Oh. I heard that burn. Like everyone but a legacy rider whose daddy had all the judges in his bulging pockets. Stan, much like his son, had been kicked in the head by one too many bulls and didn’t pick up the subtle jab.
Stan went red in the face. “This isn’t the end of this,” he said, shooting me a dirty look and slamming out of the room.
Burt pinched his nose and sighed. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like jackass, but when he lowered his hand and looked back at me, his face was nothing but businesslike.
“That’s it, Tessa. You are in. But you’re gonna have to eat dirt and ride bulls like everyone else on your own merits. There isn’t any favoritism here.” I resisted the urge to scoff and he canted his head to the side as if he was reassessing his own words. “Well, there shouldn’t be. There's an oversight panel and all that malarkey, but honestly, you will probably have to work harder than the other rookies. The heat of that spotlight is gonna shine right on your head, girl, and I hope you have the brass ones to withstand it.”
I nodded. “I do, sir, I promise.”
Burt nodded, giving me a soft smile. “I know you do. I watched some of your tapes before this meeting. You’re good, kid. Got good quick moves. Good understanding of the bulls, which is to be expected. You got the heart, and the arrogance,” he smirked, “to make it in this competition. But it ain’t going to be easy and you can’t come running back here, telling tales and hoping I’ll fix it. Once you do that, you’ve lost all credibility amongst the good ole boys, you get me? You’re gonna have to hold your own.”
I nodded eagerly. Yeah I knew. I’d been holding my own against these misogynistic assholes for three years now. I had ridden sixty bulls in that time. I’d cracked ribs and wrists. Dislocated my shoulder and my left knee. But I got back up, and I’d keep getting back up, because riding was in my blood.
Burt nodded. “Stick with the Brazilians. Most of ‘em don’t speak English, but they know what it's like to be on the outside and they are a close knit group. You need people out here, or it gets lonely fast at the top.”
I nodded again. I knew loneliness. Once I told my aunt that I was going to be a bull rider, she’d cut me off. She thought rodeo had killed my dad. She might have been right. But she’d been my last ounce of family, and she’d turned her back on me.
Frankie was the closest thing I had to family left. “My best friend, Francisco Santos, is a Brazilian bullfighter, so I can speak a little Portuguese. I’ll take your advice.”
“Ah, Frankie Santos! I saw him bullfighting down in Texas a year back. Good instincts, quick on his feet. The ladies seem to love him too,” he said, his tone knowing.
I nodded and grinned. “They certainly do. But we’re just friends. Frankie’s had my back for years now.”
Burt raised both brows knowingly. “He’s leaving the amateur circuit to come sit on the sidelines while you ride?” He seemed disbelieving and I couldn’t blame him. I’d been disbelieving too. But Frankie had just grinned, grabbed me up and spun me, and said he had my back. And besides, he was more likely to be seen by the higher ups here and get himself on TV.
I didn’t make decisions for Frankie, but I was damn glad that was what he’d decided.
I shrugged at Burt and he shook his head. “Get out of here, Moore. I’ll see you on Friday night.”
I grinned so wide I thought my face would crack. “Yessir.”
Turning on my heel, I swaggered out the door of the WBRP head offices like I was walking onto a podium in the center of an arena.
Frankie waited for me in the lobby, and when he saw my face, he whooped loudly.
“Yes, Querida!” He grabbed me up in his arms and spun me around. “You did it!”
I squeezed him tight, appreciating the leather, dust, and vanilla scent that was uniquely Frankie. “I couldn’t have done it without you, you know that right?”
He made a rude noise and slid me back to my feet. “I know you, Tessa. You are stubborn as a bull, and you would have got here with or without me. But I am happy as hell that I was here to witness it.”
We walked out into the steaming streets of Houston, and headed the three blocks to the parking garage. We had another cheap motel on the crappy side of town, but it didn’t matter. I was here. I’d made it.
“So, are we going out to celebrate your history making addition to the professional bull riding circuit? Because if anything deserves to be celebrated, it's this.”
I shook my head. “No way. It means pizza and watching the tapes.”
Frankie sighed exaggeratingly. “All work, no play. Girl, your hooha is going to shrivel up and die if you don’t get out and have some fun soon.”
I slapped him with the back of my hand. “What do you care about my hooha, Frankie? Besides, you are getting enough action for us both.”
Frankie’s shaggy black hair glinted in the sun, his aqua green eyes sparkling. “I care greatly about every part of you, Tessa May, especially everything below that overthinking brain of yours.”
I shook my head at him as we walked up to my truck.
This was it. I was in the big leagues. “Are you going to go back to your name now? No more T.M. Moore?”
I’d taken my Mom’s surname, distancing myself from the Everett name. I wanted to make it on my own. Didn’t want people shutting me out because of some misguided loyalty to my father.
I shook my head. “Nah, Tessa May Everett is the girl I used to be. Maybe when I retire I’ll go back to being her, but until then, I’m T.M.”
Frankie’s mouth turned down, but he nodded. “Let’s go, T.M. We got a lot of prep to do before Friday’s showtime.”
Friday rolled around way too fast. I got to the arena early, getting the sports trainers to tape up my ribs and my knee. I was only twenty-two, but sometimes when I got out of bed in the mornings I felt like I was a hundred.
Still, every single one of those trainers blushed when I stripped off my shirt down to my bra. Guess when you saw dick every day, the sight of a woman would be a bit of a shock. It was such a male dominated sport that even most of the sports-med staff were men.
I thanked Hank, the sports med guy who’d taped me up like a mummy. I slipped my Wranglers back on. They were my lucky jeans. Superstitious bullshit, but I couldn’t shake it. Besides, they fit perfectly. Not too tight, not too loose. It was like wearing a second skin.
I walked over to the ladies bathrooms and spent a solid fifteen minutes wrapping my boobs down. My vest was made to spread the pressure of a stomp to the guts over the torso, but if my boobs were hanging free in the wind, they got more pressure than the rest of my torso, and that shit hurt.
I buttoned up my pink Ariat shirt. Lots of guys wore the pink Ariat shirts though. They had them in the men’s section too. I’d approached Ariat for sponsorship, but they’d turned me down. The big sponsors didn’t know what to do with a female rider. I was a risk. I was a PR dream that could quickly turn into a nightmare. All because I was a woman.
No point bemoaning the fact, even if it annoyed me. I wasn’t here to prove a point. I was here to do something I loved, even with the risks.
If something wasn’t worth dying for, it wasn’t worth living for.