Page 36 of Leading the Blind
“Shit, you remember those huge nasty teeth?” It had been like a deformed horse’s mouth or something. The teeth had looked like George Washington’s dentures… “The feet were cool, though.”
“And those eyelashes.” Bax leaned on him, their laughter dying gently.
“So no camels, but llamas are on the table. I approve. The dogs can herd them.”
“There you go.” Bax fiddled with his fingers, loving on him. It wasn’t perfect—he couldn’t see, he was having to figure out more shit than was reasonable, and he was caught between a rock and a hard place—but goddamn, it was good.
“You want to listen to the TV, Mini? Just float together for a bit?”
“Sounds like heaven, man. We’ll enjoy the calm before it comes up a storm.”
Bax’s chin dipped against his shoulder, letting him feel the nod. “Come on then, and settle. I got the remote.” They snuggled back against the pillows, but neither one of them bothered to take off their boots.
Someone would be knocking on their door soon enough.
Someone always did.
Chapter Eight
“Okay, Jase. There’s a bunch of sports reporters and photographers here today, since it’s Dallas.” That was Dillon, who talked a mile a minute and always knew all the angles. “If you can, head for the west gate when you come off the bull so they don’t get you full in the face with pictures.”
Bax didn’t say nothin’, just kept his head down, checking Jason’s gear. Rope, gloves, vest.
“Coke will be right there, and I’ll be hollering directions if you get spun and don’t know west.”
Jason was surprisingly relaxed, for a son of a bitch who was fixin’ to ride blind at the big show. Maybe this was just his natural habitat. The little shows had been harder, less familiar. The main tour had the same arena set up as much as possible every time. Well, except for Albuquerque, which was damn small.
Dillon went on and on, a constant, steady patter that Bax was pretty sure Jase wasn’t listening to. Maybe that was the point. Sam had always done that for Beau when he was pulling rope, just jabbering to keep the nerves down where they belonged.
Jase was loose, easy in his skin, breathing like he was where he needed to be.
“Keep your eyes open, Mini. You do that and you’ll be fine.”
Jason nodded, his jaw tight, but Bax knew that was pure concentration, not stress. Mini had his game face on.
The gate swung open, and fuck him, Mini was riding like the bull wasn’t rank, like he was born to this shit. His free arm was flexible, he sat up, and at six point five seconds, damn if that man didn’t start to spur.
Bax almost jumped over the rail, snatching off his hat and waving it, whooping and hollering.
Jason leapt off after the buzzer, and Dillon hollered, “Left! Left, buddy! Stop! I’m coming to shake your hand.”
Jason stopped, and the moment Dillon’s fingers touched his, he pulled back to run his fingers along his hat brim like he was too cool to shake the clown’s hand, a joke those two had done for ages. For a long moment it was like he was back more than a year ago and nothing had changed, and Bax caught his breath.
He’d go back in a second. He’d give everything they had now away, if Mini could see.
Then Jase turned to the gate again, his head down, his jaw clenched again, just to get out of the arena, and he blew out that air, clambering down to meet his man. AJ was there, clapping Jason on the back, steering him the right way to avoid the gal with the microphone. “Good ride, man!”
“Eighty-nine-five. Not bad.” Jason smiled—an actual real-life shit-eating grin, for fuck’s sake. Damn.
“Not bad at all,” Bax said, winking at AJ. “Come on. Let’s get out of the noise, huh?” Shit, that was a hell of a good thing for the first ride back.
“Y’all ready to go?” Aje asked. “I got the truck.”
“We’re out.” Bax grabbed their go bags. “You solid, Mini?”
“Yeah. Yeah, just let me…” Jason reached back to unhook his chaps. “Oh, damn. I think I gained weight.”
“Muscles.” Jason was damn near buff.
