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"Ty?" I asked, since we'd just been talking about Tanner, but that wasn't what it sounded like he was talking about.
"Yeah," J.D. breathed. "But Cody, you know Ty's had some fun, right? Like, with alotof women."
"I'm sure you have too," I pointed out.
J.D. scoffed. "Not as much as you'd think. Naw, I mostly like to blow off some steam, do a little flirting, and then go home alone. Shit, babe. I'm too broken to get into much kinky shit. My point is that for Ty? Yeah, this is big. And, well, you being you, that means you aren't gonna be diving for his dick like your life depends on it, and I'm not sure he knows any other way to 'date' someone, ya know?"
"Ok," I mumbled, since all of that made sense.
But shit, it wasn't like I really knew how to date anyone either. My experience consisted of two dinners at the Elbow with Cole, and the one night out with Tanner. Yep, I was pathetic. I had no idea what these guys even saw in me. At the same time, I wasn't dumb enough to ask, because it was pretty damned clear they liked me enough to put up with me this long. And if they were trying to pull some long game to run me off? Too bad. The PBR meant more to me than that.
I'd made it this far, and I wasn't going to let anything derail me now. Not even my pride or a whole lot of embarrassment. I had a little money in the bank, so I could keep going without these guys babysitting me every weekend. Yes, I really liked their company and all of their attention - but that was different than being helpless without it.
Yet all of this was weighing on me a bit. Ty had said something about not knowing where he fit. Since Tanner was my official boyfriend, and J.D. was my mentor, then why couldn't Ty just be my friend? The guys made it sound like that was impossible, but from my side of things, I couldn't understand why. If everyone around me was a man, then why would it be weird for me to spend time being friends with a man?
So I was making a plan. When we arrived at the arena, the place was wide open and sprawling. This wasn't a convention center like Tulsa or St. Louis had been. No, Cheyenne's arena was the outdoor type, with loads of parking and plenty of space for livestock. Dozens of stock trailers were parked in the back, clearly having hauled the bulls, and the scent of diesel exhaust was in the air. Past that, there was an area cordoned off for public entry, but that wasn't where J.D. headed.
He took me around the back. There, we both flashed our PBR cards to get in, and then headed deeper, looking for where to check in. That ended in a line with a few faces I recognized. Jake Cunningham, one of the other good riders, was at the front. A few Brazilians were behind him. I saw a patch from Australia, and a bag with a Canadian flag on the side. We fell in at the back.
Slowly but surely, the pair of us shuffled along. When we finally got to the front, I flashed my ID, checked in, and dropped a credit card on the counter. The woman on the other side looked up in surprise.
"I wanna pay for Ty McBride too," I told her.
J.D. chuckled. "Oh, my rookie gets a few bucks in her pocket and thinks she's rich."
I elbowed him to shut him up. The woman just nodded, swiped my card, and gave me back a paper to sign. Once that was all done, I was handed some paperwork that included my bull's name, and then I moved aside for J.D. to take his turn. Scanning down the page, I found the name of my bull: Yeeter.
Well, that name could go either way. Pulling up the PBR's website, however, made me feel a little better. He was listed at twenty-seventh, so not too good or too bad. When J.D. finished up, the pair of us headed even deeper into this place, aiming for something only J.D. knew.
"Yeeter?" I asked.
He chuckled. "Big, red, and kicks real high," he told me. "Always comes out and goes to the left, so you'll be good on 'em."
"Nice," I breathed. "Who'd you get?"
"Monologue," he said. "Fucker goes either way. Slip a little and he'll switch to dump ya, but that's ok. Means I can drive 'em like I wanna."
I nodded, soaking that up. "My potential sponsors wanna make sure I'm consistent. Any tips?"
J.D. finally stopped at an open locker room. "Plenty. The first is to not give a shit what the sponsors want. Don't worry about nothin' but stayin' on that bull, Cody. Not the next one, not the last one, butthatone. You ride real good, so get in there, get aggressive, and the whole world will be real impressed."
I nodded, looking around at the place he'd picked. It smelled like a high school gym and was made out of concrete cinder blocks. "Locker rooms?"
"That's all there is back here," he admitted. "Now, let's get pretty so we can get in line."
Dropping my bag on the ground, I began pulling out my things. I had on my jeans and belt. My PBR buckle was proudly visible. My shirt was the black one that said "Girls Do It" on one arm, and "Better" on the other. That meant all I needed was my vest and chaps.
J.D., on the other hand, pulled off his shirt and put on the one I was used to seeing him in. It was black with red trim and patches all down the sleeves. Lasso, Tillman, Ariat, and more. J.D. was the best rider in the PBR, though, so it made sense that everyone wanted their name on him.
I also tried hard not to look at his tattoos when he flashed so much bare skin. Didn't matter. J.D. still caught me, which earned me one of those devious little smiles of his. But when I started buckling on my chaps, he stopped worrying about his shirt and bent to give me a hand.
"Kinky!" someone said from the hall.
We both looked back to see Kaleb Brown, one of J.D.'s longtime admirers. "Set up and get ready," J.D. told him. "If you don't want a woman seein' your little dick, then pick somewhere else."
"Fuck, I'm hung," Kaleb joked.
I scoffed at that, but focused on getting ready. Spurs, chaps, vest. I checked all my Fierce Denim logos, just to make sure I had enough. Then I ran my fingers through my loose hair to style it a little, resettled my hat, and turned to J.D.
