Wild Ride: A Bad Boy Romance (3 page)

Colton walked
into the dingy bar. It was dimly lit. This was where he felt he belonged. He was
still doing well in the rodeos. He was still a good rider, if not a better one
than he had been. He was a little older now…a little more beat up. He had more
injuries. But he also knew more. His brain had adapted over time to the event.

He knew how the
bulls moved. He had an instinct...of course, he had always had one for bulls.
But this was different. Colton was becoming wiser…and he was only in his late
twenties.

But while he
was still doing well at the rodeo shows, the media at large wasn’t paying him
the least bit of attention. Rodeo was still to be a minor corner of the sports
world, one that no one paid much attention to.

That didn’t
mean he couldn’t get a new woman every night. But it meant his manager was
hounding him all the time. It meant a lot less money. It meant staying in
crappy hotels. It meant he wasn’t sleeping with celebrities…just over-enthusiastic
rodeo fans.

It meant he had
to buy cheaper liquor.

The thing he
hated most of all was having to do these events…a few years ago he had been on
TV programs, he had been on talk shows. Now he was here in a strip club signing
autographs.

A few years
ago, it had seemed like he was going to become a real celebrity, a real star.
It had seemed like people would soon know him outside the rodeo world. But that
had all vanished.

He ducked
quickly as a pool ball went flying right at his head.

“Holy shit,” he
said.

He looked
around.

A fight at the
pool table had broken out.

Two huge men
were facing each other, about to bump chests. They had their hands in fists at
their sides. One of them had apparently thrown a pool ball at the other’s head.
It had missed, and that’s when it had gone whizzing by Colton’s head.

“You’re finally
here,” said Colton’s manager. He was a short man, who was always rushing
around, flapping papers and opening and closing his briefcase. He was the type
of man who would have always been on his cell phone, had he had important
enough clients. But his cell phone stayed sadly in its holster on his belt,
practically unused since Colton’s fame had taken a turn for the worse. “Where
the hell have you been?”

“I slept in,”
said Colton.

“You slept in?
It’s practically the middle of the afternoon. Jesus Christ, we’ve got to figure
out what to do with you. You know, I’m doing these shows for you. This is for
your career. You think I’m having fun doing this either?”

“Couldn’t you
have gotten us a better gig?” said Colton, eyeing the crummy bar with a look of
disdain on his face.

“Look, Colton,”
said the manager, an even more unpleasant expression growing on his face. “This
is where we are now. I can’t get us any better gigs because of you. It’s your
whole image. It’s not me. This isn’t my fault. You can only blame yourself for
this.”

“What the hell,
man?” said Colton. “I’m riding better than ever, aren’t I?”

“That’s right,”
said the manager. “But listen, Colton. I’ve been in the business longer than
you. I know how everything works. You may be getting better, but nobody cares.
Frankly, the public couldn’t give a shit. The fact is, you’re older now, and
you’re starting to lose your looks.”

“I’m losing my
looks?” said Colton, growing red in the face. “Are you kidding me?”

“Look,” said
the manager. “You’re a great looking guy. You always have been. But the fact is
the women like those 18 year old guys, the taut bodies, all that. Now I’m not
saying you have a bad body. I’m sure you could sleep with any of the women in
this bar, including the strippers, if you wanted to, and I’m confident that
you’ll do so later with some lucky girl.”

Colton nodded.
It was the truth. “I already know the women like me. They don’t mind sleeping
with me. I certainly don’t have any problems getting them into bed. So what’s
the problem?”

“Well TV and
real life are very different. The young guys look better on TV. And TV determines
how popular you are.”

“That’s it?”
said Colton. “It’s that simple?”

“Basically,”
said the manager, nodding. “It sucks. But it’s the truth. Now come over here to
the table with me and sign some autographs. We’re going to piece your career
back together piece by piece, whether it takes five years or ten.”

“Why don’t you
just move onto a newer and younger client?” said Colton, a scowl on his face.

The manager
laughed heartily, as if Colton had just told a great joke. He turned and gave
Colton his fakest smile. “You’re really my only client, kid. I can’t get any
more. Trust me, if I had a younger rodeo star, you’d be here on your own.”

“That makes me
feel a lot better,” said Colton, sarcastically.

“Well, look at
this this way. I’m desperate to make you succeed. That should make me a great
manager, shouldn’t it?”

“It should, but
it’s not working. I mean, you really couldn’t get a better gig than this?”
Colton eyed the folding card table that had a stack of his pictures. The
pictures showed him riding a bull in a very flattering pose, his jeans tight
around his ass as he was being practically bucked off by the bull, holding on
with just one hand.

“Let me get you
a drink. What would you like?” said the manager, changing the subject.

“A whisky, no
ice,” said Colton, sitting down on the folding chair behind the card table, and
staring despondently at the stack of his own photos.

“One light beer
it is,” said the manager, disappearing before Colton could correct him.

I walked into
the bar.

It had those
cheesy Western style flapping doors. It was dark inside. But my eyes quickly
adjusted.

It was a titty
bar all right.

There were
naked women dancing up on poles

I had always
been straight, purely heterosexual. That didn’t mean I couldn’t hang out in a
titty bar…enjoying the scenery.

There were
plenty of hot men around…wearing cowboy hats and tight jeans.

“And now ladies
and gentlemen, the man you’ve all been waiting for, the famous rodeo champion
Colton Smith.”

A few people clapped.

But this rodeo
star wasn’t the main attraction. Most people were focused on a Mexican woman
with enormous breasts who was dancing very provocatively. No one seemed to be
looking at Colton.

I liked the look
of this Colton Smith. He stepped to the stage looking just like a weary cowboy.
He was wearing tight jeans that really showed off his ass…tall cowboy boots, a
cowboy hat…he really looked the part.

I clapped
harder than anyone as I ordered a gin and tonic…my all-time favorite drink for
when I wanted to get blitzed. Of course that wasn’t too common...the last time
I had a drink must have been five years ago.

And, of course,
clapping harder than everyone else wasn’t much. Hardly anyone clapped. In fact,
it seemed like I was the only one clapping at all. It was a little hard to say,
because I was already pretty sufficiently buzzed from the first sip of my
drink. I was a real lightweight.

But, as they
say, these were extenuating circumstances…who knew what was going to happen if
my business shattered beneath me…if my partner took off with all the money. I
didn’t even want to check the online bank account, which Sarah had access
too…probably all the funds were gone. How was I even going to pay the DJs and
the other small event planners, like the caterers? If all the money was gone, I
was screwed…more than screwed…my reputation would be completely trashed.

It had taken me
years and years to get to this level in the business…I had started out bussing
tables for another wedding planner. I’d slowly learned the ropes and very slowly
gotten my first client. It had taken almost a year to get a second client…the
going had been beyond tough. I didn’t know if I had it in me to start again.

Only one or two
people had gone over to see Colton Smith.

He was sitting
there on his own, staring dismally into his beer. His short, fat, and balding
manager was standing nervously near by him, a little behind him. The manager
wore a suit and was fidgeting. Occasionally, he leaned over and whispered
something to Colton, who just shrugged whatever it was off.

I took a closer
look at Colton…I thought maybe I had seen him on TV once a couple years ago,
but I couldn’t have been sure.

If it had been
him, he had looked a lot younger in that he had been fresh faced, a young and
enthusiastic athlete, the world at his fingertips.

Now he wasn’t
that much older in years. But he looked more world-weary. He looked like he had
had some problems, some issues in his life. No doubt he had, if he had ended up
here at this strip club, trying to sign autographs for men who were only here to
jerk off under the table to hot busty Mexican strippers.

He had bags
under his eyes. Frankly, he looked hung over.

He looked beat
up too. He had bruises around his neck and around one of his eyes. Probably
from falling off a bull. Didn’t they always fall off, or at least most of the
time?

He had some
tattoos visible…he wore a western style shirt that buttoned down the front. He
had the sleeves rolled up casually, as if he hadn’t cared at all what he looked
like.

He wore a bolo
tie around his neck…two strings with beads on them…it was a style that had
never caught on all over the country…more of a regional thing.

I couldn’t tell
what the tattoos were exactly. They were only black in color, some kind of
complicated design, some lettering that I couldn’t make out.

He was bulky
but athletic looking.

“Another
drink,” I said, to the bartender.

I took the gin
and tonic, and downed it in one gulp.

“Impressive,
lady,” said the bartender.

“Not
interested,” I said.

“I wasn’t…”

“Save it for
someone else,” I said. “I know you were interested. I have a special sense for
these things.”

He didn’t open
his mouth again. Instead, he withdrew to another corner of the bar, by the
small refrigerator where they kept the limes.

I wasn’t
normally like that. Normally I was polite and reserved.

But then again
I didn’t normally drink.

But I did have
a good understanding of men and when they were hitting on me…it hadn’t happened
naturally. It was just a skill. A skill like any other, one that you needed to
practice, needed to slowly develop.

I made a snap
decision. I was going to get this guy…this rodeo champion, or whoever he was.

I slammed my
empty glass down on the bar. And, making quite a clatter, I got up from my
stool.

I must have
been a little bit drunker than I’d thought, because somehow I managed to topple
the stool over as I got up.

But I didn’t
care.

I set my sights
directly on Colton. I had him in my cross hairs. I was staring at his chest,
the side-view of his sexy plump ass in those worn out looking jeans…those
cowboy boots that he now had perched up on the card table.

“How you doing,
there, cowboy?” I said, in my most seductive voice. Again, I must have been
drunk, because I didn’t usually talk like that. Anyway, I never had much need
to really try to go out and get laid. Going to at least a wedding every week
would do that to a woman.

“Hi…” said
Colton the cowboy, without looking up. “Would you like an autograph?” He said
in a bored robotic voice, as if nothing in the world mattered.

“Sure,” I said.
“But I’d like you to autograph my…” I was about to say “tits,” in order to be
(for me) super provocative. But then I remembered I was in a titty bar, a strip
club, where there were naked breasts wiggling all over the place. “…pussy,” I
finished, surprising even myself.

Colton nearly
fell out of his chair. His cowboy boots fell with a clatter to the floor, as he
straightened all of a sudden up in his chair, looking at me for the first time.

“Seriously?” he
said.

“I’ve never
been more serious in my life.”

I didn’t know
what had come over me. I really wasn’t like this…believe me…I was used to the
men hitting on me.

“Well take your
pants off then, honey,” said Colton. I could see him looking me up and down,
eyeing me from my breasts to my waist, where his eyes settled on my crotch. I
could tell he was imagining what was underneath my pants.

“You like what
you see?” I said.

“Of course,
baby,” said Colton.

I couldn’t
believe I’d gotten his attention. After all there were topless women all over
the place.

“Well, what are
you waiting for,” said Colton. “Let me sign it.”

“I don’t think
we can do that here,” I said.

“It’s a strip
club,” said Colton. “No one will mind.”

His manager
shuffled nervously over. Evidently he had overheard our little coquettish
conversation.

“Colton, as
your manager I would advise you not too…”

“Shut up,” said
Colton, snapping at him. “For once in your life, shut up. You got me this
horrible gig. Why are you trying to stop the one good thing that’s happening
here.”

“But the fans…”
said the manager. “Part of the problem is you’re too much of a wild card,
Colton. I didn’t want to tell you earlier, but that’s one of the reasons they
don’t want you on TV. All this sleeping with young women…all the boozing and
destroying hotel rooms…there’s even a picture of you riding a motorcycle
shirtless…this kind of thing may be good in some areas as publicity. But the
rodeo is still old fashioned…you can’t be such a rebel here…well, they want
rebels, but they want clean rebels. It’s a hard image to maintain.”

“To hell with
my image,” said Colton. “I can ride, can’t I? Practically better than anyone
else, right? I mean, what’s my rank right now in the country?”

“Number 1,”
said the manager, looking down at his feet, as if he really didn’t want to
admit this piece of information, as if it was something shameful.

“What!” said
Colton, seemingly growing outraged. He took his beer bottle in his hand and
brandished it like a weapon at the manager. I couldn’t help but admire his
bulging muscles as he did so, and his tattoos as his biceps flexed.

I could see one
of the tattoos clearly now. It was a man riding a horse, with a bull goring the
man and the horse at the same time…it was quite gruesome for a tattoo.

I also couldn’t
help find myself even more attracted to Colton…surprisingly, it was something
about his rage. It just seemed so manly.

“Why the hell
didn’t you tell me I was ranked #1?” said Colton, practically screaming with
rage.

The rest of the
strip club stopped completely. They had heard the volume and rage of his voice.
The strippers froze in place. Somehow, the music stopped….even though it wasn’t
a live band, like in the movies.

Everyone was
staring at Colton and the manager, and I also felt their eyes on me…it made me
feel uncomfortable. I wasn’t used to being so close to the spotlight. I was
used to standing in the back of my weddings.

“Didn’t want it
to get to your head. You have to focus on your image,” mumbled the manager.

“What!” roared
Colton. “And what the hell am I doing in this dump if I’m the #1 rodeo champion
in the whole country. You’re really that bad of a manager that you couldn’t get
a better gig?”

“I don’t
know…rodeo…not that…bad boy image,” muttered the manager, refusing to look
Colton in the face. He was now instead just staring at Colton’s battered hat.”

“You’re fired!”
said Colton, still angry, but his voice lowering in volume.

“But…Colton…”
squeaked the little manager, ruffling his suit. He looked like a little lost
bird…a nervous penguin.

“You heard me,”
said Colton. “Get the hell out of here.”

The manager slunk
off to the dark recesses of the strip club, perhaps to try to gather his forces
again. He didn’t seem like a man without a plan…he seemed too conniving. I was
pretty sure the whole submissive thing during the argument had been little more
than an act on his part. He was used to playing Colton, or trying to play him.
But this seemed like the first time Colton had actually fired him.

“So where were
we, pretty little lady?” said Colton, turning to me.

“We were
just...” I didn’t know what to say. I was lost for words for a moment.

“You wanted me
to sign something,” said Colton, giving me a big wink. It was amazing how fast
he’d turned off the anger, how fast he’d changed tracks.

“Oh yeah,” I
said, regaining my composure. “You want me to take my pants off here, so you
can sign it?” I gave him my own big wink, hoping I seemed flirty enough.

“I don’t think
they let you do that here,” said Colton, looking around.

The music had
started back up, and the strippers were dancing once again. I felt like the
spotlight was off of us, and I felt a little more relaxed. But just for a
moment. I immediately began to feel nervous…nervous because of Colton. But it
was that good type of nerves, that pleasurable type of anxiety…I felt like
anything might happen. I felt some spark deep within my chest. I felt
something…and I looked Colton right in the eye and was pretty sure he felt it
too.

“They let them
take their tops off,” I said. “There’s a rule against ladies taking their pants
off in bars like this. At least here in Texas, that is.”

“Well then why
don’t we find a place that has more relaxed rules? I just don’t want to leave a
fan like you disappointed. You really deserve my autograph, coming all the out
here to a place like this.”

I knew he knew
I wasn’t a fan. I knew he knew I’d never heard of him. For one thing, I was
about ten years older than the 18-year-old rodeo fans who threw themselves at
him. I felt anxious about my body, just thinking about that…I was practically
an old woman compared to these young kids…would my body be desirable for a man
like Colton? Surely he had had the most beautiful of the beautiful, the
youngest and hottest from all around.

But I gathered
myself together. “Somewhere private,” I said. “Why don’t we go back to your
hotel room?”

“I thought
you’d never mention it,” said Colton, smiling. “Come on, let’s get out of this
place.”

“What about
your autographs?” I said. “And your manager.”