Page 30 of Mud, Love, and Chemistry

As the bull bucks and turns, I tighten my grip on the horn. It swivels, so I shift my weight. The operator is taking it easy on me, but I know it won’t last. Once they see that I’m no amateur, they usually take out all the stops. The sound of the gears revving makes my heart race. Soon, the bull is spinning and bucking without restraint, and I’m flopping left and right. Sometimes it pays to be this drunk.

This isn’t one of those times.

The operator makes a quick change in direction, and I’m toast. I go sailing off the bull, landing on the soft pads on my back a few feet away from it. Laughing at myself, I crawl across the mat because I can’t stand up. Being so drunk, and now terribly dizzy, my own legs won’t hold me.

At the edge of the mat, two hands grip my arms and lift me up. I’m still laughing when I stand and come face to face with Sam. Not even his concerned expression is enough to kill my giddiness.

“That was some show,” he says. “But you didn’t last long. Maybe next time, take it easy on the drinks.”

I snort derisively. “Sometimes the drinks are what help.” I point to the leaderboard, specifically the number one spot where the initials BAE are listed next to the time of twenty-seven seconds.

Sam glances at the board, then back at me with that stupid smug smirk again. I want to eat it off his face, but instead, I raise my chin in triumph.

He leans down close to my ear and whispers, “Guess I have my work cut out for me.” With a wink, he backs away and strides toward the bull.

No. There’s no way he’s going to beat my time.

After handing the operator his glasses, Sam hops on the bull like a professional, complete with the cocky showmanship, and raises his hand in the air. The operator starts slow, like with me, but also like with me, notices Sam isn’t a beginner. The bull starts moving faster, harder, wilder. It’s bucking and spinning every which way, but Sam never falls off.

I fold my arms, turning away, but the urge to see the timer is strong. I glance up. The seconds tick by incredibly fast, and with every one, my heart picks up speed. It keeps climbing, and Sam keeps holding on. The crowd cheers, growing louder with each passing second.

He’s going to fall off soon, I keep telling myself, but it doesn’t happen. The longer I watch, the longer he stays on. When the timer hits twenty seconds, my eyes flick between it and Sam. Every second they’re darting back and forth and I’m getting dizzy again. At the twenty-five second mark, I feel like I’m going to throw up. I can’t watch anymore.

I tear away from the ring, pushing through the crowd. Air. I need air. As I break through the throng, the buzzer sounds, and I freeze. My feet root to the floor.

“We have a new record! Thirty seconds!” the DJ announces over the speaker.

I nearly collapse. I manage to reach the bar where Lisa is still chatting up the same guy from earlier. Crashing into the stool, I grab her arm. “We have to go. Now.”

She spins around, wide-eyed and seemingly annoyed, but takes in my expression and nods. “Okay, okay.”

I don’t even wait for her to say goodbye to her new friend before I’m storming away. I have to get out of here. I need to get out of here. Lisa’s hot on my heels as I bust through the entrance door and into the cool night air. I let it fill my lungs, hoping it will help the nausea subside.

“Hold on, I’ll call the Uber,” Lisa says, tapping her phone screen. “What happened in there, anyway?”

The last two minutes race through my mind. Sam on the bull. The timer. The cheering crowd silenced by the buzzer. The announcement that I’d been dethroned. It’s all too much, so I scramble to the curb, and vomit into the gutter.

***

When I wake the next morning, I find Lisa sitting on the edge of my bed with a glass of water in one hand and some Advil in the other.

“Good morning, sunshine,” she says cheerfully.

I wince at the brightness of my bedroom as I scoot myself to sit up. “What’s so good about it?” I ask, taking the Advil and tossing them in my mouth. I wash them down with a small mouthful of water. “Thanks.”

She waits until I’m finished swallowing to ask, “Do you want to maybe tell me what the fuck happened last night?”

“Why? I thought I told you on the way home?”

“No offense, but drunk, hysterical Brynn is about as easy to understand as a toddler with a mouthful of marbles.”

I laugh, but it makes my head pound. “Ugh. Where do I begin?” I choose to start with Sam standing behind me in line. I tell Lisa all about our conversation, and how, even though it was snarky, the banter knocked my walls down again. The part about how his touch exhilarated me has her bouncing in her seat, but she listens all the same. When I get to the end, where Sam beat my time on the bull, Lisa practically laughs.

“That’s why you were so upset? A stupid bull ride?”

I sit straight up, and pound my fist into the mattress. “I’ve had that number one spot for how long, Lisa? A year!” I yell, but it only intensifies my headache, so I slump back against the wall, rubbing my temple. “No one has beaten me in all that time.”

“Dude, okay. Take it easy.” Lisa puts her hands up in surrender. “But it’s been a year. Someone was bound to beat you sooner or later.”

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