Page 3 of Spurred On

Like a group of teenagers, we sneak out. I throw on a hoodie and keep my face hidden. This place is fucking huge, and basically a maze. But if anyone can do it, it’s the three of us. I know every adult in our life hated seeing us coming when we were kids. But now we’re all on the brink of thirty or already thirty, and are the adults, even when we don’t act like it. And we are about to unleash ourselves on Las Vegas.

Chapter 3

Ava

The margarita around my neck adds to the chill as we walk to the next bar. And by walk, I mean stumble. Laughter sounds behind me as Erin trips over her own two feet yet again. I need to get some water in her before she throws up. Then again, maybe I should take my own advice. But it feels so good to cut loose. I’ve been bound too tight, too long. The string has snapped courtesy of the strawberry margarita.

Walking into the Honky Tonk bar, George Strait blares through the speakers. The bar is packed full, and judging by the cowboy hats, they all came from the NFR too. A large mechanical bull sits in the middle, a rider already getting thrown off.

“Okay,girls, we need some tunes to set the night off right. I’m heading over to the jukebox,” Josie says, strutting through the bar. At least ten men are watching her long legs pace through without a problem. Something tells me we won’t be paying for a single drink.

Within seconds, Shania Twain’sLet’s Go Girlsfills the bar. Our hoots and hollers are met with every other girl’s as we run to the dance floor and throw our hands in the air.

“We need to do a round of saluting our girl. She did the damn thing, and now maybe, just maybe, we can teach her how to have a good time again,” Erin says, and I roll my eyes at her.

They always tease me about this, but I didn’t have the same liberties as them. I had to figure out the whole college and adult thing completely on my own, which meant I had to grow up a hell of a lot faster. I can see why they thought I was boring, but I was pouring everything I had into just getting by. But those days are about to be over. All my hard work has paid off, finally.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m so sorry I became such a bore while I was working nights and going to school during the day.”

She puts a hand over her heart and fakes sincerity, “Thank you for your apology. And I’m proud of you, Grandma.” I can’t help but laugh at her because I do feel like a grandma most days. I was the second oldest in my nursing school graduating class at the ripe age of twenty-eight. Barb was forty-seven and trying something new after her divorce. She was my best friend and probably the only reason I didn’t pull my hair out. While the girls lived on campus and were partying, I was pulling overnights stocking shelves to pay my rent. But maybe now that I have more than seven minutes of free time, I can figure out what fun is again.

“I’ll head to the bar and get us a round,” Cami says, practically skipping back to the bar. Her usual shyness has long drifted away, and her alter ego, social butterfly Cami, has arrived.

They were right, this is fun. I watch Josie get on top of the mechanical bull, and the crowd around her goes wild. The controller just smirks at her and she mean-mugs him back. Our little spitfire. “Turn her on, bull boy.”

The bull starts spinning and rocking, and she makes a show of it with her hand in the air, somehow staying on. “Go, Jos!” Erin hollers.

Apparently, the controller was taking it easy on her because two seconds later, he picks up the pace, and she flies through the air. The bar erupts in cheers, but we ignore it, rushing to make sure Jos isn’t hurt. She hops to her feet, but the crowd once watching her is gone, all gathering and cheering near the front of the bar.

“Are you okay?” I ask, the nurse in me taking over as I scan her head to toe. But she looks almost giddy, we can probably thank the liquor for making her a bit more rubber-like.

“That was amazing! You have to try Ava!” Jos says with far too much enthusiasm. I’m shaking my head no before she can even get the sentence out. Erin saves the day by jumping in, replaying the whole event, causing us all to be bent over in fits of laughter. I’m not sure what it is, but when Erin tells a story, it sometimes becomes twenty times funnier than the actual event.

“Bet you a cold drink that I could out ride you?” a male voice comes from behind me, causing me to jump a little. I was far too lost in our conversation to even hear someone sneak up.

Turning my head, I eye him. He’s way too attractive for me to make a fool of myself in front of so I shake my head. “I bet you could but I’ll pass, I am happy to watch.”

He cocks his head at me, his grey eyes glinting with a little wildness. “Come on, don’t tell me you’re a fun sucker.” A playful smirk causes one side of his lips to tilt up.

That little comment right there spurs something in me. I’m tired of being told I'm not fun. Responsible does not meannotfun. I had other shit to worry about. So you know what? Fuck it. Maybe it’s the tequila talking, but I’m going to prove to everyone just how fun I am.

“Fine. Hold this,” I say to Erin. My drink sloshes over the sides and onto her hands, but she pays it no mind as she laughs.

“We’ve got a taker!” he hollers, and the crowd goes wild.

Erin looks at me with eyes bigger than dinner plates. I’m surprised too, girlfriend. But if one more person tells me I’m boring, I’m going to lose it. My eyes catch on him again. Why does he look familiar? I know I’ve seen those eyes before, they’re piercing and impossible to forget. Probably saw him at the rodeo.

I hop into the bounce-house-looking pen and thank the Lord the floor is padded. I don’t think tequila and bull riding go hand in hand, but what do I know? Every ounce of my body is screaming that this is a terrible idea. There’s about a million and four ways I can get hurt. I probably won’t last two seconds. For sure, I am going to embarrass myself, but thanks to the tequila sunrise in Erin’s hands, I probably won’t care about that until tomorrow morning.

Hopping up onto the bull, I swing my leg over, happy I wore pants and a bodysuit where there is no risk of anything popping out.

“Can I give you some pointers?” he asks, leaning his arms against the side of the pen. My eyes catch on the way his muscles bulge through the sleeves of his button-up shirt.

Quirking a brow up at him, I deliver a little more sass than necessary. “What? Does the cowboy hat make you a professional?”

He shrugs. “No, but I did just win the NFR. So I’d say I have some experience.”

Well shit. Didn’t know I was betting with a freaking god of bull riding.

---