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This time, her response was real. Her eyes rolled even as she growled, "No!"
"So they're bi?" I tried next.
Those baby blue eyes snapped right to mine. "Fuck you, Jake," she snarled, grabbing her bag from my shoulder and walking away with it.
"Cody!" I yelled, stopping her. "I'm on your side, you know."
"Do I?" she shot back, turning to face me once again. "How exactly do I know that?"
So I lifted my hand and crooked my finger, calling her back so I wouldn't have to yell at her. For a moment, she stood there, glaring, and I was convinced she was debating slapping me. Good for her. I also knew that if I chased after her, she wouldn't believe me. Nope, she needed to tackle this, not have me beg her to listen. If she walked away, I'd let her. If she came back, I'd answer her questions.
Well, most of them.
I sure as shit wasn't about to tell her why I'd started racking up secrets. I definitely wasn't going to show her my ace in the hole. My issues with my father? Not important right now - to her. To me, it was one more way of keeping my own head above water. That it had just helped her? I was ok with that.
Finally, she marched back, dropping her bag between us. "Well? Start talking," she demanded.
"Those guys are bisexual, I don't give a shit, and Austin will destroy them if it means he hurts you in the process."
"So why'd he target Tanner before we were together?" she asked.
"Because the bullfighters don't take his shit," I explained. "Trust me. Tanner's always in there first, but when it comes to Austin, he's not quite as quick. None of them are. Mostly because Austin's real good at blaming everyone else for his fuckups, and the bullfighters don't get any respect from him."
"Makes sense," she said.
I nodded and kept going. "And the PBR system is designed to chew us all up and spit us out, Cody. That's what Mr. Merrill was trying to do with you. Just be glad he hadn't seen your little press conference."
"You... did?" She gave me a wary look.
Yeah, I hadn't seen it all, but I'd been waiting. In truth, I'd expected it to be J.D. who would make a scene. Seeing Cody with her Under Armour rep? That had caught me by surprise. What she'd said? The gist of it had been very, very simple. This was about men not wanting a woman in the PBR. Anyone on her side was going to be attacked. Those attacks were bullshit.
I couldn't imagine a better line to steal all the thunder. I also couldn't imagine how she'd convinced J.D. to let her run with it. That man was overprotective in a bad way. Granted, from how she'd reacted when he was hurt...
"Are you dating both of them?" I asked.
Her body stilled. Her lips parted. For a moment she stared, and then she huffed like only a pissed-off woman could. "Fuck you, Jake!"
"Because that's the part I'm missing!" I explained, reaching for her arm before she could retreat.
My fingers hit her brace, though. Jerking back quickly, I was sure she'd keep going, yet she paused again, almost like she was confused because I hadn't actually grabbed her injured arm. This time, when she looked at me, she was clearly judging me.
"I don't understand," she finally said.
So I slumped my shoulder, letting my own gear hit the ground. "Look," I said, moving closer so I could lower my voice. "I got into the PBR to prove myself to my old man. Yeah, I got daddy issues. I wanted to make sure he knew I even existed, ok? I was ready to do this to show I was everything he'd want." Shoving a hand over my mouth, I wished I could erase the bad taste of those words. "Then I met the man, and I realized I didn't want that anymore. See, what they want? What the PBR wants from us?"
"A spectacle," she said.
I nodded slowly. "Yeah, but they're willing to destroy all of us to get it. The fans want to see the wrecks. They don't care about skill. They want the drama. They love when J.D. is bad. Seeing him throwing punches? Watching Austin slinging his rope around because he had a shit ride? The injuries? That's what the fans want."
"Yeah," she breathed.
"It's also what the PBR wants, so they push us, Cody. They push us, and let us make real bad decisions. They have sports medicine here to keep giving us pills until we think we feel fine but aren't. We're addicts. They love when we head to the bars and live it up. They don't care if we're chewing up women and spitting them out, getting in fucking public fights, or anything else. Know when you get a fine for fighting?"
"When you're me?" she asked.
"When someone goes to the hospital," I clarified. "When there's a medical record. Otherwise, they love it. The more we hate each other, the happier the uppity-ups are. And that was not what I expected to learn in my quest to be the perfect little bull rider."
"So why are you still here?" she asked.
