little badly put together. The guy said, “Guess you’re not from around here.”
“That obvious?”
Another look, this one starting at Roan’s shoes and ending at his rapidly wilting hairdo. The guy snorted. “Yeah.”
Okay then.
No other words were exchanged during the drive to the hotel, but Roan gave the man a good tip anyway. Anyone who was forced to wear a suit in this kind of heat deserved a decent tip. Or an ice-cream.
It wasn’t the fanciest hotel, but the room was clean and the water pressure adequate. Despite not caring about winning the actual contest, Roan’s stomach danced with nervous butterflies. What was ahead of him? Who would his competition be? What if he didn’t have what it took to stay past the first elimination round?
I’m here at the hotel, he texted his mom.It’s hotter than Satan’s balls outside. And more humid.
Glad you got there safe and sound, she replied.And maybe keep your sense of humor to yourself in the contest. For a little while at least.
Roan sent an outraged-face emoji.I am the funniest person you know!
I don’t know all that many people.
He rolled his eyes, grinning.Big fish in a little pond. I’ll take it.
When does it all start?
In the morning. They’ll grab me from the hotel and take me to wherever I’ll be staying. No phones or outside contact until the show is done filming or I’m sent home.
