Lisa.
Mason: Hell of a ride tonight, kid.
Lisa: Yup.
Mason: What's wrong?
Lisa: Your daughter is what's wrong.
Mason: I don't even believe you. That girl is one of the best people I know. And I'm not just saying that because I'm her dad.
Lisa: Yeah, she is. That's the problem.
I take an aggressive sip of the shitty beer in my hand before putting it back on the table with far more force than I intended.
"You're going to break that thing, Boss." Jackson chuckles and takes a sip of his own, eyes alight with humor while he sits across from me at the high-top table.
Rather than replying to his goading, I roll the bottle between my hands, feeling more than hearing the clink of the glass against my silver rings over the country music blaring through this bar.
"Thought you'd be in a better mood after winning. Again. Would it kill you to give the rest of us a moment in the sun?"
"You're young, Jackson. Work harder. Earn it. Spur your bull more and hold on for dear life rather than taking the path of least resistance. Mediocre isn't good enough to win on this tour."
I'm being harsh, but it's probably time for him to level up. If his old man were still around, he'd tell him the same thing. I remember him doing it with me.
He rubbed my back until one day he shoved me into the deep end. Tough love. It works when someone is as competitive as I am. Like a challenge to do better.
Jackson snorts, his head rearing back a little. He's playing it cool, but I can tell by the spark in his eye that I've ticked him off a tad. Just the right amount to make him want to be better. Small increments all the time.
I get a real kick out of watching him develop, and I love being there for him even if I wish it were his dad instead of me.
Try as I might to keep my eyes lasered on the brown bottle in my hands, they slip over to where I know Roseanne is sitting with that sleaze bag, Emmett. All I can see is her back, the taper of her waist where her brand new WBRF t-shirt is tucked into those tight-as-fuck jeans, cinched with some belt that has a colorful stitched pattern on it. The way they hug her hips where her body flares out is distracting beyond comparison.
His stool is too close to hers, and he leans close to say something to her while laughing and shit. All happy-go-lucky golden boy, while I'm sitting over here brooding like a Neanderthal.
"Do you think hooking up with Cindy is a bad idea?" Jackson pulls my attention back to him with a complete subject change.
"I don't know. Why would it be a bad idea? She likes you. That's why she pulled me aside. To find out if I knew what you were up to tonight. Like I'm some fucking schoolgirl who wants to gossip about relationship status." I shake my head and take another swig of my beer.
During past seasons, if I felt like celebrating after a good ride, I'd roll out of the ring and snag myself a bunny. But the appeal has slowly but surely worn off, and the girls keep getting younger. Too young.
Or I keep getting older. I guess that's more likely.
"Because she's a buckle bunny, man. She's been with other guys on the tour too."
"When did you become a virgin again, Jackson? Pretty sure I saw you balls deep in one of her friends when I walked into the locker room once."
He laughs loudly now. "Forgot about that."
"But do you like her?"
He bobs his head back and forth with a shy smile. "Yeah. I guess I do."
"So, who cares? Maybe it works, maybe it doesn't. Just don't be a pig about it. Be up front. Buckle bunnies have feelings too." I wink at him.
"Ah, dating advice from the famous ladies'woman, Lisa Manoban!" He holds his beer bottle up to me in cheers and I ignore it, opting to just take another swig. I'm not so sure my past behavior is to be celebrated.
