Chute Yeah Page 10

  “Well, you’re about to be a Valentine. Candy Valentine,” Dean said. “What does that say about you?”

  Candy turned to face me. “Our wedding is off,” she teased. “I didn’t think my name could get worse, but it definitely could.”

  I pulled her into my chest and dropped a kiss onto her head.

  She was stiff at first but turned pliable and sweet in my arms when she realized I wasn’t going to let her go.

  “Well,” I said as I made eye contact with the both of them. “I guess if that’s the worst clause you got…”

  “I want to read over the contracts,” Candy interjected. “We’ll get back to you Monday morning once the rodeo’s over and I’ve had time to work through them.”

  “Fair enough.” Both men stood and offered their hands to the both of us.

  After they left, I still didn’t let Candy go.

  “What would we name our children?” I mused. “Something so awful that they’re even worse than ours.”

  “Your name isn’t bad,” she said. “My name on the other hand?”

  “Come on,” I nudged her. “Play along.”

  I could practically see the eye roll through her skull.

  “I guess you could go with ‘Happy,’” she said. “That. Or Heart.”

  “Flower Valentine,” I teased. “To go with your father’s weird motif.”

  She snickered.

  “I can’t believe they ever thought that my name would be okay.” She shook her head. “Do you know how much shit I got in high school for it?”

  I signaled the waitress to come over with a flick of my chin.

  “I got shit, too,” I said. “Do you know what it was like playing football against other teams? To have a Valentine on your team automatically makes you gay in the eyes of every middle schooler.”

  She scoffed.

  “What are…”

  “Can I get y’all something else?” the waitress asked.

  I tipped my chin down to look into Candy’s eyes. “Blueberry muffin or banana nut?”

  Candy’s mouth tipped up at the edges.

  “Blueberry. Always.”

  Chapter 14

  Can you imagine your family member going through your phone after you pass away and thinking, “this nasty bitch.”

  -Candy to Banks

  Candy

  A man in Wranglers is hot.

  A man in Wranglers and chaps is even hotter.

  It’s science, really.

  See, the Wranglers do the hard stuff with all the lifting and tightening. They hug the booty to perfection.

  Then the chaps are the cleanup. They frame the ass nicely, give you something solid to focus on, and ultimately draw the eyes to where the leather didn’t cover.

  And boy, howdy—yes, I was getting the lingo down now that I was an official bull rider’s girlfriend—were my eyes drawn.

  There were a lot of things I could say that I liked about rodeos… but the chaps and Wrangler asses were my favorites.

  One of those asses in particular being my most favorite.

  “Who are you here watching?” a girl on my right asked.

  I looked over at her, seeing that she was about twenty at most, and shrugged.

  “My boyfriend, Banks,” I answered. “He’s the one in the black cowboy hat leaning over the pen.”

  The girl sucked in a breath.

  “Holy shit,” she breathed. “You get to take all that man flesh to bed every night?”

  Actually, yes. Yes, I did.

  At least I had for the last couple of days, anyway.

  I smiled as I looked down at my laptop, clicking away at the online orders, making sure that everything was getting filled and our manager was doing her job.

  She actually looked as if she was rocking it, which made me happy, and not feel quite as bad leaving both Desi and Kasey to handle the angry hoard of customers who were still quite sad and pissy with us for closing our doors and completely redoing the shop.

  “He’s just delicious,” the girl said. “My name is Waylynn. My dad is a bullfighter. He’s the one dressed in all black.”

  I looked to where she was pointing, and I smiled.

  “I think I talked to him yesterday,” I said. “Do you go to all of these rodeos often?”

  She shook her head. “No. My dad and I are close, but he’s too busy driving around with the circuit. Me, on the other hand? I’m about two semesters away from graduating with my engineering degree from the University of Houston.”

  My brows rose.

  “My boyfriend’s brother’s going to school for that, too,” I said. “Kind of. I think. He’s actually going for engineering, but he’s minoring in agriculture, or something. I’m not totally sure. I just know that he’s going to a shit ton of classes.”

  “Darby.”

  I looked over at her, surprised at the woman’s tone.

  “You don’t like Darby?” I asked.

  She frowned.

  “I don’t like… people like Darby,” she admitted. “He works. He goes to school…but there’s just something about him. He strikes me as… bad.”

  She’d just hit the nail on the head when it came to Darby Valentine, that was for sure.

  “You know,” I laughed. “There’s a girl, she is the manager at my coffee shop. She hates Darby, too. Like despises him. Maybe you’d like her.”

  The girl offered me a wide grin. “I’ll have to meet this girl who’s immune to the charm of Darby Valentine.” She shook her head. “God, he’s so cocky. One day he’s going to get hurt when he runs in front of those bulls, and I’m going to say ‘I told you so.’”

  My lips twitched.

  The girl had the hots for Darby.

  “Well, you’ve introduced yourself,” I continued, holding out my hand to her. “Mine’s Candy.”

  “Oh, I know your name.” the girl said.

  I blinked. “So, do I have your name right? It’s Waylon?”

  “No, Waylynn,” she repeated. “Like Way, but with a ‘Lynn’ attached to it. My daddy was a Waylon Jennings fan, but he thought it was too masculine for a girl, so he changed the spelling.”

  I smiled.

  “I kind of like it,” I admitted. “It’s pretty.”

  She rolled her eyes. “If you say so.”

  I winked at her and watched the first four bull riders go, all the while poking around in the shop’s web orders, as well as balancing my dad’s business checkbook.

  Everything went away, however, when Banks was announced.

  I watched in silence as he mounted the bull inside the chute.

  He nodded once, his hat concealing his face from the rest of us, and my heart entered my throat.

  When the pen’s door was thrown open, the bull shot out of there like it was his life’s mission to escape and never return.

  The bull bucked, and bucked hard, twisting one way before turning midair and going the other.

  Over and over he twisted and bucked until Banks had no other option but to let go.

  Unfortunately for him, he landed funny when he jumped off, and the bull took full advantage, rucking him up the inside of his thigh with one horn.

  Banks bellowed in anger and pain.

  Luckily, all he ended up doing was barely rubbing the inside of his thigh—and I say barely because I could only guess at this point—before Banks was up and running away.

  Waylynn’s father was just all of a sudden there, distracting the bull and giving Banks enough time to escape.

  I was up and on my feet before I’d consciously told myself I needed to be.

  Moments after that, I was pounding my way down the bleachers and then further into the underbelly of the rodeo, making my way toward where Banks was.

  I found him panting beside the corral pen, face a mask of agony, hands on his knees as he tried to breathe through the pain.

  “Banks!” I cried out.
/>   Banks looked over at me, and something soft and sweet swept over his face.

  Was that relief that I saw?

  He stood up with a grimace just as a medic made his way toward him.

  “Mr. Valentine,” the medic said, bag in hand. “Can I escort you to the medical tent?”

  Banks looked as if he was about to argue, but I said, “Yes, you can. I was about to take him there myself.”

  Banks’ lips turned up into a small smile as he said, “Yeah, sure thing, Check.”

  Check the medic grinned. “Wasn’t sure if you’d remember my name.”

  “Check’s an odd name,” Banks countered. “Not to mention you have a checkered flag on your arm to help remind me. Plus, the last time you saw me, it was because a bull nearly gored me up the asshole… so not something I’m going to forget any time soon.”

  My mouth fell open.

  “You nearly had a bull shove his antlers up your ass?” I asked in surprise.

  Check snorted.

  Banks looked at me as if I was adorably cute.

  “Bulls have horns, honey,” he teased. “And yes, he nearly shoved it up my ass. Luckily, it was only a flesh wound. Went in one side of my cheek and came out the other.”

  “Could’ve been way worse,” Check agreed as he gestured for us to follow. “You need a wheelchair or an assist?”

  Banks shook his head, then hobbled with us toward the medic.

  He received several pats on the back along the way, and even one ‘Fuck yeah. Marry me.’

  “Sorry,” I told his admirer. His male admirer. “But he just signed a contract with two sponsors that made him sign a stipulation contract saying that he couldn’t marry in the next twelve months.”

  The man snapped his fingers as if he was completely bummed.

  “That just sucks,” he said. “I guess I’ll just admire from afar, then.”

  I grinned at the man, finding that I liked his wit.

  Banks found it amusing, too.

  As amusing as a man that’d just nearly been gelded could find it, anyway.

  Two slow, miserable minutes later, we finally made it to the medic tent where Check pointed at a table.

  “Take a seat there,” he ordered. “I’m going to go grab a sterile kit… lose the pants and chaps.”

  Check left before Banks could so much as agree.

  I glanced at him and grinned.

  “I can cut them off of you if you think they’re too tight,” I teased.

  Banks rolled his eyes, then seemed to make a quick decision.

  Taking his belt buckle into his hand, he made quick work of it, pulling it free and then starting in on his button and zipper.

  Seconds after that, he was shoving his pants down to his ankles and taking a seat on the table.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  I looked up to find a female medic standing there with her hands full of supplies.

  Those supplies went to the floor as she tossed them unceremoniously onto the floor and headed our way.

  I would’ve told her that no, we didn’t need her help, but she didn’t even stop to talk to us.

  She just started to pull his boots off.

  “You can see that he’s hurt, honey,” the female medic chastised me. “I can’t believe you let him do that all on his own.”

  My brows lifted.

  “Honestly,” I said coolly, placing my hand against the woman’s forearm when she went for the other boot. “I would’ve helped had he asked, and there’s no reason for him to take his pants off entirely. Which means he won’t be needing his boots off. Please, step aside.”

  The woman didn’t so much as budge, just went to the other boot.

  “Wow.” She paused as she leaned forward and inspected the bruise that was forming on the inside of his thigh. “That’s going to bruise fairly bad.”

  When she dropped his boot that finally popped free of his foot onto the ground and reached for his thigh, I’d had enough.

  I stepped between the two of them, my ass going into the woman’s face, as I plastered myself up against Banks’ front and said, “Please stop touching. Check is on his way, and we seriously do not need your help.”

  The woman hissed in a breath.

  “You’re hurting him.”

  When she went to pull me away, Banks didn’t let me go.

  “She’s not hurting me,” Banks said. “Please leave.”

  The woman scoffed. “I can see the pain on your face.”

  Banks’ smile went a tad bit ugly.

  “You see the pain on my face because it’s seriously costing me a lot not to rip you a new one,” he said forcefully. “I do not like strange women touching me. I also don’t like it when you disregard my woman’s feelings.”

  The female medic blinked.

  “Mandee,” Check said, coming up with a couple of things in his hands. “Justen Jones is asking for that ice pack.”

  Mandee narrowed her eyes.

  Then she went to the things she’d dropped earlier in her haste to get to Banks, picked them up by bending over slowly, displaying her ass as she did, then went on about her business.

  Check sighed.

  “Sorry, Banks,” he grumbled as he put his own ice packs down. “She’s the boss and everything, but sometimes it seems like she’s one of those little girls who can’t seem to get her hormones in check. I’m blaming her recent divorce.”

  Banks grunted something that sounded like ‘whatever.’ But without asking him to repeat it, which I wouldn’t since he was starting to look rather ill, I’d never know.

  “You hurting?” Check asked, reading the same thing on his face that I was.

  “Fuckin’ back hurts,” he said. “Not even my leg.”

  Check laughed. “You’re not getting any younger, man. Not to mention you just fell off a bull.”

  Banks sighed and repositioned himself on the table.

  “I can throw some TENS on there, see if that’ll help loosen you up,” Check offered.

  Banks agreed, and moments later Banks was on his belly with pads on his back and electrical impulses shooting into his back to help negate the pain.

  He also had a couple of ice packs shoved underneath his thigh.

  “I was really hoping to see you wearing tighty whities,” I found myself saying.

  Banks turned his head on the table so that he could glare at me.

  “What?” I smiled sweetly.

  “Tighty whities are for the dumbass new recruits in the military, and old men. Neither of which I am,” he grumbled. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  I snickered as I moved so that I was sitting on the table next to his head.

  He moved over to give me a little more room.

  “I would’ve never expected a horse trailer to have this kind of a setup.” I found myself admiring the rather spacious area we’d been led to by Check.

  Banks moved until his head was resting against my thigh, his hot breath felt like it was burning a hole through my jeans.

  “Pretty cool,” he agreed. “But that’s something that a lot of money can get you. This horse trailer is sponsored by Wrangler and Band-Aid. Place is tricked out better than a goddamn clinic.”

  I started absently running my fingers through Banks’ hair, and he started to groan, letting me know without words how much he was liking it.

  “Harder,” he ordered. “Scratch with your nails.”

  So, I did, scratching as hard as I dared.

  His hair felt like silk between my fingers, and eventually, after a long, hard scratch, I went back to sifting my fingers through the silken locks.

  “Your hair feels like a girl’s,” I found myself saying. “Feel mine.”

  He grinned but didn’t open up his closed eyes.

  I dropped my head so that my ponytail was trailing along his face.

  He reached up and caught it with one hand, rubbing it between his finger
s.

  “It’s because I follow the directions on the conditioner bottle,” he mumbled, not letting my hair go.

  I maneuvered my body so that I was curved around his, my ass hanging off of the table, but the rest of me hanging on fairly well. I played with his hair while he played with mine.

  “There are actually directions on the conditioner bottle?” I wondered once I was settled.

  He opened his eyes and his gaze stared directly into mine.

  “Yep,” he snickered. “You gotta leave that shit in for like, three to four minutes. Then you gotta rinse. Did you know that some shampoos tell you to wash your hair twice?”

  “No,” I admitted, grinning like a loon. “I did not. I can’t say the last time I read a bottle, though.”

  “Do you remember way back when before cell phones, we had to read that shit while we… shit?” he asked, sounding amused.

  I scrunched up my nose, thinking that this was definitely something normal people didn’t talk about.

  But somehow, talking about shit really did seem natural when it came to Banks Valentine.

  “I used to read the tampons box,” I admitted. “I learned all there was to know about toxic shock syndrome.”

  He opened his eyes.

  “What’s toxic shock syndrome?” he wondered.

  “It happens when you leave a tampon in too long,” I told him, waiting for him to flinch. When he didn’t, I kept going. “It’s caused by a release of toxins due to an overgrowth of bacteria.”

  “What does it do?” he wondered.

  “Pretty much you leave the tampon in, it gets too saturated, and allows bacteria to grow…at least that’s what I got from the box,” I admitted. “You start exhibiting signs of sickness. Fever, vomiting and diarrhea, confusion, muscle aches. Headaches. Stuff like that.”

  He opened both eyes.

  “If that’s a possibility, why the fuck do women use tampons at all?” he asked.

  That, I had no idea.

  “Do you use them?” he asked.

  I found myself smiling. “Yes. How do you think I know all this shit? I read the box, remember?”

  He looked worried for a few long moments. “I think you should use pads.”

  I made a gagging sound. “Yeah, that’s a big, fat no.”