Page 1 of Spurred On

Chapter 1

Ava

“Ilook ridiculous.” I almost choke on the cloud of hairspray coating the air as Erin sprays my golden locks down. My hair is one millimeter away from entering heaven and speaking to Jesus. Eyeing myself top to bottom, I feel a ball of dread form. Why did I agree to do this?

“You look hot,” my best friend, Erin, says, smiling at me through the mirror as if she can already sense I want to back out. But I flew all the way out here from Wyoming so I need to make this time away from job hunting worth it.

After passing my boards, the girls insisted on a weekend-long celebration in good ol’ Las Vegas.

I’m a long stretch out from being done with the stress. Nursing school was the hardest ten years of my life. It wasn’t actually ten years, but it feels like it aged me that much. I’m still on the hunt for a job. I’ve been itching to spread my wings and leave, and this might be the kick in the ass I need to do it.

A knock at the door makes Erin put the can of hairspray down. She flips her long, bouncy brown hair off her shoulder and skips to the door. If only we all felt as joyous about life as she does.

The sound of high-pitched screeching enters the room as Josie and Cami make their way in, and I can’t help but smile at the excitement in the air. I deserve to have a little fun tonight. I haven’t been out withthe girls in over a year, and if we’re only here for two nights, I need to make them count.

Walking out of the bathroom, I head into the main room to meet the rest of the girls.

“Holy crap, Ava. You look amazing,” Cami says. I don’t know if I should be offended or flattered by the way her jaw is hitting the floor right now.

After months of living in the scrubs they assign to us during clinicals, it feels nice having clothes on that are actually made for a woman. My black long-sleeve bodysuit hugs my body like a second skin. Rhinestone-covered mesh climbs up from the flare of the bellbottoms all the way to the top of my hips. A little saucier than I’d usually wear but Erin insisted, and I didn’t have the energy to argue with her.

“Thank you. You don’t think it’s too much?” I nervously look down and run my fingers over the fabric.

“No such thing. And even if it was, you pull it off so it wouldn’t matter. Now get the boots and the hat on,” Erin instructs.

The rest of the group is decked out in their own western wear. Are any of them actually western? No. Cami and Josie are about as city as they come. Erin and I grew up together in Wyoming. She went to college in Denver and added the two girls to our girl gang. We all fit together somehow, no matter how different our personalities are. And all of the crazy in this room is about to take Vegas by storm.

Cami’s denim bell bottoms hug her hips, showing off her shape perfectly. Her shirt’s belled sleeves flare out at the elbow. Her personality comes through with the delicate floral design. She’s our soft-spoken one. Until you get tequila in her, then Cami 2.0comes out.

Josie is decked out in all black. Distressed black denim, with a lacy long-sleeve shirt peeking out behind her Bud Light T-shirt. Perfectly edgy and perfectly her. Now Erin? Her light-wash jeans are so tight, she might end up having to cut them off. Her button-down hot pink shirt is tucked in, and she’s got the pink cowboy hat and boots to match. Confidence radiates off her in waves.

I plop down on my bed that is now covered with discarded clothing that didn’t quite make the cut for a night of rodeoing. Should I clean this off now? Yes. Because there is a good chance drunk me will not care enough to clean it off later but I hear Erin call out, “Alright girls, hats on, tits up. We need to get a picture before we ruin all our hard work.”

Skipping the cleaning, even though it’s killing me, I slide my cowboy boots on and pull my bell bottoms over them. We all gather in front of the large, illuminated mirror in the bathroom. Erin snaps the picture and then looks at it. “Ava, I swear to sweet baby Jesus, if you don’t learn how to keep your eyes open, I will fight you.” I roll my eyes, which is a dangerous move because she might choose now to throw hands. She takes picture documenting very seriously, while I do not. I can’t remember the last time I even took a picture of myself. Probably on my first day of clinicals two years ago, if I had to guess. We all smile and go through the poses until Erin is satisfied, taking no less than one hundred pictures. My cheeks hurt from smiling for so long, but I’m sure in a year’s time I will be happy to have this snippet of a memory documented, because I really am happy to be here, even if it’s out of my comfort bubble.

“Uber is on the way. Everyone have their IDs?” Cami asks. Mine is tucked into my small purse, so I nod. Locking up, we leave our completely wrecked room behind. We can clean that up tomorrow.

Stepping out of the Uber, we feel the cool Vegas air as we walk up to the Thomas & Mack Center at the University of Las Vegas. National Finals Rodeo signage is everywhere if that didn’t give away what we were walking into, the smell of livestock would. All questions I had about being overdressed are quickly squashed. Girls are decked out with big belt buckles and even bigger bell bottoms. There’s hardly a head here without a hat atop it.

“Look at all these cowboys,” Josie says. I’m pretty sure she’s got little cartoon hearts in her eyes right now. Taking a glance around the arena, I see she isn’t the only one affected. If you look close enough, you can see the drool hanging off everyone's chins. The effect isn’t lost on me. These cowboys fitted in wranglers and boots are a sight to be seen.

Making it through security, we get inside and are met with vendors and beer stands galore.

“Let’s grab a beer and then find our seats. I want to see how these boys ride,” Erin says with a wag of her eyebrows.

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” I laugh as she links her arm through mine, and our group navigates through the crowd.

After stopping at a nearby stand for an overpriced beer, the cold cans chill our hands as we find our seats.

“Holy cow, Cami. How did you get seats for this?” I can’t help but gawk at the scene before me. We’re so close to the action. She had all our tickets on her phone, so I didn’t get a chance to peek at where we wouldbe sitting.

“My dad’s company buys a ton of tickets every year. I told him about our Vegas trip and he had the hookup.”

“Remind me to thank him extensively next time we see him,” Erin says, smiling widely as she looks at the horses trotting through the dirt floor below us.

The announcer’s voice begins booming through the stadium. “Welcome to the National Finals Rodeo.” He drags out the words “welcome” and “rodeo,” inciting cheers and hoots from the crowd. “We have the pleasure of watching these boys battle it out on this country's meanest, bucking bulls.”

The overhead screen displays the riders we will be watching tonight. My eyes scan the screen, noticing one in particular: grey eyes, dark brown hair, and a smile that could break a million hearts without even trying. His name, Maverick Ryder, comes over the intercom as the announcer names off the participants, and the stadium goes wild. The distinct sound of women fangirling rises above the rest of the stadium and I can’t help but laugh. I see what most of them are here for. Not that I can blame them. I know next to nothing about bull riding, but I can see trouble a mile away. Andthatman is probably trouble.

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