Finders Keepers (15 page)

JESSE MIGHT HAVE been the one who
took Josie to Homecoming our freshman year, but I was the first one to ask her.
Well, I was the first one who’d
tried
to ask her. She didn’t even see my
method of asking before Jesse showed up after school with his stupid smile,
holding a sign at her locker that said something lame like . . .
You? Me?
Homecoming? Please?

I’d been pissed about two things that day. First was that
Jesse had swooped in out of nowhere and asked her. I didn’t have a clue he
liked Josie
that
way. Jess and I had been inseparable for years, so that
I hadn’t known he liked the same girl I did, the one who was just as
inseparable with the two of us, blindsided me. Josie wasn’t Jesse’s. She was
mine. I’d met her first; she’d sat by me on the bus; I’d punched Roy Watkins in
the nose when he called her names; I’d chased off Ryan Spitz when he made moves
on her in fifth grade. Josie was supposed to go to Homecoming with me, not
Jesse. She was supposed to fall in love with me, not him.

I was also pissed that she would never see how I’d tried to
ask her. I’d taken hours to make the necklace dangling on her bedpost, and I
had to rush over to her place to sneak it back out since she got a date to
Homecoming. And it wasn’t me. She’d never know I wanted to ask her either. I
couldn’t tell her because even if she would have gone with me, when she agreed
to go with Jesse, I knew—even as a fifteen-year-old—that he was the better pick
by a landslide. If Jesse liked her and she liked him, her future was a lot
brighter than it could have been with me. That day sucked.

Actually, there was a third thing that had pissed me the
hell off that day. Jesse didn’t even go to the same school as us. He was home
schooled for crying out loud, and he still had the balls to walk through the
halls, stop at her locker, and ask her to
our
school’s dance. Ballsy. It
was the first time I’d wanted to sock Jesse in the nose. Not because he’d done
anything wrong, but because I had. By waiting too long and being too big of a
piece of shit.

I didn’t deserve her, but I didn’t need the reminder of what
she deserved every time my best friend recapped a date with me. Jesse and Josie
took a few years before they made things “official,” but I don’t know what took
them so long. That freshman homecoming dance made it obvious to me and everyone
else that Josie was Jesse’s and vice versa.

Those were the memories haunting my dreams the past couple
of weeks I’d spent with Josie. Those were the images that flashed through my
mind while I held her every night. We took turns sneaking into each other’s
bedrooms, and so far, her parents were none the wiser. I’d managed to be a good
boy and do nothing but hold her. Okay,
once
I’d barely brushed her
chest. But it was just barely and only once. Keeping my hands, dick, and
everything in between to myself was like earning sainthood. At least in my
book. I had yet to learn if it had earned it in Josie’s, but I hoped she’d give
me some sort of progress report. Soon. I was keeping myself together with
frequent cold showers and just as frequent self-servicing sessions, but a man
could only take so many showers and so much jerking off before he lost his
mind.

I was maybe one or two of either away from losing mine.

Last night’s dream was that first homecoming dance. Josie
had been there with Jesse, and I was there with some girl whose name or face I
couldn’t even remember. Probably because I’d barely looked at her the whole
night. My gaze stayed on Josie. Her smile for Jesse, the pretty blue dress she
wore for him too, and the way her arms wrapped around his neck and her hips
swayed softly when they slow danced. Every time her gaze shifted my way and she
smiled at me, it took everything inside of me to stay where I was and not pry
her out of Jesse’s arms. Not taking what I wanted when I wanted it went against
everything I’d known, but I knew, even back then, that Josie deserved more. So
I’d stayed with my date and felt like I was losing a little bit of myself every
time Josie danced with Jesse. Every song took her that much farther out of my
reach.

The dance had been almost over, the music ending and couples
trickling out of the gymnasium. My date was making out in the corner with some
guy—not that I cared—and Jesse had just left Josie’s side to head to the
bathroom, and I saw my opportunity. I knew it wouldn’t last, but I’d realized
that, from then on, I’d only have Josie in stolen, fleeting moments.

Before I’d made up my mind, I was heading her way. She was
leaning into the bleachers, waiting for Jesse. I realized that I’d give
everything to have her one day waiting for me like she was him. I made a quick
stop at the DJ’s, begged him to play one last special request, and once he’d
reluctantly agreed, I went to Josie. I didn’t say a word; I don’t think I even
smiled. All I did was grab her hands and pull her back onto the gym floor as
Garth Brooks’ “The Dance” started to play.

“What are you doing, Garth?” she’d asked, giving me a
careful but a genuine smile.

“Stealing you away,” I’d replied.

“Jesse’s coming right back.” She’d sounded like she was
putting up an argument for why the whole last dance thing wasn’t a good idea,
but her body wasn’t. She kept coming with me, her hands planted in mine.

When we’d reached the middle of the floor, I drew her close
and looked her in the eyes. “Finders keepers.”

That night, that dance,
that
girl . . . had messed me
up something fierce. In good ways, but mostly in bad ways. I had to watch the
girl I’d grown up wanting be happy and in love with my best friend. The three
of us still hung out, but nothing was the same after that dance. For Jesse and
Josie, for Jesse and me, and for Josie and me as well. Everything changed in
one night, and all I remember thinking was how badly I wanted to go back in
time to the first time I set eyes on her on that bus and blurt,
Choose me.
Be mine. I know we’re only in kindergarten, but promise you’ll go with me to
Homecoming our freshman year. Be happy and find love with me.

Those were the thoughts I was lost in when the chute flew
open. Bluebell threw me with his first buck out of the gate. At least when I
hit the ground, it was on my left side. My right side had already taken so many
blows, I would be black and blue. I muttered a curse, sat up, and threw my hat.
I’d gone from staying on four seconds last month to barely staying on two this
month. Eight seconds of glory was not my friend.

“You spend any more time rolling in the dirt, and you’re
going to turn into a pig,” Jason hollered from his perch on the fence.

I wanted to introduce him and his smiling pretty-boy face to
my left hook, but I’d worked too hard lately to ruin it. Jason wasn’t worth it.
Since I couldn’t let my fists do the talking, I let my talking take the jabs.
“I thought your mom and sister already told you—I am a pig.” I lifted a brow
and grinned cockily.

Shooting me a scowl, Jason leapt down and followed the other
guys leaving the arena. “Excuse us, Black. The
real
bull riders are
going to get a few drinks before getting laid.”

“Just so you know,” I hollered after him while standing,
“your hand and imagination don’t qualify as getting laid!”

I knew he heard me, but he didn’t reply. Probably because I
was right. That guy was getting laid about as frequently as I was lately. Which
was a whole lotta nada. When I’d told Jesse how long I’d gone without sex after
promising him I was up to the task—mostly—of being his best man, he was silent
for a whole ten seconds before breaking into a fit of laughter that went
another ten seconds. I guess me going weeks without getting laid was one of the
funniest things he’d ever heard, but I wasn’t laughing. Neither was my dick.

“You want me to fetch you a bandage? Maybe an aspirin? A
tissue?” Will crossed the arena, shaking his head. “It looks like you need all
three, but all I really want to give you is a swift kick in the ass.”

“Your damn bull’s inflicted enough damage, so it’s only fair
you have a go at me, too. Take your best shot.” I patted my ass at Will.

“As much as I’d love to kick it, I’d rather see that ass of
yours stay on a bull for a whole eight seconds. Hell, I’d settle for the old
four-second routine you had going a few weeks back.”

“And I’m paying you good money why? Coach,” I added with
some sarcasm.

“To make what used to be a good bull rider into a fucking
great one.”

“Hoorah,” I grumbled with a weak salute. I’d been a decent
bull rider, but I wasn’t anywhere close to “good” anymore. If Will thought
“great” was even an option for me, he’d been knocked in the head too many
times.

“Son, you can be as big a smart-ass as you want, but it
doesn’t change the fact that you came to me because you know I can help you be
better.” I dusted myself off and lifted my eyebrows. Will chuckled. “Well, and
you came to me because, in my day, I was one of the best. You don’t become the
best without learning from one of them, right?”

“It seems the only title I’m capable of winning after
training with the best is ‘the worst.’”

Will seldom found my humor funny. And by seldom, I meant
never. His face ironed out. “Any time you’re ready to shut up and let me do
what you’re paying me to do, I’m ready.” I clamped my mouth shut and waited.
“You’re one hell of a rider. That’s as obvious as it is that you’ve convinced
yourself you’re not. You come from good stock. Your daddy and his daddy before
him were championship riders until a couple of accidents and a whole hell of a
lot of booze got in their ways.”

“Thank you for bringing up the family tree. Always a thrill
hearing about the line of assholes I came from.”

Will stuck his finger into my chest and then my face. “The
point I’m trying to get through your thick head is that you’ve got bull riding
in your blood. That’s a point in your corner these others pretenders would sell
their soul for.” After tapping me a few more times, he leaned back a bit. “But
that’s not where your talent stops. You’re a hard worker, and you’ve got an
intuition that few people in this sport have. I saw you ride back when you used
to still be on top of that bull when the buzzer went off. You moved before the
bull did every time, like you knew exactly what that animal would do a split
second before he did. You have the intuition. You’ve got the golden ticket.
It’s a hell of a shame you seem to have lost it.”

My mind went to a dark place. “I have a knack for losing
things.”

“Listen, son, I don’t have a psychology degree, and even if
I did, you’re not paying me to work on your head. You’re paying me to keep you
on that bull, but in my professional opinion”—I gave Will a look.
Professional
opinion . . .
no psychology degree, my ass. Will tapped my temple—“you need
to fix whatever’s going on up in there before you’ll get back to your eight
seconds of glory.”

“If I spend all of my time fixing what’s wrong up here”—I
drilled my finger into my temple—“I’ll be dead of old age before I’m on a bull
again.”

Will nodded, studying me. “It’s like you’re restless, son.
So damn restless you can’t even manage to stay in the same spot for eight
seconds. Whatever it is or whoever it is that’s messing with your head, you
either need to let it go or grab hold of it. Once you figure that out, you’re
going to be unstoppable. You’ve got what it takes. It’s in your blood and
you’ve put the sweat and tears into it, so don’t let that God-given and
God-taken ability go without a fight. Find that thing or that person that puts
you at peace, and you’ll remember how to stay on the bull again.” Will went
from straight-up preaching to turning his back and heading out of the arena.

“Thanks for the gentle, not-at-all confusing words of
wisdom!” I shouted. “Doctor Will.”

He didn’t reply. He didn’t stop. He’d said what he needed to
and kept going. I was ready to pack up my gear and get the hell out of there so
I could get back to the Gibsons’—and Josie’s and my bedtime ritual—when a loud
rattling from a certain bull that’d worked its way into one of the chutes
changed my plans.

After retrieving my hat from across the arena, I marched
toward Bluebell with determination and a steely glare that damn bull returned.
I didn’t know who hated the other more, me or Bluebell, but the hate feelings
were definitely mutual. I hadn’t made it to the underbelly of life by making
good choices. However, I hadn’t made it to the underbelly of life
alive
by
making really bad choices either. What I was about to do might have qualified
as a really bad choice, though.

But right then, I didn’t care. All I could think about was
me, a bull, and eight seconds.

Someone had left the gate from the holding pen to the chutes
open, explaining how Bluebell had made his way into one of them. What I
couldn’t explain was
why
he chose to go into one. All of the bulls
needed at least some—or a lot of—encouragement to slide into the chutes. But
Bluebell . . . hell, the bull had worked its way into one of its own accord,
and he practically had a smile on his frothy, ugly mug. Damn bulls. If they
weren’t part of the deal, I’d want nothing to do with a single one of them.