Some heavy-set dude was riding the mechanical bull, pushing his luck a bit that night. I’d seen Mike around the Roasted Bison a few times in the past; he liked to come here nearly as much as I did. I knew he worked on one of the ranches at the far end of town, but I didn’t even know which ranch it was. We had never talked before.
Mike flew off the bull just as I looked over at him, but he rolled with a grace surprising for his size and came up laughing. “I bet I could beat anyone in this bar!” he called out, and I could see a couple of the girls giggling and watching him as though he was hot shit.
I was still bruised up from the other day, but there was no way that guy could beat me on the bull. He didn’t even have it on the most difficult setting, I noted as I walked closer to the padded area. This was going to be a piece of cake.
The man’s eyes lit up as he looked over at me. “I see you there, hotshot,” he said, pointing to me. “You think you got what it takes to beat me? Well, come on up. That’s right, strut up here with that hat and boots. Show off for the ladies, cowpoke. They won’t be so impressed when you get knocked on your ass.”
I rolled my eyes at how over the top he was. The guy was like a carnival barker trying to draw a crowd. I had to give him credit, though. I wasn’t bored anymore.
“What was your time?” I asked him.
“He made it 7.5 seconds!” someone else called from over to my left.
I snorted. “I could beat that. Easy.”
The man raised an eyebrow at me. “Well now, that’s what I like to hear! How much you want to bet you can beat me?”
I hadn’t realized he wanted to bet on the winner. But having money on the line always made a man ride better, didn’t it? “A hundred bucks,” I said as my bravado swelled within me.
Mike grinned. “A hundred bucks, sure,” he said, reaching out to shake my hand. His palm was slick with sweat, and I fought not to make a face. He was still gawking at me. “You ever ridden this thing before? Haven’t seen you on it.”
“A couple times,” I said evenly, not wanting to admit that a couple times was literally all the bull riding I’d done.
He laughed, brimming with confidence. “A couple of times? And you think you’re ready for the big leagues? It’s your funeral. You want to go first, or should I?”
“You go first and show me how it’s done.” I was letting him go before me so I knew what time I had to beat before I got on the bull, but I wasn’t about to say that.
Mike snorted but clambered back on the bull, giving a nod toward Mickey. “Let’s go, man,” he said.
The bull rocked and spun. He clung to its back with both hands. People cheered him on as it became clear that he was about to beat his previous time. The bull lurched and threw him off. He landed in a roll and sprang to his feet nimbly like a circus performer. He’d beat his earlier time, but not by much. Still, it was enough to have me nervous about it.
Eyes on the prize, I reminded myself, stepping forward amidst both cheers and jeers from the crowd. I waved a hand, acknowledging everyone. I hoped their cheers would help me pull through this and keep me motivated. I climbed up on the bull and steadied myself. I was as ready as I was gonna be. I nodded at Mickey to start her up.
The mechanical bull lurched between my legs, and I nearly fell off in the first couple of seconds.
My hands slipped on the leather. I had to clench my knees together and make a quick grab to avoid sailing off. Embarrassment turned my face red, but I forced myself to focus and to find that rhythm. It was different from riding the bull at full speed. I felt like I could anticipate the bull better when it was moving faster. Like this, I had to be a bit more patient. But I started to get into it.
I grinned, drinking in the cheers from the audience that gathered around me. I had to be doing well. More and more people were coming over to watch. There was part of me that screamed to get the fuck off while I was ahead — but reason never rested with me too long.
Mickey kicked up the intensity a notch, and I moved with it, easily keeping my seat. When he kicked it up one more notch, I lost the rhythm and ended up getting tossed. Unlike the other night, I was able to roll through the fall. My bruises flared with pain as I tumbled over the mat, but when I got to my feet, I was beaming with pride. I had absolutely destroyed Mike’s time.
“That might be a record for an amateur here in the Roasted Bison,” Mickey told me, clapping me on the back. “Nicely done.”
“Thanks,” I said, grinning at him. I looked around for Mike, who had a sour look on his face. “Better luck next time, buddy,” I said. Then, I held out my hand. “Pay up.”
Mike spat off to the side. “You know we were just joking. There was never any money at stake.”
“Bullshit,” I said. “We shook on it. You owe me a hundred bucks, and you know it. Everyone in this bar knows it.”
“Why the hell would I actually bet a hundred dollars on some punk kid that I don’t know anything about?” he scoffed. “Would have had to see you ride before if I was going to stake that kind of money on a bet.”
“So that’s how it is,” I said as anger burned in my belly.
He shot me a smug look, like he’d won. God, he had a face made for punching. I was frustrated as all hell, but I wasn’t about to start a fight over a hundred bucks. It would take more than that to make me lose my cool.
“I thought I was betting with a man,” I said, shaking my head. “Not a lying little bitch.” I turned to walk away.
“What did you just call me?” Mike roared drunkenly, pushing through the crowd and coming after me.