Page 95 of From the Ashes
“Brave thing you just did,” the dad says. “We love watching you ride. You remind everyone it’s a form of art.”
“Thank you, sir.” Already I’m choked up. I’d just expectedmost people to not comment on the video segment at all. He and his kid had seen the whole thing live, though, since they were in the front of the crowd.
“Can we take a picture?” the boy asks. He looks maybe about Colt’s age, and a pang of sadness zips through me.
I miss him.
“Of course we can!” I reply enthusiastically. Hell, if they’re going to continue to support me, I might as well show them how thankful I am for it. Kenna steps up to take the photo as I lean across the table, planting my left hand on the white plastic top to support myself and draping my right one over the kid’s shoulder.
I watch them go after I sign his son’s t-shirt and notice they stop to talk to Phoenix, who is indeed, sitting in the grass. His arms are thrown out behind him for support, stretching his white t-shirt tightly across his pecs. His legs are crossed at the ankle in front of him, a total picture of relaxation.
Looking over at Kenna, I motion toward Phoe. “Can we get him a chair please? He’s not going anywhere as long as I’m here, and people are obviously going to want to talk to him too.”
She purses her lips and nods before scurrying off to find another folding chair while I sign a rodeo t-shirt and take a selfie with the next person in line. Kenna’s still working on finding a chair when two women about my age approach my table.
They have a poster of me with a picture from a photoshoot I did for LXR when they first signed on as my sponsor. I’m wearing a wifebeater in a field holding one of their saddles in my right hand down by my side. You can only see the bottom part of my face because my hat is tipped low, but my mouth is still visible. Phoenix isn’t the only one obsessed with my lips.
It’s actually pretty embarrassing.
But when LXR offered to pay me five thousanddollars to hold a saddle and let someone take a bunch of pictures, all I cared about was that my entrance fees for the entire next season were taken care of in one afternoon.
As I’m signing, one of the ladies starts giggling nervously. “Any chance you’d take your picture with us shirtless?”
I feel Phoenix at my side immediately.
“His clothes stay on,” he grumbles toward the fans.
She doesn’t even hide her look of disappointment. “Okay, well, can we come around there and stand next to him?”
I can tell he’s getting ready to say no, so I whisper his name in warning under my breath. “Phoe. It’s part of the job. You know that.” I leave out the snarkyhow many people have groped youquestion, burning on the tip of my tongue.
“Doesn’t mean I have to fucking like it,” he grumbles back.
“Noted. Now will you please take this picture?” I ask.
He cuts his eyes to me, and I have to bite back a laugh. Phoenix is so easy going. I had no idea his jealousy ran so deeply. But he isnotafan of people in my personal space.
Guess that goes both ways.
He grabs the girl’s phone more aggressively than necessary and stalks out in front of the table.
“I think he has a crush on you,” the girl whispers in my ear. She obviously missed the interview.
I’m about to let the comment go because my relationship status doesn’t need to be shoved in everyone’s face—nor does my sexual orientation, even if I amoutnow—but I change my mind when she slides her hand up my chest for the picture, and the friend with her does the same thing on my other side.
Gently removing their hands from my body as Phoenix glares back and forth between the girls, I spill the beans. “Oh, hedefinitelyhas a crush on me,” I laugh, locking eyes with Phoe. “He’s my boyfriend.”
The girl on my right who’s done all the talking thus far—and clearly been drinking—offers her and her friend up in a foursome.
“One…two…three,” Phoenix yells, letting us know he’s snapping the photo before quickly walking back over to us and pulling me out of the girls’ arms, guiding me back to my chair, and yelling, “Next!”
Finally, Kenna pops up with another folding chair and Phoenix takes the seat next to me.
We make it through another thirty people or so before I look up into the faces of Jonas Smith and Jackson White. Everyone’s been pretty chill so far. A couple older guys let us know they were disappointed with our news and muttered something about our generation going to shit, but they still wanted an autograph from both of us and weren’t terribly derogatory, so it passed without incident.
But now, staring into Jonas’s cold eyes, something tells me the peace is about to be all fucked up. He’s seething as he bends over the table with a finger in Phoenix’s face.
“Was this your plan all along? To fuck my cowboy so you could steal my fucking job?”
