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I narrow my eyes ready for our Western duel. In the past, Ashton would beat me in anything and everything he put his hand to. But as far as I know, he never really did much trick roping. Then again, his mom and dad do own the most well-known Western skills school in New Mexico. But I learned here, too.
We both pick up our loops, and he keeps his small. I know immediately he doesn’t have much in him, and every last nerve inside is smirking.
“All right then…” He concentrates, furrowing his brow, a guy trying to remember which side is up. Finally, he takes the end and twirls, getting a good motion going, and he starts by circling it in front of him, like a flat spinning plate. It’s not a bad flat loop trick, but it’s something I plan on getting these youngsters doing within several lessons.
“That’s all you got?” I taunt.
He concentrates hard. “Hang on. Just getting back into it. Like riding a bike…”
He darts the tiniest bit of tongue out between his lips. I have to admit he looks cute this way, all intently focused. Eventually, he manages to turn the rope sideways and do the butterfly. The lasso moves vertically in a smooth motion in front of him, then in a figure of eight, he crosses his body and the rope emulates butterfly wings.
The kids all clap. Egged on, he gets cocky and tries to have the butterfly fly around his body, but when it gets behind him, it hits his cap and knocks it to the ground.
I clap politely. “Not bad. I didn’t think you’d even get the loop going.”
“Never underestimate me.” He takes his hat off and smooths his hair, then replaces the cap.
He stares at me with a challenge, all square jaw and intense brown eyes that remind me of when life was just fun and games as a kid. And it feels amazing to not be so serious after so many years of pressure and negativity. Ashton’s presence reaches down inside me and draws out the girl I’ve been stamping down for years. The fun one with not a care in the world, a bit too much courage for her own good, and… a massive crush on this boy.
It’s all too familiar. But I have twenty eyeballs waiting for my performance. I pick up a rope and contemplate the size of the loop; I hope it’s about the right size or I won’t pull off my first win in anything against AshtonDane.
Ashton glances at the kids. “She looks nervous. Who else thinks she looks nervous?”
They laugh, and two put their hands up.
I ignore him trying to throw me off my game. Even though there’s nothing tangible at stake here, Ashton, me, and Logan have egos the size of dump trucks, and I don’t want to lose. Especially since I have to teach these kids again next week and a loss could ruin my street cred.
I back up pretty far away from the kids so I don’t hit anybody and hope like hell I don’t embarrass myself. I used to love trick roping and spent long hours in my backyard practicing. But like Ashton, when I get the lasso working to my side, I have to give it a few extra spins to allow my muscle memory to come back.
But it does. I spin it at first in a low, flat loop to my side. I circle and circle until I feel the rhythm in my bones; until it becomes a dance and the next step comes naturally.
Gareth heckles me. “We’ve already seen this one.”
“I guarantee you have not…” It feels right in my hand, the weight is where it needs to be… I flick my wrist and pop the loop off the ground and right over my head, then slide the big hoop down over my body and soar it back up and off again like a yo-yo.
“Woo-hoo!” One of the girls shouts, inciting applause from the rest of the children.
I show them I’m not a one-trick pony. I twirl the lasso overhead in a wedding ring and yo-yo it back up and down my body one more time before giving my final hurrah. Twirling it high overhead, I know my aim won’t be great without my hand on the loop itself, but I’m about to show these kids I’m the winner, hands down.
I send the lasso out and away from me and catch itaround Ashton’s shoulders. His mouth drops open in surprise, and he buries his face in his hand, defeated.
My students erupt with laughter and squeals of delight and give me a round of applause to which I take a deep, shit-eating curtsey.
Ashton peeks out between two fingers. “You got me.”
I stride over to one of the abandoned lassos on the arena floor, swipe it up, and head straight to Gareth. “You’ve been such a good boy today. Have a go at a live calf.”
The last of the students have been picked up, and Ashton sticks around to help me put things away. We wind up the ropes and hang them in a tack room to the side of the arena. I think Ashton will leave after that but when I go inside to start rolling the dummy calves away, he follows me. I could get this done a lot faster if he wasn’t here, but night has fallen, and I’m already thinking about going home alone. So I just push my dummy calf at his pace, and we work slowly, seamlessly, and silently.
Two more calves and we’ll be done.
“Are you sure you should be walking around with your ankle like that?”
He moves the calf and makes it look like an easy job even with his injury. “I’ve been through this before. An old injury rearing its head.”
I feel a little guilty letting him help, letting him stay just to keep my loneliness away for another second longer. Ashton has been told to rest, he’s not even allowed on the road with his team, and here he is, teaching lasso with me and tidying equipment.
“Just saying you should rest. And I don’t need yourhelp.” I don’t mean for it to come out as petulant, but it does. Especially after I know as well as he does the class ended up being a lot more fun for the kids once he came in the picture. “Sorry. That sounds ungrateful. Just. I’m fine.”
