Roseanne.
Mason: Why did Lisa send me a text saying that I'm fired?
Roseanne: She. Didn't.
Mason: She did. It said, "Fuck professionalism and fuck you. You're fired."
Roseanne: Well, she's not wrong. That certainly isn't very professional. I don't think you're actually fired though.
Mason: Of course I'm not fired. That asshole is stuck with me.
--
Roseanne: How is your shoulder? Are you taping it? Do you want me to come tape it?
Lisa: Fine. Don't come back here. It smells like sweaty balls.
Roseanne: Thank you for the vivid description. I was reading about pulsed electromagnetic field therapy for rotator cuff injuries. Maybe we should try it? There's a physiotherapist in the city who does it.
Lisa: I was kind of just hoping you'd give me more massages? But topless this time.
Roseanne: I'll do that if you go to the appointment I scheduled for next week.
Lisa: Daily massages. Where you ride my dick while rubbing my shoulder. Then I'll go.
Roseanne: Is your shoulder that bad?
Lisa: No, Princess. Your pussy is just that good.
--
Watching Lisa tonight has me wanting to hurl my fifteen-dollar arena beer all over the people in front of me. Emmett went first and had a great ride, something I know Lisa saw because she was sitting up on top of the gate with Jackson watching.
I saw the flash of competition in her eye. She spent all night with her dick inside of me and still looks like she could kill the guy.
There's this tiny part of me that wishes she'd just hop off that fence and retire on the spot. I want her safe. I want her to win too though. I want that for her.
But I also want her for myself.
It's fucking confusing. I've never worried about another person this way, and that's saying something, considering I've spent my entire life worrying about everyone around me.
Jackson hops down onto his bull now, giving Lisa a bit of an unhinged grin as he does. I watch Lisa talk to him as Jackson rubs at his bull rope, nodding-listening. There's an intensity about their conversation right now that I haven't noticed before.
Usually, things are lighthearted and friendly between them, but tonight there's a definite mentor feel to their interaction. It's heartwarming and nerve-wracking all at once. The bull slams itself against the metal sides of the chute, and where I noticed Lisa back off in similar situations, Jackson grins, drops his chin, and nods.
The gate flies, and so does the bull, like a bat out of hell. Jackson looks like a younger, smaller Lisa, spurs riding up every time the bull bears down. He rides like his life depends on it. And based on how riled his bull is and how many times it switches directions, I would say his life actually does depend on it.
I barely know Jackson, but I hold my breath all the same. On my nights spent sitting in the stands, I've seen other guys get head butted and stepped on. I've seen them leave strapped down on a stretcher.
In a lot of ways, it's hard to watch, in others . . . I can't tear my eyes away.
So, when Jackson jumps off and tosses his hat in the air, I shoot up and cheer. The bull lopes out of the ring, chasing the clown, and Jackson soaks up the cheers of the crowd. He scores herself a 90, which pushes him to the top of the standings for this weekend.
When I look back over at the fence, Lisa is sitting there, grinning ear to ear. So damn proud, chest puffed out, pride spilling off her.
She also looks fucking delicious. Dark and mysterious with her hat pulled down low on her face, charcoal shirt under her bull riding vest, and those simple warm brown chaps.
So. Good.
When she hops down to go stretch and warm up, my momentary calm dissolves and the nerves creep in.
I hate the feeling. I hate that I'm having it. I've come to terms with death in a lot of ways. Knowing that your time could come at any moment at such a young age does weird things to you. Somehow, the thought of me dying is easier to swallow than the thought of having to sit here in the stands while something might happen to Lisa.
I don't want to be this girl, telling her not to take risks because my heart can't take it. So, I push it down, like she told me she does.
