Harkin moved down a step to be even with our seats. He didn’t care that he was interrupting the contest or Bobby’s sight line. But Bobby cared plenty.
“Hey, buddy, do you mind? I’m trying to watch Rodeo’s ride.”
Harkin glanced back toward the course and rolled his eyes. “You could just find a fucking circus clown on YouTube and get the same experience.”
Max lifted his meaty hand and pointed at Harkin. “Hey, aren’t you that—”
“Nate Harkin, four-time Supercross champ,” Harkin said smugly.
“Whatever, but weren’t you the motherfucker who cut in front of everyone in the hot dog line?”
Kensington covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.
Harkin sneered at Max. “Yeah, and from the looks of it, I didn’t stop you from getting your usual dozen dogs. Now, shut the hell up. I’m here to talk to this girl, not you two.”
Rodeo was at the first jump, but I’d pulled my attention from the course. I was done listening to the jerk. “Look, Harkin, these two friends of mine, Max and Bobby, paid good money to watch this contest. So unless you’re going to pay them back for their tickets, get the hell out of here and leave us alone.”
Bobby lifted his soda toward me in a silent toast.
Harkin stared at me, his jaw twitching in rage and his nostrils flared wide enough to suck in the tiny gnats from the air.
Kensington, who’d ignored him until now, let out an irritated huff. “Go away, Nate. There’s nothing for you here.”
Harkin flinched at her words, but his hard scowl was skewered to my face. “You and me, King, you spoiled, candy assed rock star’s mistake. Which one of Nicky King’s groupie whores was your mom, anyhow?”
“Actually, my mom was Nicky King’s accountant and second wife. But I don’t know why the fuck I’m bothering to tell you. Just leave, Harkin.”
He stayed there looming over us like a bristly thorn in our otherwise great day. The crowd sucked in a collective breath. Worst of all, he’d taken Rodeo’s ride to come and blow his blustery crap all over us.
I leaned forward past Kensington. “Hey, Max, what happened? Did you see it?”
“Yep, he was doing an Indian air, one handed, and the landing was a little hairy.”
Harkin was still standing over us. He was like that itch under a broken arm cast that you had to try your damndest to ignore.
“One day, King, we’re going toe to toe,” Harkin said.
I saluted him. “Looking forward.”
He walked away.
Max pulled out his phone. “You’re Nicky King’s son?”
“I am.”
Bobby and Max fist bumped each other. “Just need a selfie with ya, or the wife won’t believe me. You don’t mind, do you?” Not waiting for an answer, Max leaned over and squished Kensington between us as he held up the phone and snapped a picture.
Just as he lowered his meaty fist, Rodeo and his bike came into view. He was a good thirty feet up in a backflip, then he let go of the handlebars and held his arms straight up like a kid on a roller coaster ride. The rubber side of the bike was down as he grabbed the bars just a little too late to stabilize them. The wheel turned sharply to the right, and Rodeo was pitched headfirst to the dirt. All sound sucked out of the arena, and the crowd got to their feet. Rodeo rolled like a rag doll several feet. He was out cold.
Chapter 21
Kensington
It was hard to see past the sea of heads and even harder to see past the crew of medics in bright orange vests surrounding Rodeo. I could see his boots. They looked splayed at an angle that made me certain he wasn’t awake yet. I’d been knocked unconscious twice after falling from a horse, and both times I could remember waking to a circle of worried faces, my mom’s included. But I never knew how long I’d been out. A good knock on the head can put you out for a few minutes, even with a helmet.
Cole’s face was frozen with worry as he stood tense and silent next to me. He had a much clearer view over the heads, but the medics blocked him from knowing what was happening on the ground. As heavy as my chest felt at seeing him so distraught about his friend, a little voice was also telling me, this guy, unlike so many other guys I’d dated, including the one who’d just stomped away in a little boy huff, had a soul. Cole’s empathy and concern for Rodeo only made me like him that much more.
A huge round of applause went up. Cole’s shoulders relaxed as some of the tension dissolved from his body. “He’s awake. Let’s get down to the pits and wait for him.” Cole took my hand, and we scooted past Max and Bobby.
Bobby obviously noticed Cole’s sense of urgency. “Is Rodeo a buddy of yours?”
“Sure is.” Cole hit the steps at a jog. I trotted down along next to him. The medics were still on the course, and Rodeo was stretched out at the base of the dirt hill. One medic was leaned down talking to him, while another was checking his limbs for movement and feeling.
Denver was standing at the entrance to the pits, holding a tablet. “Our boy just got his bell rung.”
Cole was more relaxed, and seeing Denver seemed to further ease his tension. “Sure did. What do you think, doc?”
“Looked to me like the only thing that hit the ground was his head, and we know that’s full of rubber. I think some aspirin and some sympathy from one or more of the hot girls in his contact list and he’ll be up, around and as annoying as hell like always.”
They were both making light of it now, but I’d seen the looks on both their faces just seconds before. They’d been worried about their friend. Another round of applause signaled that the injured rider was up and walking off the course on his own, with the medics following close at his heels.
“Let’s go wait under the awning,” Denver suggested. “I’ve got some drinks in an ice chest. Kensington looks like she could use one. They’ll have to give Rodeo a thorough once over to make sure all the marbles are still in place, so it’ll be awhile.”
Cole and I followed Denver back to the pits where his team had an awning set up for shade. “I take it his competition is over for the day,” I said. “Since he was knocked out and all. We can’t get back on the horse if we’ve blacked out. Or is it different with motorcycle contests?”
“Nah, he’s done for the day,” Cole said. “And he’ll be plenty grumpy about it too. Rodeo’s just the type of rider who wants to jump back on the bike and try it again to fix what he did wrong.”
Denver handed Cole and me each a water bottle. “Yeah. Cole, remember that time when he broke his wrist so badly, his hand didn’t even look like it was attached to his arm, and he got back on to do the practice course again.” Denver shook his head.
Cole took a sip of water. “He has way more balls than sense. Figure that came from being bounced around on the saddle too much.”
A motorcycle was being rolled into the pits.
“Here comes his bike,” Denver said. “Doesn’t look too bent up.”
The awning provided a great reprieve from the insistent sun. The temperatures had climbed to the nineties, and there were no clouds to provide intermittent relief. Cole and I sat in the chairs while Denver headed over to talk to Rodeo’s mechanic.
Cole reached over, took hold of my hand and brought it to his mouth for a kiss. He was expert at small, unobtrusive gestures of affection that kept my heart fluttering. While sometimes romantic gestures could seem forced or smarmy, Cole’s always seemed genuine. He’d grown up in a lifestyle that was, no doubt, completely unlike most guys, but he never acted like an arrogant asshole. And after the short, unpleasant conversation with Nate, I greatly appreciated that.
“I was thinking we could drive to the coast tonight and have a little repeat of our first date at the beach house. Preferably with some kinky variations added in.”
“Kinky variations, you say? Oh shoot.”
“Or not. Doesn’t have to be kinky. Just fun.”