PSA: ALL tweets/texts/links in this work are FAKE and recreated to fit into the FICTION of this story. NOT intended to cause harm or ill intent. These are only created for the purpose of FICTION.
"Good things take time, but not when you keep running...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Victoria
With only a couple of hours to go before the rodeo started, my palms were sweating with immense anxiety. I haven't heard from Zak since last night, and I was beginning to worry that he wouldn't make it, but in a way, I would be relieved because knowing that he was possibly coming was enough to boost my anxiety through the roof. I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of a man I liked, and I know I'm not the only one who feels that way!
Just as I finished saddling Arson up in my roping saddle, I gave him a pat to his thick neck before I moved around him to ensure Dakota and Dallas were tied securely to the trailer before I rode Arson around to warm him up, knowing he was the only one with a higher energy level compared to my other two, and he was taking advantage of the warmer weather as he was feeling excited himself. I was still dressed in leggings, a flannel, and sneakers whereas the other riders were decked out in their sponsorship shirts, jeans, and boots. Me, however, didn't give a shit about dressing up and looking nice as I truly hated wearing jeans. Hated it, and I would wait until the very last minute to put a pair of jeans on.
I had already received a few judgmental looks from the other barrel racers, but like I said, I didn't give a shit. How I looked had no comparison to how I rode my horse. After all, my mom always used to say: