Slowly, Dead lifted his head and locked his gaze.
Two Shots arched his eyebrows and leveled him with a look. “Prove to those assholes you ain’t no human. Buck ’em up, fuck ’em up.”
Dead’s eyes narrowed and his ears went flat, and on his back, Jack nodded that he was ready.
And when the gateman pulled that gate, all the dread in Two Shots’ stomach disappeared.
Why?
Because Dead. Went. Wild.
He rocketed out the gate and did something that was completely out of his style. He did low fast spins. There was no big bucks, but he wasn’t landing hard on that shoulder either. The crowd was going crazy, and that eight-second buzzer was about two seconds from going off. And right when Jack got some confidence in the spin, Dead popped up his back end with a massive kick and switched directions before Jack could find his seat again. He held onto the rope, but his body went flying. He hit Dead’s side, but his hand was caught in the ropes.
“Oh, my gosh,” Cheyenne whispered, burying her face in Two Shots’ shoulder.
The second Jack’s hand was free, Two Shots cupped her face against him and murmured, “He’s out, he’s out, he’s okay.”
Jack had to make a run for the fence as Dead charged at him and two of the bullfighters, swinging his horns at anything that moved within reach. He was limping on that bad shoulder, but it didn’t look like it had popped out of place. Small blessings. Right now, he didn’t look hurt at all. Just pissed off.
“He’s baaaack,” Cheyenne sang softly.
“How did he do?” Quickdraw asked, huffing breath like he’d run to get to the chutes. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his entire torso was covered in tattoos.
The crowd had been loud with Dead’s ride, but the second the cameras panned over to Quickdraw, built like a tank, eight-pack abs, shoulders the size of boulders and tattoos down both arms and across his chest, the ladies in the crowd upped the volume to deafening.
Quickdraw looked down at himself with the grumpiest frown in the world. “I forgot my shirt.”
“Haaaaaaaaaa,” Cheyenne brayed. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and took a picture. Why was he covering his nethers? He had jeans on. Two had never seen anyone more uncomfortable in their own skin than Quickdraw right now.
“What are you doing?” Quickdraw groused at Cheyenne.
She was poking buttons on her phone. “Updating your Instagram page.”
“I don’t have one of those!”
“All three of you do. I made them, and I post to them to make all the little buckle bunnies fall in love with you.” She gestured to a pair of signs near them in the stands that read, Dead, Dead, get in my Bed, and also Quickdraw for President. “Those fans are my doing.”
Quickdraw swiped at her phone to steal it, but Two Shots knocked his hand away.
“Ooooh, the big bad moo is too slooooow,” Cheyenne teased.
Two Shots laughed and gave her a fist bump.
“I hate both of you,” Quickdraw muttered. “Forty-two point seven five.” He gestured to the score on bottom of the big screen mounted from the ceiling on the other side of the arena. On television, there was Quickdraw, pointing.
Cheyenne cackled a laugh.
“Why is the camera still on me?” Quickdraw bellowed to the cameraman standing in the arena. “Put it on the bull who just bucked! This is Dead’s moment!” He jammed his finger at an empty arena.
“Uuuuh,” Cheyenne murmured out of the side of her mouth. “Dead already went back to change.”
God, this was amusing. Two Shots didn’t even have to say anything. He just got to witness Quickdraw slowly cover up his nipples with his fingers, back off the podium, and then bolt down the stairs toward the changing rooms again.
“He already has eighteen new followers,” Cheyenne muttered, grinning at her phone screen.
“How many followers do I have?” he asked out of curiosity.
“Uuuuh…” She poked over to another account. “Twelve thousand and eight so far. These are a way for you boys to connect to your fans and win some humans over.”
“By doing what?”
“Either showing your softer side or posting shirtless pics. I don’t care how you do it. So far, I have them balanced with both.” With a cheeky grin, she showed him her phone screen. There were five pictures of him. Two were of him as a bull mid-buck. They looked like professional pictures. One was of him shirtless, getting out of a swimming hole and smiling at the camera.”
She pointed to that one. “I found it on Google. Delicious.”
Mortified, he looked at the last two pictures. One was of him mid-laugh in one of the pictures Dead had taken of them eating. She’d cut herself out of the picture. And the last one was of him sleeping, the soft glow of the bathroom light illuminating his peaceful face.
“You took that picture last night. In the hotel room. I recognize your room.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I couldn’t help it. You looked…perfect. At peace. Happy.” That’s the one with the most likes so far. You don’t look like such a monster in that one, Two Shots Down.”
“I’m fine with all those pictures but one.”
“Which one?”
The commentators were prepping the crowd for First Time Train Wreck to buck, so he had to lift his voice a little higher so she could hear him. “Put yourself back in the picture of me laughing. That’s the real picture. The reason I’m laughing is you. I don’t like that you cropped yourself out.”
“Really? You want me on your page?”
“I ain’t there to pick up chicks, Cheyenne. I didn’t even know I had a page. If you want the humans to see the real side of me, then put you in there. Put something that matters.”
Her eyes got real big like a puppy dog’s and filled with emotion. Over a picture? “You look mushy as hell.”
“I’m not mushy!”
“It’s scary,” he joked.
She swatted him on the arm. “Boy, you give me butterflies! If you say nice things, I’m going to get mushy. I’m a girl. It’s just what happens to me.”
First Time Train Wreck came out of the gate and started a good buck just as Quickdraw, with a shirt on, and Dead, acting mighty tender with his arm, showed up on the podium with the rest of the crowd of bull riders and shifters.
Train Wreck was the one that could throw a wrench in this little team they had going.
Cheyenne slipped her hand into Two Shots Down’s, and he squeezed it. Didn’t she know? Didn’t she understand yet? He was going to make sure everything was all right.
Six seconds, and the rider went sailing through the air. Only three riders had stayed on for eight seconds tonight. Forty-three even was his score. Two Shots was higher. He never counted his eggs before they hatched, though, so he waited for the official ranks to go up on the big screen.
The bull scores mattered most to them. Two Shots’ phone vibrated in his pocket, and as the scores went up, he grinned at a text from Brick.
I did the math. You did it again, boy. Number two bull now. So damn proud of you. Your momma’s freaking out. We got a number two bull in the family!!! Hell yeah!
He showed Cheyenne because it felt right to share with her. He showed her the selfie Brick sent of him and Mom in their Team Two shirts as well, and her smile lit him up from the inside out.