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I dared to look up, seeing the bullfighter in purple standing beside me. "Trust me, I know."
His eyes widened for a split second before he smoothed his expression. I couldn't be sure if that was because he'd figured out that I was a girl, or if my nose was that big of a wreck. Either way, I still had to make it out of the arena or all of this would be a waste.
"Yeah." He cleared his throat, then tried again. "Ok, honey. Arm around my waist and we'll make sure you get to the gate in one piece."
I wasn't about to fight this. Grabbing a handful of his jersey with my bare right hand, I hung on, well aware that he had an arm around my shoulder. On the other side, I saw him gesturing to his partners.
Then he bent down to see my face again. "Cody?"
A chuckle slipped out. "Yeah, that's me. Dad always wanted a son." My voice sounded like it had gotten stuck somewhere in my nose, along with the rest of my brain.
"Well, Cody, I'm Tanner. Red is Jorge -" He pronounced it with a Spanish accent, like Hor-hey. " - and yellow is Isaac. Hopefully, I'll get the chance to jump between you and a bull again tomorrow. Ok. Here we are. Need the doc?"
The gate was open, and he helped me just inside before pulling away. I managed to flap a hand at him. "I can find it. No need for panic. Thanks, Tanner."
"Welcome, hun. Good ride out there."
Yeah, a real good one. Eight seconds on a professional level bull. I'd done it. As I limped my way toward the sports medicine office, I couldn't help but smile. I'd actually done it. I'd just ridden in the PBR Tough Enough Series! No woman in history had done it before, which meant I was the first, and I'd actually stayed on.
For as long as I could remember, this was all I'd ever wanted. My dream wasn't to win. It wasn't to get famous. It wasn't even to make history. I just wanted to show my dad I was good enough - that this was actually possible - and I'd finally done it. Now, maybe, he'd actually believe that this could be my reality. Maybe he'd stop trying to convince me to do something else, because this was the only life I had right now, and it was going to buy me the chance for a better one in the future.
Chapter 2
Turned out,my nose wasn't broken. That didn't really make it hurt any less, but a few too many Advil helped. A beer would help even more, so I Googled the closest bar and found it was within walking distance. Since my "job" was done for the day, I didn't see any reason not to head right over - after I put on something a bit less "bull rider", of course.
The sign out front said only "Country Music and Bar." That was all I needed. Inside, it was a bit of a dive. The place was mostly empty, probably because the patrons were still at the Tulsa Convention Center watching the PBR event, and that meant finding a table was easy. I made it through two beers before the crowd started to wander this way.
"Time to get this party started!" someone yelled as he walked in with a pack of cowboys.
I couldn't help but look over. I knew that face. More truthfully, I knew who those tattoos belonged to. Loud, obnoxious, and as famous as they got in the Tough Enough Series, his name was J.D. Adkins. He was currently ranked number one, and his picture was plastered all over the event signs. From the way people were smiling at him, I wasn't the only person who knew who he was, and the jerk seemed to be loving it.
His entrance was the sign that I should go, but I couldn't. A little part of me wanted to know how it had gone. No matter how good we were, someone always got a bull that was better, and if a few had crashed and burned, that meant I might get a chance to bring a little money home with me.
J.D. and his pals set up around the bar, making a scene. Not long after, more riders came in. They were easy to spot by the sponsor patches on their shirts. Seemed like I was the only person who'd bothered to change before heading out. Then again, the guys probably expected their minor celebrity status to help them find a date - if "date" was even what they called it. By the time I finished my beer, the place was nicely packed, and J.D.'s group was doing a good job of accosting any woman who came too close to the bar - if she was pretty enough.
The downside was that my waitress suddenly had no interest in some woman drinking alone. The tips were bigger from the crowds, and so many bull riders were tossing out money without care. Twice, I raised a hand, hoping to get her attention, but she acted like I was invisible.
I figured that was another sign that I should head back, but then J.D. called out. "Hey, Renato! I heard there's some chick riding. You see her?"
From the back side of the bar, a dark-skinned man called back, "No. How many rookies this time?"
"Four," J.D. said. "All sound like guys. You think it's crap? I mean, no way some babe is gonna be able to hold on for eight, am I right?"
